Words from the Wiggle Room

[» ~ V ~]

Greetings,

I have been encouraged to share my words with you. I do not have much new work, so some of you may be familiar with the material that I am going to post. I apologize.

Context: I live in Suburbia.
I have been domesticated ~ 2 kids, a wife, a house, no drugs (aside from anti-depressants).
I am a school teacher.
I am in over my head.


If anything that you read inspires you, please make good use of the energy. Respond with photos, sketches, words of your own, etc.

I will try to log on frequently and add to this strand. This first poem was published in a local small press journal.


Thank you,

~ V ~
___________________________________________________________________________________

The Land of Happy Cows

We're talking about animals
(actually, we're arguing about meat)
when his kid sister catches me off guard.
"Hamburger comes from cows?" she asks.
I look at her tiny mouth. No smile. Teeth hidden.

Her eyes ~ Bambi wide ~ show me a place
where pink patties hang from tree branches
and steaks are carefully cut from thick meaty trunks.
I see smiling farmers pulling ribs from the soft sides
of bushes. They pick sausages in bunches
from long winding vines.

Happy cows prance through farm yards and open fields,
sharing their milk with pigs and sheep and deer and ducks
and rabbits and turkeys and chickens
and, of course, other cows
and little children.

I want to teach this little girl a new word,
(Can you say "Slaughterhouse?")
but she has butterflies holding back her hair,
and she really looks worried.

I reach over, steal her nose,
and put it in my pocket.

[» Sahar]

I love that. Very touching and greatly visual.

[» tikigeo]

That is really great! It ends perfectly. Got any fiction or short stories?
My spidersense tells me you are quite good. Please post more.

[» ~ V ~]

The Next One is a Prose Poem ~ Published in Rattle

Enjoy,

~ V ~

___________________________________________________________________________________

Spam Is Maps Spelled Backwards

He sits naked at the table with a can of Spam. He has never met anyone who has actually eaten it, but he has heard plenty of people talk about it. He has heard it described as an enigma packed in aluminum. He has joined others in speculating about its origin. Does it come from some strange Australian creature that lays meaty loaves instead of eggs? Or, is it imported from Mexico, another outrageous product to test our stupidity, like the toxic worms at the bottom of Tequila bottles? He wraps the tablecloth around himself like a poncho and reads the side of the can: Packed by Hormel Food Corporation, Corporate Office, Austin, MN. Minnesota? It doesn't make sense. He has read stories in Internet chat rooms about the magical qualities of Spam, indirect consequences of its mysterious nature. "Rub the loaf on your eyelids, and you will be able to see through walls." "Place the loaf in the hollow of an oak tree, and acorns will give way to strange and luscious fruit." "Six loaves in the basement will heat your home for the entire winter." He can't believe that something so special would hail from Minnesota, home of the Common Loon and the Showy Lady's Slipper. He turns the can, sure that he will find a better explanation in the list of ingredients: Pork with Ham, Salt, Water, Sugar, Sodium Nitrite. Sodium Nitrite!! He jumps up from the table. The tablecloth flaps behind him like a cape as he runs into the living room and grabs his trusty dictionary: Sodium...alginate...barbital...cyanide...dichromate. Sodium flouride... glutamate... hydroxide...nitrate...pentothal. There is no Sodium Nitrite. Hormel must have made a mistake. He reads the definition for Sodium Nitrate: A white crystalline compound used in solid rocket propellants, in the manufacture of explosives and glass and pottery enamel, and as fertilizer. He slams the dictionary shut and returns to the table. The yellow letters glow on the blue background of the label: SPAM. He pops the top of the can and peels back the thin layer of metal. The smooth skin of the loaf resembles an exposed brain, throbbing with potential. Light plays off the moist pink surface, reminding him of a fortune teller's crystal ball. He gazes into it, certain that he will find the answers to all his questions, the solutions to all his problems, and the best routes to everywhere he wants to go.

[» ~ V ~]

Closet Hero

Clark Kent finally gets a date with Lois Lane.
He takes her to a little restaurant on the east side of Metropolis.
They have a few drinks and bitch about the Daily Planet.
Clark does his Jimmy Olsen impression. Lois giggles
and moves to his side of the table. X-ray vision shows
she's wearing lacy black underwear.

Lois feeds Clark a bite of lobster with her fork.
A group of gun-toting gorillas storm into the restaurant,
demanding jewelry and bananna cream pie.
They tell everyone to hit the floor.
Clark sneaks off, leaving Lois face down on her belly
with a seventy-five dollar check on the table.

Superman shows up with butter on his lips.
He makes quick work of the apes and helps Lois off the floor.
He offers to fly her home. She accepts with the condition
that they stop by a liquor store on the way.
High above Metropolis, Superman says, "It's sure lucky
Kent called when he did."
Lois snorts and says, "Clark Kent is a dickless bastard."

A few hours later, Superman swallows some Kryptonite
in a suicide attempt. Coming out isn't an option
for a man of steel.

[» tikigeo]

I can't get enough of this stuff.

[» air]

I've been a fan for years. He's got plenty more.
That last one had me laughin' out loud and capering around the house.
Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll drop "Morning In the New Wonderland" in here...
... or perhaps something a bit twistier

[» ~ V ~]

This next one is for the tall gentleman standing in the back. Children, gather here ~ up front ~ to ensure that you can see.

~ V ~
___________________________________________________________________________________

Morning in the New Wonderland

The cream blends perfectly with my coffee.
The sun reaches in through the window to massage my shoulders,
and my favorite song is on the radio.

The baby's in a good mood, thrilled to be
in his jolly jumper. I smile at him and he smiles back.
My mother calls ~ she still loves me.

My little sister finally found a job.
On the other line, my wife tells me that she can't stop thinking
about my new poem.

I open the morning paper ~ nothing but funnies.
The mailman comes early, hands me two letters and a check,
and offers to mow the lawn.

My wife's obnoxious cat runs out the door,
carrying a suitcase. The television turns into a butterfly
and floats away.

I finish my coffee and it's time to feed the baby.
His bottle feels good in my hand, so I sneak a sip.
Suddenly, I'm a hundred feet tall.

The house fits me like a dress. The baby's crying.
I rock him to sleep between my fingers
and set him in the crib,

then I reach into the garden
for something to help me come down.

[» ~ V ~]

More domestic musings.
___________________________________________________________________________________

Animals in the Nursery

I hang a new mobile over the crib.
Four fuzzy animals spin
counterclockwise to Brahm's Lullaby.
My son turns his head,
mewing like a sick kitten.

Is he worried that the little lion
is going to drop down and maul him?
Or is he frightened for the smiling orangutan
whose long hairy arms are no match
for plush teeth?

Maybe he realizes
that his tree hugging father
is trying to initiate a campaign for animal rights
that won't allow for trips to the circus or zoo.

Has the miniature giraffe betrayed me?
I think I just heard it whisper:
"You will never eat meat, little boy. Ever."

I lean into the crib to kiss my son's forehead,
and he flinches.
I follow his eyes up to the mobile
and panic.

We are in a cage with wooden bars,
staring at the underside of an elephant.

[» tikigeo]

Ha! The mighty V does it again.

[» silky]

i love to read these words. they seem so very kind.
fantastic!

slk

[» ~ V ~]

I guess I will dust this one off. If I recall correctly, Rychard used to like it.
___________________________________________________________________________________

Have You Seen The T-Shirt That Says Beware of God?

I was drunk. Rodney was too.
He had something to say
about anarchy and self expression,
but his words wobbled more than the sidewalk.
I puked in the grass and saw an angel.
"This means something," I said.
Rodney kept talking ~ pissing in the street.
There was light in the church window.
It made the stained glass virgin glow.
I went around to the back door.
Rodney said, "Man,
priests don't stay up this late."
I said, "To hell with priests,
I'm looking for God."
The door was locked,
so I put my hand against the glass
and pushed. It broke,
and I shook hands with pain.
I pulled out and walked away ~ cursing.
Rodney said, "What happened, man?"
I raised my bloody hand
and said, "God bit me."


~ V ~

[» Rychard]

Yo ! V

Thanks for all this great stuff.
I am thrilled that you are posting.

I saw you comming back from lunch on Wed. with your ducklings in tow.