Closet Valentine

In Sami’s closet is a little snip from the New York Times that we cut out and saved. It was back when we had the paper delivered to our house and although I couldn’t swear to it, I seem to recall that we paid $2.50 a week for 7-day delivery. So how long ago was that? 20 years? 25 years?

I’m afraid to touch it now. The paper that the poem is printed on is crisp – maybe to the point of disintegrating on contact. However old it is now, the sentiment of love in a mature and long lasting relationship struck a chord with me because we already felt like we had been together forever. Also, there was a little schlepping going on.

My, how the time does fly.

Sunday Morning Poetry Throwdown

Feel free to add a photo to your poem. Or use this photo. My poem is free form today.

no money
no healthcare
no constitution
but by god we’ve got plenty of tablecloths
murrica

Slowly Coming Around

Truth be told, I had to take to my bed for a day after the election. I’m slowly coming back around. America, this America of low initiative, reduced morals, ridicule and condescension is where we live now. Last night I was killing time by watching Two Broke Girls on TV. One of the roommates walked into the bathroom and surprised the other one, who was busy masturbating with the shower head. Much was made of that, and the references to it continues for several minutes. Who do I complain to about this? Is there anyone else who thinks this contributes to the diminishment of society? Or is this a symptoms of the diminishment that has already happened?

The barn door is hanging open, isn’t it?

I turn for inspiration to Dorothy Parker, a wise-cracking hard case who I think would have understood me if we lived at the same time. Sorry for this alteration of your work, Dorothy but the underlying sentiment is the same for both of us.

Canada bores you;

England is damp;

Singapore canes you;

Mexico – uh oh! cramp!

Gaza isn’t lawful;

Austria is gray;

France smells awful;

You might as well stay.

Sunday Morning Poetry Throw Down – Debate Edition

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before but I’ve been very busy lately! Now my schedule has suddenly cleared up just in time for the Sunday Morning Poetry Throw Down. I’ve missed a lot of news but I’ll try to catch up. Here’s my submission for this week. It’s not very good but I did entertain myself so …

You walked into the debate
Like you were walking onto a markeeb
Your eyes strategically dipped to see your shoes
You sure looked like one big dweeb.

You’re so vain
You probably this vote is about you
You’re so vain
I bet you think this vote is about you
Don’t you – don’t you?

You had us several years ago
We were still in the dark
You said there’s no blue no red just one.
But now you’ve just lost your spark.
You gave away some things for votes
And now you are one and done.

Pop had some dreams- they were clouds in Bill Ayer’s head.
Clouds in Bill Ayer’s head.

You’re so vain
You probably this vote is about you
You’re so vain
I bet you think this vote is about you
Don’t you – don’t you?

Well, I hear you went up to South Korea
And were overheard on a hot mic
When you said you’ll have more flexibility
Because this will be your last reich.
Are you where you should be all the time?
Or are you playing golf?  Or sneaking ’round on the down low?
’round on the down low?

You’re so vain
You probably this vote is about you
You’re so vain
I bet you think this vote is about you
Don’t you – don’t you?

Don’t you?

Whoosh

Now UPDATED with reader submissions from:

• Joan Of Arrgghh x 2
• Buttercup Morgenstern
• honorable mention: terimwal

Hey everybody – it’s the Sunday Morning Poetry Throwdown. Last week readers checked in with an all-time high volume of 3 submissions. Let’s keep it rolling.

…………………………………………

So much fodder this week – it’s hard to choose, isn’t it?  The Dancing Vaginas, Chris Matthews completely losing it in a restaurant, a president who doesn’t watch the opposition convention but has to stomp his cyber foot and tweet a rebuttal, dog whistles, the icon of Obama eroding from the base.  I took the easy way out and went with the most obvious candidate for News Item of the Week Century:

Who has seen the president?

Neither I nor you:

But when the economy hangs trembling,

Obama is passing through.

Who has seen the chair?

All of us – you and I:

But when Obama bows down to kings

must we turn a blind eye?

…………………………………………

Reader Submissions

Joan Of Argghh

I happen to be tired of being a President.
I happen to enter golf shops and ale houses
punchy, incoherent, like a choomer,
navigating in a water of politics and asses.
The smell of Michelle makes me wail.
I want only a respite of weed or meade.
I want only not to see capitalism or self-reliance,
or merchandise, or coal mines, or oil derricks.
I happen to be tired of my friends and my 23 handicap
and my wife and my shadow.
I happen to be tired of being a President.

Buttercup Morgenstern

Who has seen such greatness
Created from sand?
Who has seen such power
That rules now our land?Who has seen a dictator
Who does as he wishes?
Who has seen a VP
Who plays “Go Fishes”?Who has seen a pResident,
None too nice and none to sharp.
A guy with a smile
Who only seems to harp.Who has seen the intellect
Of the Democrat party?
An empty grin on a head
That’s none too smarty.Dirty Harry, that’s who.
His observations were clever.
He draws a bead on an empty chair,
And asks us to think when we pull that lever.

Joan Of Argghh

Home Run

The RNC, awash in cash
and saved by Private Ryan
major-leagued a boring bash
for insiders who were buying.

From mom n’ pop to Taylor Hicks
the Party lineup paraded there
the gray and oldest of their tricks
with power grabs and helmet-hair

The teleprompted floor rules bagged
the designated hitters
The Paul-bots routed, tongues were wagged:
No delegated splitters!

Bold speeches followed head-to-tail
Like three-ringed pachydermia
Their tones and drones our ears assailed
 to a state of hypnothermia

A mystery guest! Who could it be?
I rouse my sleepy senses
It’s HarryPhiloBillyWales
He’s aiming for the fences!

He swings, he hits, he scores at-bat
the Party now to life returns
A simple hit, a sturdy thwack
Is all it takes to turn the worm.

An empty chair,
An old man’s dare.
A simple twist. . .
. . .all in the wrist.

-Joan Varga