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Wednesday, February 24, 2010

DOWN TO THE WIRE


Note: The actual date of this post is Monday, March 15th.


Reprinted here, for your dancing and drooling pleasure, is my entry into the SILLY POETRY CONTEST, hosted by Sir Percy at http://percybisque.blogspot.com/ Voting begins on Tuesday, March 16th. Go to Sir Percy's blog and cast your ballot (any time through April 6th) as part of the comment thread of his post for Thursday, March 18th.

For me, the voting results aren't as important as that we've all had a lot of fun with this, and we've stimulated each other's creativity along the way. And whenever I can get a chance to STIMULATE someone, you know I'm there!

So here it is, one more time:


KNIGHT ON THE TOWN

Sir Percy Bisque Silley, sensing his chance
Asked the Lady Lorraine to dance

Kind sir, said she, I don't get much action
But 'tis true, I'm feeling this strange attraction
Oh what could it possibly be
That is drawing me to thee?

Sir Percy replied
(With nothing to hide)
Dear Lady, do not look at me askance
My secret is simple--
There's a magnet in my pants!





Friday, February 19, 2010

SAVING THE TIGER


Just after his big apology speech, I hooked up with Tiger Woods TELEPATHICALLY, and he granted me the following interview.



TIMOTEO: Hey, Tiger--thanks for the time.

TIGER: No problem, man. I've got a little down time before I go back into rehab.

TIMOTEO: That was some public apology you made--how do you think it will play?

TIGER : It should play well, I think. This country likes to build you up until it thinks you've gotten too big, then it likes to knock you down and stomp on you until you've groveled and REPENTED-- then, in many cases, they'll admire you even more, no matter what you've done. Then you can write a book about it and capitalize on the whole thing. Not that I need the money, but it will help with my image--which is what I need to work on.

TIMOTEO: So how's that rehab thing going?

TIGER: It's going well---I mean, I HAD to do it--part of that whole penitence thing, you know. Anyway, you should see this one counselor I've got--she's pretty HOT, man. Uh...make sure that's off the record.

TIMOTEO: Sure. Tiger, do you REALLY think you're a sex addict?

TIGER: Hell no. I was just a guy doing what a hell of a lot of guys would do if they thought they could get away with it.

TIMOTEO: No argument here. But you seemed truly contrite during that televised speech that was carried live by all the networks, pre-empting the less important news--like the economy, health care, and the war in Afghanistan.

TIGER: Well, I truly AM sorry that I hurt my wife, Elin. Like most women, she doesn't understand that a guy can truly love his wife and still be tempted by every braless bimbo out there who makes goo-goo eyes at you--and in my case they were all over the place, dropping like an easy 15 foot putt.

TIMOTEO: Why do you think men and women have such a hard time understanding each other?

TIGER: Society places unrealistic expectations on a relationship. Love and fidelity--those are two different things, man. And unfortunately, when a man follows his natural instincts, he gets beat up for it...I-I didn't mean that. Like I said, Elin never laid a hand on me that night.

TIMOTEO: So you weren't hiding out all this time to let the scabs on your face heal before you made a public appearance?

TIGER: Nah. And me wrecking the car--I was just in a hurry to get to the store and back with the ice cream she wanted before the re-run of her favorite TV series, Xena: Warrior Princess started. Anyway, about this man-woman thing. You know, a farmer only keeps one or two bulls in his herd--the rest are cows! It's the bull's JOB to go around and service all those cows. That's just nature operating.

TIMOTEO: Kinda like an episode of The Bachelor.

TIGER: You think any of them cows are jealous? Nope. They just go around eating grass all day.

TIMOTEO: That's quite insightful, Tiger. People wouldn't have any idea of what a philosopher you are--especially since you never commented on much of anything before. You know, people would have really LISTENED to you, if you'd had anything to say.

TIGER: Well, I'm a new man now. And I'll tell you one thing already. I think Michelle Obama is one of the hottest...er, I mean NICEST looking First Ladies we've had in a long time.

TIMOTEO: Final question...any target date for your return to golf?

TIGER: No, but it will be sometime this summer. I aced that apology, as you know, and I can feel the momentum building--the world wants me back! Just imagine--me stepping out on that course again...the crowd going wild...the networks breaking into their regular programming to show me teeing off--live. REDEMPTION! And then the inevitable movie they'll make about Tiger's rise from the ashes. Who do you think should play me?

TIMOTEO: Oh, Denzel Washington. No question.

TIGER: Yeah, I like that. Is this a great country or what?

TIMOTEO: It surely is, Tiger. It surely is.


Monday, February 15, 2010

ASSUMING THE POSTURE (A Presidents Day reflection)



The National Cemetary at Andersonville, Georgia. Hundreds of identical white grave markers standing at attention, lined up in perfect formation. Regiment of ghost soldiers ready to march into battle. Not even room for a full name: Newel, Strups, Arnold--anonymous as a grey wave charging the hill...

Fascinating, these tintypes of the Civil War. One thing I can say is that these folks were experts in the lost art of posturing--every photo is choreographed like a stage production. Thirty men--doctors and surgeons--in and around the hospital where they work...and every one of 'em striking a stance or a profile, even the guys inside looking out the windows!

Inside the trenches before Petersburg, Virginia...Union soldiers waiting to meet their fate--and on the rise above them their commanders gazing into the distance, but unmistakably POSED, as if the eye of the camera supersedes all concerns.

General Robert E. Lee...dandified, a dapper looking fellow in bow tie, vest, and waistcoat. Your slacks are the perfect length and your shoes so shiny they reflect the sunlight. You sent your infantry charging federal artillery emplacements on Malvern Hill and they were slaughtered. You took a long time dressing...they spent a short time dying.

General Ulysses S. Grant...dressed to the nines like your Confederate counterpart--posing like a movie star at Cold Harbor, where your blundering offensive against entrenched rebel forces caused seven thousand Union casualties in a span of twenty minutes.

Dead confederate soldier in the trenches--April 3rd, 1865, Petersburg, Virginia. You look no more than 14 for God's sake. Lying on your back, head with its shock of blonde hair tilted at an angle--I swear there's a hint of a smile on your lips, as at the moment of sexual release, when one also gives his full measure...

President Lincoln and his generals at Antietam...you tower above your men, Abe, but then you're the only one with a stove pipe hat--even in your day, you must have been a laughing stock of fashion--perhaps you were trying to draw attention away from your ears, huge as grapefruits.

Mary Todd Lincoln, the First Lady...all decked out in your balloon skirt, a crown of flowers in your hair--dressed more like a queen--but plain looking at best. He broke off his engagement to you once, and I think he'd have rather had a hole in the head than marry you...an admonition for the rest of us to be careful what we wish for.

John Wilkes Booth--hair so curly as to be unmanageable, hand resting inside your jacket--a typical affectation of the times--in your case, however, we're not sure if you're reaching for a concealed weapon or what.

Alexandria, Virginia...the sign on the three story building says: PRICE, BIRCH, & CO.--DEALERS IN SLAVES. Here's where I put myself into the picture. I walk up to the two soldiers sitting on the bench near the door and say, "Howdy boys...you can probably guess I'm not from around here, but I just came by to say that I think...that if you could WIN, perhaps it would save us from a place called VIETNAM--and if you could win, maybe it could save us from a place called IRAQ, and a place called AFGHANISTAN. But I gotta tell ya this idea of human beings as chattel is reprehensible, and it's going to stain you and your descendants for more than a century to come. And I wonder why we always have to KICK SOMEBODY'S ASS--or they have to kick ours, before any of us can comprehend the error of our ways!" (This is where I magically disappear, before they can spatter me with tobacco juice.)

Unfortunate, because I wanted to tell them that one day, this reunified nation would become the most potent force for good...or evil...in the world.At times POSING as one, while essentially becoming the other.

And I wanted to tell them that if THEY could win, perhaps they could save us from ourselves.




Thursday, February 11, 2010

TO HOPEFUL ROMANTICS EVERYWHERE








Love is the riskiest of endeavors
A gamble you take with a perfectly good friend
That the two of you will become perfectly good lovers
Or two people who likely will never speak to each other again

So go for it moonlight gamblers...

Roll the dice
Don't think twice
You're skating on pretty thin ice
But what else in this world is worth the price?

Monday, February 8, 2010

NOT ON MY WATCH



I got lotsa gypsy images
go fleeting through my brain
at the speed of sight

Dozing into a multi-shaded basket of leaves
deep brown hue of Shangri-la City
I put my pen behind the stems of your heart

Temptation in the sky
attached to a slipped-wing disc

A saw cuts up the molecules
and how many families are separated
rearranged
never knowing they're part
of the same structure

If you leave a legacy for your children
you've made your life worthwhile
but they don't give a damn
they're too far ahead of you
to do anything but camp on your doorstep

Pollywogs for breakfast
make a cross-country runner
zip and joggle
and turn loop-de-loops
at ten feet in the air

A peripheral idea is merely
a central one
blown apart
like the universe eons ago

Each person makes his own creation
through the interpretation
of what you've laid down

Mental catharsis makes a good laxative
but the involuntary organs overdo it

Silly things
have always been
the rabbits
of my ear

Impotence, young man?
Not on my watch !

It's only a game
so why be strict about the rules?

All ending are arbitrary
because we think we need them
thus...