The garbage tends to pile up.

7 01 2009

For every passable poem or short story that I write, I think I write a really shitty one. I was thinking about the recession the other day, and I think I saw a picture of a penguin too. My though process immediately became, “gee, penguins push each other off icy cliffs to test the waters, that’s kind of morbid, I’ll write a poem about it.” However, I forgot the cardinal rule of penguins, they are inherently funny as hell, the way they waddle. So when I combined the subject of fluffy birds in tuxedos and the RECESSION, I got something awkward and unintentionally funny:

“We huddle like penguins,

against the recession

raging and arctic outside.


We protect our nest eggs,

so some might hatch

into new cars,”


That’s all I’m posting, b’c it’s embarassing.


I think sometimes, we get too mired in our ideas, and think that they’re genius, they’re just crazy enough to be brilliant. So we execute them and end up with a three breasted sea-monster of a work.


Oh, here’s another fabulous line by Your’s Truly:


“I drove through the flat brown bowels of wintry America.”


I guess my car is a log of poo, and I’m driving it through America’s digestive tract.


Maybe I should go and write a poem about a prostate exam, and how it’s like um…life.


I’m thinking about writing a story about a neurotic man who is obsessed with scratching his own dandruff off his head. It’ll fall like snow in a snow globe, or something. This might be one of those baaaad ideas.  




2 responses

7 01 2009

For the record, penguins are even funnier than that. First they waddle. Then, as if deciding that’s too slow, they hop. Then they flop down on their bellies and sort of doggie-paddle across the ice. Then deciding the whole thing is just too frustrating, they throw their heads back, flap wildly* and warble, as if wishing to fly.***

I’ve kept more than a few ten-year-olds amused with my penguin imitations.**

*Actually this is for cooling purposes – it was warm that day, almost up to freezing. But it looks like trying to fly.

** Penguins also crap pink, from krill. I’m sure that would amuse ten-year-olds also, but it isn’t included in my imitation, for reasons of mess rather than dignity.

*** All of which, come to think of it, is not too unlike the way we flail around in trying to fix the economy.

8 01 2009

loll. Pink crap. I think I might have something for my first happy poem in a long time.

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