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601. "This verse says much too little in way too many words.
Give the reader just the gist by reducing it by at least two-thirds."
Those were my teacher's comments as she handed me back my poem,
and as I was walking dejectedly back to my home,
I ripped my masterpiece to pieces ─ and flung my failing words at the birds.
602. My poetry teacher said, "If it's greatness you want to achieve
you shouldn’t be afraid sometimes to subtly deceive.
Because if you only poetize about the expected,
you’ll soon find yourself totally neglected.
So dare to include what may be a little hard to believe.
603. This topic is way too heavy for light verse ─
two, young guys hijacking an occupied hearse ─
then, racing around town ─
with both effing tops down!
Can you think of a teenage prank that was ever any worse?
604. When my dog and I go on a walk, he thinks he can go anywhere ─
on someone's driveway, their doormat, or against their patio chair.
And when I say, "No, no! Whatcha doing!?"
he gives me this look like, "Do you know with whom you're screwing?"
You don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out who the boss is here.
605. What we have to drink for dinner doesn't really matter ─
everything goes pretty well with pu pu platter.
So yes ─ that sweet, yellow wine
should go with this pu pu just fine ─
and it shouldn't be too taxing on my weak, overactive bladder.
606. Do you write the number 8 with two circles or with a squiggly line?
Oh, so you had to try it, before you could answer that question of mine!
Notice how we habitually do things without thinking.
Perhaps that's why this world is so stinking
full of people who do what's evil, while believing that what they do is actually benign.
607. It's not funny anymore ─
that you don't want to be my honey anymore ─
that it's never gonna be sunny anymore.
No, it's not funny anymore ─
that you're never gonna kiss and hug me anymore ─
that ...
Oh for Christ sake, stop it already!
608. Sorry, I know! That was over the top.
Sometimes I just don't know when to stop.
I shoulda done as Frost did,
who would've immediately tossed it,
had he written a poem so obviously a flop.
609. On a walk, my dog always knows when I'm freezing.
On a walk, my dog always knows when I have to pee.
That's why when I say, "Come on boy, we gotta hurry,"
he proceeds to go about his business ─ even more ploddingly.
610. Let bygones be bygones, my Dear.
And let's finish the last of this beer.
And while the old, white moon gapes,
let's traipse, like two wild apes,
haply into a phosphorous New Year.
611. We were only Magi from the East,
who, at the time, knew nothing about a Christmas feast.
A luminous star sent us looking for a new king,
but all we found was this scrawny looking thing,
who didn't look like a king in the least.
612. I once heard a myth about an uncle in Greece,
whose weenie size would daily increase,
so that after a while, when it unfurled,
it would go all the way round the world,
and end up in the lap of his niece.
613. I'm so bitchen, I'm so the best.
I got a leg up on all the rest.
That's what my dog thinks of himself, I'm sure he does.
And I agree that he's the best that ever was ─
cuz if I didn't ─ he'd be so goddamned depressed.
614. Only two o'clock ─ still an hour till it's three.
Time's passing slower than eternity.
Now it's four, and as anyone can see ─
I'm having trouble with this end-of-life monotony.
How much longer till it's five o'clock ─
and I can put my head upon the chopping block?
615. When I got back to writing the poem, the main character was gone.
I thought, “Holy shit! What the hell is going on!
How can a lead character just disappear?
Especially when the end of the poem was so near?
And now ─ how the hell am I gonna write the denouement?”
616. On a dog walk, soon as my dog's taken his dump and a piss,
I'm always in a state of minor heavenly bliss.
It may seem silly to say,
but with this requisite doggy stuff outta the way ─
there won't be another doggy achievement today
any greater than this.
617. If not for this fence, there'd be no shade,
and we'd be burning up watching this parade
of hellhounds and lizards ─
and three-headed wizards ─
and griffins with gross gizzards ─
making the little kiddies afraid.
618. I couldn't see her forest for her trees.
I couldn't see her knickers for her knees.
I couldn't see the lightening of her thunder,
No! Nothing of her top and nothing of her under ─
though I repeatedly asked her to show it to me ─ please!
619. I once knew a child of the devil,
who in her father’s fame did revel.
And boy, did she ever get mad
if anyone said anything bad about her dad.
Then, she'd take her rage at them ─ to the very next level.
620. Now that I’m old, I got a new perspective
on that age-old biblical directive ─
to sell all you got and give it to the poor.
I don’t really see anybody doing that anymore.
But then again, was it ever a command? ─ or only an elective?
621. She said, "Haven't I seen you somewhere?"
I said, "I don't think so. I've never been there."
She said, "No, I'm sure. I've seen you somewhere."
I said, "I swear. I've never even been there."
She sighed, "Okay, well them ─ fine!
That's the last time I try to use this for a pick-up line."
622. It's a perfect day for bananafish.*
But I know ─ it's not your favorite dish.
So, I can make you a plate
of deepfried orangeprimate,
and an appleoyster salad if you wish.
* Play on J.D Salinger story title
623. Remember that time
we found a dime
and bought two ice cream cones at Thrifty?
That may very well be
the only time you and me
shared anything fifty-fifty.
624. The birch trees that lined the Tennessee river
in the crispness of the morning air did shiver,
as on a dank, muddy bank,
an old man smoked his pipe and drank,
waiting for a big-ass bass
to bite his bait of bacon and chicken liver.
625. "Emma Blue?"
"Emma Blue? Emma Blue?"
"Not a bit. Are you?"
626. The team I was on,
managed to cross the Rubicon.
Then from midnight till dawn,
we continued to march on
till we reached the nearest unisex john.
627. If I’d realized he was about to lose his fight,
I woulda held on to him a little longer with all of my might.
As the vet administered the lethal dose,
and I saw his sweet eyes slowly close,
I stroked his head and wished him an eternal good night.
628. They flee from me, that sometime did me seek, *
those unborn poems that used to visit when I was on my winning streak.
But now that they realize my poetic brain's gone dry,
they no longer see any reason to stop by,
knowing full well I've long since passed my erstwhile word-smithing peak.
* Play on a poem by Thomas Wyatt.
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