Either you are sorting it out, or you are full of it.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

A game and two poems

The following two poems were composed collectively by Ferret and his friends during a rained-out beach holiday. With little to do and a penchant for poetry, Ferret and his compatriots each wrote 1 1/2 lines of verse on a piece of paper, folded the paper over to hide the first line and passed it along. These are the results:

No One was Harmed in the Making of this Poem

Our tale begins in the steamy depths of a Turkish bath,

In his opening gambit, he figured the math was in his hardened heart

And it moved him to tears to see in that room

An unborn boy, smoking, riddled with gloom

Throat gargle tea milk, wormed silk tissues fettered

With darting, shaved sparrows’ victory tune,

The teething assassins beat a retreat with

The bonny boy who took the alien spawn in hand

And sent it off to Neverland to choke several whores

A fantastic tale! Told by drunkards and bores

The bell summons ladies of the night

And the Jesus whores.

They left by the side door, upon a frond of

Memories shorn into a cake which the alien pulled

Into its heart pumping black blood, churning with the sound of

A thousand crying babes aching on the inside

Got trampled in an orgy, and half of them died.

Oh wale! Oh woe! The dead victims’ mothers cried.

“When shall we meet on the dwarf toss slide?”

Said the cowgirls. The plasma night pushed

Against the Amazon fence the green, bug-eyed

Extraterrestrial spat its venom, turning the surrounding crowds sick

Making the mothers run for the doors, their heavy legs

Unshaven, moist, almost goat-like pegs

An ode to my spindle legs, a crash of smut and

Belly pork dregs brings footfall celebratory smacks,

Lying, lying the shaker stood down.


From the Cuff

What will you recall, and what will you forget?

What in one’s mind is gone, you can’t regret.

Note the shallow fucks or bad stares, not the lost retreats

Or the moneyed snares.

Beat upon the classic drip leaf womb, thrown out amid the original nut crackers’ snap!

You do not think of Mr. Toad or his wild ride, your children’s stories

And how these teatime fantasies lied.

Chewed on wet young beef, belief of blonde whine

Filled women cried to be a bride,

Because they couldn’t hide the Cinderella songs

Those Snow White slippers through the gasps of wedding vows.

So the flag was raised glorious amid the roses of love and success.

A lemon better cheer fills the throats of old men

And the young women make lemonade with their seductive, saccharine

Sacrifices before the altars.

A flash of blinding purple cowers the horned headed

Frothing beasts, their purpose suddenly dreadful,

With their eyes full and puffing like steam organs

Removed of every stop.

Through the graves the deer were barking,

As the dappled light of dawn breezed through the mist

And the chapel bells were screaming off like earthquakes

Reverberating through the catacombs.

A group of drunk Germans slammed their fists onto

The crossword puzzles in outrage. And all of the letters

Of language became spurious, indicating only the scribbles

Of mangled monkeys high on dope.

Groped the band stand, blue skirted flirted and dirted

The headlights, so I said “Goodnight!”

posted by ferret at 2:50 pm  

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