This is true.
Inscribed on the wall of a study carrell in the stacks at the Ohio State Univ Library, circa 1976:
My dog is dying by inches
And dying by inches is hard
So I took him out in the alley
And let him die by the yard.
Orange you glad you use Dial?
Don’t you wish everyone did?
Omnivorous happy
As when I’m eating chocolate cake.
I’d rather have a bottle in front of me
Than a frontal lobotomy.
You can knock me down
But you can’t knock me up.
And my all-time favourite:
Jabber-Whacky
Or
On Dreaming, After Falling Asleep Watching TV
Isabelle Di Caprio
'Twas Brillo, and the G.E. Stoves,
Did Procter-Gamble in the Glade;
All Pillsbury were the Taystee Loaves
And in a Minute Maid.
“Beware the Station-Break, my son,
The voice that lulls, the ads that vex!
Beware the Doctors Claim, and shun
That horror called Brand-X!”
He took his Q-Tip’d swab in hand;
Long time the Tension Headache fought–
So Dristan he by a Mercury,
And Bayer-break’d in thought.
And as in Bufferin Gulf he stood
The Station-Break, with Rise of Tame,
Came Wisking through the Pride-hazed wood,
And Creme-Rinsed as it came!
Buy one! Buy two! We’re almost through!
The Q-Tip’d Dash went Spic and Span!
He Tide Air-Wick, and with Bisquick
Went Aero-Waxing Ban.
“And hast thou Dreft the Station-Break?
Ajax the Breck, Excedrin boy!
Oh, Fab wash day, Cashmere Bouquet!”
He Handi-Wrapped in Joy.
'Twas Brillo, and the G.E. Stoves
Did Procter-Gamble in the Glade;
All Pillsbury were the Taystee Loaves,
And in a Minute Maid.
djm
Lo! through what yonder nare doth grim mucus seep?
'Tis hot vaporous vent, Naze by name.
And twixt trembling phalanges, shaking tissues mop,
Thick rivers quick, with accustomed aim.
How naive
to believe
such an ancient quote
with GMOs
we can do both.
Reanimation:
Like the sunlight at day’s end,
Zombie’s hand falls off.
–James
Prophecy chart
Prophecy chart
Insider art
Or outsider art
Heaven reels
Seven seals
William Jennings Bryan
Evangelist St. Mark the lion
Wings but not just for flyin’
Heart full of rapture
What an easy final capture
Stigmata man over yon in Italy
Says Christ returns in starship literally.
This isn’t mine, I’ll tell you that.
Skin, skin.
The bag we all
Live in.
my prey is nearby
draw arrow, anchor, release.
lo, the hay bale dies.
–Tom Tzu
from The Tao of the Badger
That was in a children’s poetry book I used to read to my kids. It’s not the worst poem in there by a long shot.
But here, from a different book, is a better one:
Boom! Boom! My feet are large,
Each shoe is like a garbage barge.
Boom! Boom! My poor head aches,
Whenever I walk, the sidewalk breaks.
Do song lyrics count?
Nobody’s Moggy Now
(Eric Bogle)
Somebody’s moggy by the side of the road
Somebody’s moggy who forgot his highway code
Someone’s favourite feline who ran clean out of luck
When he ran onto the road and tried to argue with a truck
Yesterday he burled and played in his pussy paradise
Decapitating tweety birds and masticating mice
Now he’s just six pounds of raw minced meat
That don’t smell very nice
He’s nobody’s moggy now.
You who love your pussy, be sure to keep him in
Don’t let him argue with a truck, the truck is bound to win
And upon a busy road, don’t let him play or frolic
If you do, I’m warning you, it could be cat-astrophic
If he tries to play on the roadway I’m afraid that will be that
There will be one last despairing meouw and a sort of squelchy splat
And your pussy will be slightly dead and very very flat
He’s nobody’s moggy, just red and squashed and soggy,
He’s nobody’s moggy nooow, hoummmmm…
Oh I grew up in an innocent age…the following poem was recited by one of my best friends in a high school English class. After all these years I could still remember the name. She was absolutely terrified she’d get thrown out of class because of the indecency of the poem (she didn’t).
Piddlin’ Pete
A farmer’s dog came into town,
His Christian name was Pete.
A noble pedigree he had,
To see him was a treat.
And as he trotted down the street
'Twas beautiful to see
His work on every corner,
His work on every tree.
He watered every gateway, too,
And never missed a post,
For piddling was his specialty
And piddling was his boast.
The city curs looked on, amazed,
With deep and jealous rage
To see a simple country dog
The piddler of the age!
Then all the dogs from everywhere
Were summoned with a yell
To sniff the country stranger o’er
And judge him by the smell.
Some thought that he a king might be,
Beneath his tail, a rose.
So every dog drew near to him
And sniffed him by the nose.
They smelled him over one by one,
They smelled him two by two;
But noble Pete, in high disdain,
Stood still till they were through.
Then, just to show the whole shebang
He didn’t give a damn
He trotted in a grocer’s shop
And piddled on a ham.
He piddled in a mackerel keg.
He piddled on the floor,
And when the grocer kicked him out
He piddled through the door.
Behind him all the city dogs
Lined up with instinct true
To start a piddling carnival
And see the stranger through.
They showed him every piddling post
They had in all the town,
And started in, with many a wink,
To pee the stranger down.
They sent for champion piddlers
Who were always on the go
And who sometimes gave a piddling stunt
Or gave a piddling show.
They sprung these on him suddenly
When midway through the town.
Pete only smiled, and piddled off
The ablest, white or brown.
For he was with them, every trick,
With vigour and with vim.
A thousand piddles, more or less,
Were all the same to him.
So he was wetting merrily
With hind leg kicking high
When most were hoisting legs in bluff
And piddling mighty dry.
On and on, Pete sought new grounds
By piles of scrap and rust
Till every city dog ran dry
And only piddled dust.
Still on and on went noble Pete
As wet as any rill
When all the champion city dogs
Had come to a standstill.
Then Pete did free-hand piddling
With fancy flirts and flips
Like the ‘double dip’ and the ‘gimlet twist’
And all the latest hits.
And all the time the country dog
Did never wink or grin
But blithely piddled out of town
As he had piddled in.
The city dogs a convention held
To ask, “What did defeat us?”
But no one ever put them wise
That Pete had diabetes!
Losing Weight: the Chemical Method
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
The rats they come, and ratty run,
And on they come to invade our home,
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
The poison bomb we did light
With care that nothing it would ignite,
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
The instructions said be gone three days,
Which we ignored, and slept in haze,
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
Fume, fume, fume.
We never awoke at break of day
And the rats came back and ate us away
And so our bones will likely stay
in our
Tomb, tomb, tomb.
Tomb, tomb, tomb.
–James
If poets wrote poems whose titles were anagrams of their names…
I Will Alarm Islamic Owls
by William Carlos Williams
I will be alarming
the Islamic owls
that are in
the barn
and which
you warned me
are very jittery
and susceptible to loud noises
Forgive me
they see so well in the dark
so feathery
and so dedicated to Allah
Likable Wilma
by William Blake
Wilma, Wilma, in thy blouse,
Red-haired prehistoric spouse,
What immortal animator
Was thy slender waist’s creator?
When the Rubble clan moved in,
Was Betty jealous of thy skin,
Thy noble nose, thy dimpled knee?
Did he who penciled Fred draw thee?
Wilma, Wilma, burning bright, ye
Cartoon goddess Aphrodite,
Was it Hanna or Barbera
Made thee hot as some caldera?
first five syllables
then seven more syllables
last five syllables
Oh throgglety morpit
Mudflap dementor bird
Great are thy slabberous jowls
Much predigested chortle you drool
Vast are the mugglewhomps
That your spacious gob do span
Lit with pretroleum jelly tarts
And flung flirtaciously at onlooking frabbers.
There was an old man from Venus
Who liked us the moment he seen us
We took advantage of the situation
And took him to the International Space Station
On Beenie Weenie night, out of sheer meanness.
The Tay Bridge Disaster
William Topaz McGonagall (1879)
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
’Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clods seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say –
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say –
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the people’s hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
“Attempted Assassination of the Queen” by him wasn’t any better.
The road to your heart is too graveled and thorny
and frankly you’re really just making me horny…