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Write a poem and GO BACK TO THE MAIN STORIES PAGE! I Was a Teenaged Poetby Steven P. Danes Dear Mrs. Knipp, Before you start reading this poetry, I would like to let you to know how I feel about the issue. Poetry sucks. I can’t believe that you actually expect me to come up with THREE poems. I'm no William Worthsword, John Keaton, Theodor "Dr. Soos" Gizzard, or Sylvester Stallone. I don't have poetry running through my blood. Heck, the only thing I do have running through my blood right now is blood... and 45% alcohol. I cannot possibly see how I can accomplish writing three entire poems in one night. I know you gave us a whole month, but what kind of dope would start early? Not I! I don't touch the stuff. I also think the fact that we have to anal-eyes our own poems is a really dumb idea. You’re the only one I know of who is truly capable of properly anal-eyes-ing anything -- being an English teacher and all. Anyway, this was probably the worst assignment you've ever given me and probably the worst in my entire life even though at the moment I can't remember that far back. --Steven P. Danes So here come my three absolutely brilliant poems and anal-assists: POEM # 1 Pain I hate poetry so much
Poetry makes me puke
Peacefully
This is an excellent poem. I really like the imagery I use here. When it says "I just want to kick it" that reveals everything about my inner child. I kick all sorts of things -- squirrels and such. However, in another sense, this line gives the reader the image of me kicking the concept of poetry itself. This is a prime example of figurative language. So, what I'm trying to get across here is that I'm kicking a really hot babe. The line "I'll tell you to stick it" refers to me sticking something up somebody's something. What exactly I'm sticking and where is not apparent to the average reader. However, the answer to that is actually revealed in the next line: "Poetry makes me puke." This refers to me sticking poetry up somebody's throat because I hate it so much. However, in turn, it makes the other person puke poetic lines. This is precisely what happened to Walt Whitman, John Hamster, and Robert Brownie. I, on the other hand, don't need this poetic remedy. All I need is my little brown paper bag with a bottle of Jeff Daniels inside. The line "And whine and makes me cry" refers to me drinking whine until I cry. Even though I never actually drank normal whine. What this refers to, however, is, when I was an alcohol-fascinated youngster, I used to make grape Kool-Aid and set it in the garage for about two weeks. When the two weeks were finally up, I would drink the fermented result. This whine was so sophisticatedly exquisite that it made me cry proud, aristocratically-sneery tears. What this whine did also is make me "...talk like Regis Philbin." Even though Regis hadn't emerged as a game show host yet when I was a child, the Kool-Aid whine actually gave me a psychic connection with his future self. Therefore, I became the very first Reeg impersonator. I used to say this to the garage-rodents: Me As Regis: Oh-kay! Way to go! For the ONE million dollars: what is the capital of Madagascar... Is it A) Paris B) Bologna, Italy C) The Sun or D) Steven Segal? Mouse: Squeak! Me: "Is that your...final answer?" Mouse: Well, Reeg. It most certainly cannot be Paris because I am reasonably certain that it is located somewhere in Quebec. Hmmm... the Sun? It seems I have heard that place from somewhere before... That city is somewhere out in space, is it not? Well, Madagascar does sound rather like it comes from space...but for some reason "Sun" and "Madagascar" simply do not sound like they would go well together. So the Sun probably is not the capital of Madagascar. You see, "Washington D.C." and the "U.S.A." go together because they both involve acronyms. "Norway" and "Sweden" go together because they rhyme. So, I'd imagine that this is an "Iceland" and "Reykjavik" situation, because they obviously do not go together. So, the Sun is ruled out. Bologna, Italy...hmmm... Steven Segal...I believe they are Broadway plays if I'm not mistaken. Well Reeg, I definitely have to go with Squeak. Final answer. Me: No! Wrong! And then I'd smash the mouse with a stick Which brings us to: "Oh damn I want to die." Later on in life, I really felt sorry for all the rodents I killed in the garage as a child. I've nearly committed suicide over one day it by eating my mother's oven-burnt asparagus. I was truly traumatized: Mom: Here's some asparagus, Stevie Sweetie.
That wasn't a proud day for me. That brings us to "Peacefully. In. The. Rain." which is really there for no particular reason, except it gives the poem a more poetic edge. It's like Earnest Heminghay, except better. Overall, this is, simply, an amazing poem. Perfect in every aspect. It's undoubtedly one of the greats of modern litter-archer. POEM #2 TWICKY 'twas betwixt thine tang tethered knot
'twas thine orange
of thine smonth
This poem is in "poet’s style" so it's mostly composed of archaic words (which means that it's a strange version of English that 55 percent of poets actually speak in). Here's a typical conversation with the world-famous poet William Worthsword: Man: Hello
Anyway, that poem is a bit tricky to anal-eyes as it is written (hence the title), so I'll translate it into normal English for you: TWICKY there was a farmer
g
was his
There is no normal English equivalent to that final line, but --don't worry-- I'll explain it to you later. Here's the TWICKY anal-assist: The first line "there was a farmer" signifies the presence of a farmer. The second line "had a dog" signifies the fact his wife gave birth to a child who was pretty much normal except for one unusual feature -- it had a pug nose. The third line is "and bingo was his name-o." "Bingo" is what the farmer said when he figured out who his wife was having an affair with (James "Pug Nose" Jordan, their next door neighbor). Unknowingly, however, right before the farmer said "bingo," the nurse asked him what he wanted to name the child. The fourth - eighth lines signify the farmer’s ability to spell. The ninth line "yes" is what the farmer’s wife said when she admitted to having an affair with their next door neighbor. However, she wanted her husband to know specifically that it occurred due to emotional responses triggered by afternoon soap operas. The tenth line "bingo" is a repeated word for rhythmic porpoises. The eleventh line "was his" is implying that the "rhythmic porpoises" are products of the past. The twelfth line "name-o" is the most common porpoise word in the world. Confused? I bet you are. So here’s a real conversation I had with a porpoise: Me: Hello, Mister Dolphin.
Oh, and that explains the final line of TWICKY -- "tinged knot monkey billy billy bing bong." Nobody really knows what it means except the fact that, for all practical porpoises, it's the highest degree of insult. I don't know if you've picked up on it yet, but this poem also exhibits quite brilliantly-constructed irony. Notice that the title of the poem is in all capital letters yet the poem itself is lowercase. How ironic! Here's a letter I got back from the famous poet, Emily Stickybun, after I sent her this poem to critique (I took the liberty of putting some of her reply into context): Dearest Steve Hanibuuk, Your poetry the most [lovely] piece of sh[ow] that I have ever had the [fortunate pleasure] of reading in my entire life. By reading this absolute insult to [stupidity] it makes me want to commit [happiness, because I now know that the greatest poet that has ever lived has finally written his masterpiece]. I hope you [well]. Furthermore, I hope you burn in [heaven]. [Love]k you, Emily Stickybun Thanks Emily! I must fully agree with Ms. Stickybun when I say that "TWICKY" is certainly one of the greatest poems that ever lived. It should not only receive an A, but a Pullover Prize as well. POEM #3 Empty lines This is undoubtedly the most brilliant poem in the stack. The greatest thing about this poem is the fact it's open to mounds of intellectual interpretation. Here are some things the reader might say in response: 1) (Non-intellectual) This poem is about a snow storm.
While this poem is really intended to be about Marilyn Monroe dancing with Abraham Lincoln, it's truly brilliant just the same because everybody can interpret it differently and it still makes complete sense. (Despite the fact that I've already told the whole world what it's about.) It's kind of like that Beatles hit: "Lucy in the Sky with Almonds." Here's an actual poll taken in 1967 asking what the public thought the song means: 47% said "Lucy in the Sky with Almonds" is about Satan trying to corrupt children and turn them into Slaves of Sin.
Of course the person who actually WROTE the song, Vladimir Lenin, said the song can actually be taken at face value. He said it's really a message to George Orwell telling him to go to his animal farm and stick it. See how easily the meaning of poems (and lyrics) can be interpreted differently? Believe it or not, they've actually made a movie out of 'Empty Lines.' It starts next Friday. Hey, and I bet you've already seen the trailer! Just in case you haven't, here’s what it says: "Critics are raving about the upcoming new smash hit, Empty Lines! "'Empty Lines is brilliant!' hails film critic Roger Ebert. 'Even though it's the worst movie I've ever seen, it didn't have to waste my time in the process!' "'It's so heart-wrenching, I almost had a heart attack!' raves USA Today. 'Because it wasn't until I sat down when I noticed the concession workers didn’t put extra butter in my popcorn like I had asked. But then I found out that it was okay because I wouldn’t have had time to eat it anyway!' "And Rolling Stone raves 'I saw her today at the reception, a glass of wine in her hand. I knew she was gonna meet her connection, at her feet was her footloose man!' "Rated G for possible language, possible violence, and possible sexual content from audience members." I can't wait for it to come out! I get to go to the world premier, too! I invited a couple of famous actresses including I-known-a-writer! (Boy, I hope I'm able to woo her into shoplifting my heart.) *** The three poems I wrote, "Pain," "TWICKY," and "Empty Lines" are simply brilliant pieces of work. You would be going against the opinion of Emily Stickybuns, Roger Ebert, and John Elton if you don't give me an A+. Oh my! I've forgotten to mention the part about John Elton! John Elton: Steve Hanibuuk deserves an A+ for his poems.
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