No More Poems
That's it. I'm not writing any more lazy free verse office supply poetry for Paul. I don't like what it does to people. For example, Orlando's Jan Peters read my last poem aloud and both of his canaries died. Mr. Kinny read one of my office supply poems and decided to move out of the neighborhood. I received an email from him two days later. It said, "I have downed several trees and am constructing a small cabin on National Park land. What can they do to me? Absolutely nothing. What do you use for chinking when you build your cabins? Write back soon." I haven't replied yet. I'm trying to remember what I used for chinking last time I built a cabin. I'm also trying to remember when I built a cabin, and where I put it when I finished it.
6 Comments:
I think you might be narrating my inner voices...
It's somewhat disturbing but kind of gratifying in a creepy sort of way. It's as if there's someone out there who knows me, really knows me. Well, at least the part of me that is really into office supplies and jokes about cranes and zebras.
And, I'm sad about no more poems. It made me think you might enjoy my bad poetry... here's the link:
http://my-bad-poetry.blogspot.com/
Or not. I don't know if that's bad form. To suggest that you check out my poetry blog - is that bad blog etiquette? Is that unbearably arrogant of me? Hmmm. Probably, but your blog made me laugh out loud, so hard that I wanted to write out the words laugh out loud, not just abbreviate them in cryptic e-speak -lol. I hate that.
So long,
YL
For chinking, you always use Chinks.
Chinkie Chinkie Chinaman, sitting on a fence,
Trying to make a dollar out of 15 cents.
That is the awful poetry I was taught as a child (1937). So now that you mention it, I guess I would not be good at building a log cabin, because of the chinking problem.
It pleases me no end, however, to provide you with some cool poetry.
Tear, I am heartbroken now! I was waiting for something about a stapler a' la Office Space. I suppose I shouldn't ask for too much; I crashed the car that guy gave me (why else would he leave the keys in there?)! Thanks Esther, for always thinking of me and know that deep down in my heart theres some scotch tape waiting for you!
I believe you were provideing a valuable service to the world by culling the weak through poetry. When things die it is usually because they deserved it.
What, Calliope got up and left town? Without you or Edgar Guest what will become of us?
I secretly want more inappropriate poetry from 1937.
Does anyone know any poems about the Irish?
Post a Comment
<< Home