I Was a Teenaged Poet With Good Intentions
By Michael Lawrence
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 at the moment.
--Steven P. Hanibuuk
So here come my three absolutely brilliant poems and
anal-assists:
POEM # 1
Pain
I hate poetry so much
I just want to kick it
Make me do another and
I'll tell you to stick it
Poetry makes me puke
And whine and makes me cry
and talk like Regis Philbin
Oh damn I want to die
Peacefully
In. The. Rain.
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.
Me: Mom! Don't call me that! It's going in my paper for Pete's
sake!
Dad: Shut up, son, and eat your asparagus.
Me: But they're on fire.
Mom: [smiling] Mmmmm? You know what that means. Extra protein!
Me: Okay.
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 twat
when he twist one dime-speckled snot
ere thine eye and ere thine head
thou shan't bend scabs if thine bled
ev'r if there nev'r an ap'st'phe
th'se flock'n' poe's m'ke a fool of m'e
'twas thine orange
grand grit florange?
if one burple
thus be purple?
of thine smonth
'twas tight month?
tinged twat monkey billy billy bing bong
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
Worthsword: How doth thy do?
Man or Woman (I'm trying to be politically correct now): What?
Worthsword: 'twas I who spoke, how doth thy do.
Man or Wo (I'm surprised feminists didn't have the 'man' removed from
their gender by now): What?
Worthsword: Ah, bless'd the infant Babe!
Man or Wo: Whatta whatta whatta?
Worthsword: Of subtler origin; how I have felt
Man or Wo: What? What origin?
Worthsword: Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Gill
Man or Wo: Gill? Who's Gill?
Worthwords: She was a woman of a stirring life
Man or Wo: [now ignoring famous poet] So, I've heard.
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
had a dog
and bingo was his name-o
b
i
n
g
o
yes
bingo
was his
name-o
tinged twat monkey billy billy bing bong
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.
Rhythmic Porpoise: Name-o!
Me: What's you're name?
Rhythmic Porpoise: Name-o!
Me: Do you want to know my name, little dolphin? Why it's Steve!
Rhythmic Porpoise: Name-?hey, look kid, I'm not a dolphin. I'm a
rhythmic porpoise.
Me: Oh?sorry.
Rhythmic Porpoise: Name-o!
Me: Wait, where's your bottle nose?
Rhythmic Porpoise: Jeez, man! I ain't a dolphin! So I don't HAVE a
bottle nose!
Me: Oh. Okay.
Rhythmic Porpoise: And if call me a dolphin again, punk, I'll thwack
off your arms.
Me: [rubbing my left bicep defensively] That wouldn't be nice!
Rhythmic Porpoise: Damn straight.
Me: So, Mr. Rhythmic Porpoise, have you ever met Flipper?
Rhythmic Porpoise: Heck no, all dolphins are bums.
Me: How can you call dolphins bums?
Rhythmic Porpoise: I open my mouth and say it, dumb nut.
Me: No, no. I mean, what's your reason for calling all dolphins
bums?
Rhythmic Porpoise: Because all dolphins are stupid.
Me: Dolphins aren't stupid! They're smart creatures!
Rhythmic Porpoise: Smart?! Haah! I bet Hollywood made you say
that!
Me: Look, they have about a billion folds in their brains?
Rhythmic Porpoise: Yeah, that only makes them mentally bent.
Me: What do you have against dolphins, anyway, Mr. Rhythmic
Porpoise?
Rhythmic Porpoise: Because WE'RE discriminated against because of
them!
Me: What? How?
Rhythmic Porpoise: Okay, tell me something. What's printed on every
single can of tuna?
Me: Tuna.
Rhythmic Porpoise: Yes. What else?
Me: Could cause stomach cramps.
Rhythmic Porpoise: What else?
Me: Not for children under 18.
Rhythmic Porpoise: What else?
Me: Shake well.
Rhythmic Porpoise: What else?
Me: Beware of strobe lights.
Rhythmic Porpoise: Dude! They all say "dolphin safe." So, why isn't
tuna porpoise safe?
Me: [confused] Umm? well, aren't they also porpoise safe?
Rhythmic Porpoise: Yes.
Me: So what's the problem?
Rhythmic Porpoise: Well, they created dolphin safe tuna SPECIFICALLY
FOR DOLPHINS! Why doesn't anyone care about us porpoises? We're cute,
fuzzy, and cuddly too ya know!
Me: [confused and trying to change subject] So, can you do that
laugh?
Rhythmic Porpoise: What, you mean 'hah haah?'
Me: No, no. The Flipper laugh.
Rhythmic Porpoise: [begins to have nervous breakdown] I'M NOT A
DOLPHIN! JEEZ! SO I DON'T LAUGH LIKE ONE, YOU TINGED TWAT MONKEY BILLY
BILLY BING BONG!
Me: Hey, cool down.
Rhythmic Porpoise: Wait a second. What's a *rhythmic* porpoise?
Oh, and that explains the final line of TWICKY -- "tinged twat 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.
2) (Intellectual) No. It may look like that on the SURFACE, but if you
go deeper, you'll realize that it's a social commentary on political
issues.
3) (Intellectual) Ooo! I seriously doubt that, Number 2. You didn't
read far enough into the poem. The author is obviously blind and deaf
and brilliantly tries to describe his world to us.
4) (Intellectual) No, no, no! Do you guys have goop for brains? This
poem is a brilliant satire on the censorship of American television!
Notice the title: Empty Lines.
5) (Engineer) Ahhh, phooey. You guys are thinking too hard. There was a
glitch at the printing press.
6) (Here's my response) Dudes! If you stare at that blank space long
enough, I swear you can see Marilyn Monroe dancing with Abraham
Lincoln!
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 1968 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.
24\% said it's about a totally flipped out-hippie named Lucy who tries
to get high by smoking almonds.
15\% said it's about Paul McCartney's death aboard an alien
spacecraft.
10\% said it's about a woman named Lucy who had two kaleidoscopes
surgically installed in front of her eyeballs by a doctor named
Almonds.
2\% said "Peace out, man."
And 1\% were too busy licking toads.
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.
Me: Why thank you, Mr. Elton!
John Elton: Why, you're very welcome, Mr. Steve. Your poems [sniffle]
have changed my life forever.
Me: Wow, I'm flattered!
John Elton: No--I'M flattered. And thanks for the money!
Me: [whispers] Dude! I thought we were going to talk in code.
John Elton: [confused]
Me: Remember? Seven Bribes for Seven Brothers?
John Elton: Oh yeah. I'm sorry, little man. [clears throat] Thanks a
million!
Me: [awkward laugh] Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but it's four
o'clock in the morning and I have to go to school in three hours. And I
still have yet to get in my recommended nine hours of sleep.
John Elton: Oh dear.
Me: [confused] I don't see what deer have to do with it.
John Elton: Well Mr. Steve, I don't want to keep you so goodbye yellow
brick road.
Me: Goodbye, Norma Jean.
