Dumb Poetry in a Card Type Trash

The Dumb Poetry in a Card Type Trash was actually Renee’s
idea. She wrote the first few poems, then she thought it would be cool if
we both wrote a bunch of dumb poetry together one night, so we did it.
The first of my poems had many political themes interwoven in them, and I
later realized that they were really stupid. So I didn’t put those on
this page. Anyway, read and enjoy. Do not take any of these poems
seriously. We don’t want to be responsible for your psychiatric care if
it comes to that.

Landmark Poems

The BGT Poem

Billow

The Cemetery

Fiends

Herbert

The Identity Crisis Series

Introvert

Pepperoni and Sausage

Sewer

This is the poem that really started all the
dumb poetry. After Renee wrote it, she showed it to me and I read it. I
just about died laughing at it.

The BGT Poem

The sunset

fades on the

distant shore

the abstract

designs

rippling

as if undecided…

You come to my

mind, as you

wave your big green

thing.

eener


After this poem was when Renee thought of the Dumb Poetry
issue. So we wrote a bunch of dumb poetry for a couple hours, then stapled
the pages together and turned over the product to our audience, which at
that time consisted of five other people: my brother, my parents, Renee’s
mom, and Dory, a friend of both families. These are the best poems from
that first issue of Dumb Poetry in a Card Type Trash.

Questions

I ponder the

great questions

of life…

the blooming of the rose…

the workings of the ant…

the twinklings of the

stars…

and the fact that

Superman always

wears the same underwear

eener

The Key

Many ponder the

meaning of life…

I hold the meaning

of life

many will

never

realize

I hold the key to the

door…

but I just swallowed it.

eener

Unexpected

The final rays of

sunlight drift

across your uplifted face…

dancing, like elusive wood fairies

how do you hold a moonbeam

in your hand?

Perhaps the answer will never

be found, or perhaps the

answers to the great

questions of all time will

be discovered–

on the side of a milk carton.

eener

Renee likes this next poem. Short and to the point, sorta
like this intro, don’t you think?

The Cow

A flower in the garden

grows.

The cow in the pasture

poops.

melvan

Laboratory

The twisted amoeba

slithers

through

life

perhaps

always

wondering…

about the

huge eye always

on the

horizon

eener

This next poem has taken on a life of its
own. It will live forever in our minds as one of the (for lack of a better
word) grooviest poems ever written.

Sewer

I feel the pain

deep down…

I have felt this pain

before…

it is indescribable,

but I know you have

experienced it also…

It calls to me in an

exquisite voice, and I

know I must go–must

go and find a bathroom immediately.

eener

Junk

Junk

I stare as I walk

I trip

and fall on the floor

the junk has broken my fall

but I still cannot get up

melvan

The Radio

The radio burbles happily…

secretly regarding the listeners…

and spying…

the shadows take you…

piece by piece…

as memories from the

past…

climb into your ear…

and you happily

shove fish into your ear…

eener

Too Late

It takes you…

you howl in terror…

but there is no escape…

you violently inhale glue,

but it’s too late…

eener


After this issue of DPIACTT was finished and reviewed
by our critics (“You guys are insane!”), we decided to make another issue
that same night. So we stayed up late writing more poetry, some of which
made absolutely no sense the next morning (which is perfectly okay, since
we laugh at just about anything anyway).

The Eye

I saunter into the

school cafeteria…

receiving my plate,

and sitting at a

lovely blue table…

as I stare at my food,

it stares back at me…

the Tuna ala Blech regards

me with an unflinching

green eye…

and it is then that

I realize…

It is the eye of the

Lunch Lady

eener

My brother has an Amateur Radio license. There was a time
when that was all he thought about, talked about, or did. He was always
talking about how he was going to get a better antenna, or how much the
antenna he had then sucked, or something on that order. Renee & I picked
up on that and started writing poetry about antennas. We had an ongoing
joke about worshipping antennas. Here is one of Renee’s excursions into
antenna-dissing.

The Fawn

The unsteady fawn

wobbles on stilt-like legs…

she tumbles, unheeded to

the hard earth,

and is

impaled by

an

antenna.

eener

The next poem is one that I wrote, but
never thought funny. I was half asleep (or more) when I wrote it. Renee
read it and thought it was hilariously funny. I didn’t understand what
she thought was so funny about it. Since then, it has become another poem
with a life of its own. Enjoy.

Billow

Defeated.

Lawn ornaments

are defeated.

Nothing can

stop it.

Don’t try.

It’s useless.

The billowing billows

billow in the billowing billows.

I sleep on my pillow.

My pillow is punctured.

Defeated lawn ornaments.

They die soon.

melvan

Tooth

The skinny life form

grins

toothlessly…

he picks bugs happily of

his brother’s back,

and regards them

thoughtfully…

suddenly he erases himself,

and the world collapses…

eener

Opera

The piercing shriek,

emitted from a

button-popping fat man,

hovers, undecided,

and plunges down

the nearest toilet.

eener

Here is a sorta political poem written by Renee…now,
bear in mind that these poems were written in 1993, just after the
inaguration…if you’re not from the United States, you might not get it.
If you’re a liberal, you might not like it.

The Nothing

The nothingness

looms

beyond…

beyond…

our civilization watches

with trepidation…

the nothing sucks

the life out of those

nearest…

we scream in terror…

our existence is threatened…

but, alas, he will be

gone in 4 years…

eener

There are not enough words in the English
language to describe the effect that this next poem has had on us.
Renee was going through a phase in her life where she loved to make fun
of those pink flamingo lawn ornaments you see everywhere. We have
beaten this poem to death. It has had about five sequels.

The Cemetery

The tears fall

unchecked

from my eyes

as I stare at the cold

slab of cement that

marks your final

resting place…

I recall the times we

spent together…

the hideous pink lawn

ornament screams in

pain…

eener


These next few poems are from a more recent collection
called “The Lost Volumes of DPIACTT”. Most of them were written in the
church van on the way to a youth group skating activity. The first of
these is derived from another act of my brother. He was subscribed to
numerous mailing lists in which he received parts catalogs (for computers,
radios, etc.) almost every day.

Exit

It beckons irresistably…

the eye of the tomato

promises me great things,

I choose to believe,

and thus I sacrifice

my parts catalog.

eener

More antenna dissing…

Kite

The kite flies.

In the vast emptiness

the kite floats.

looking up, I observe the kite

I cry, as the kite

lodges in a black hole…

then it happened!

The antenna.

eener & melvan

I wrote the next poem, left with no title. Then Renee
added the title.

Oldsmobile

As I ponder and wander,

I wonder

if pondering and wandering

makes one wonder.

melvan

A moment of truth…

Meow

The elegant Siamese

cat

stretches and yawns…

he arches his back…

and contemplates the mouse…

the traveling salesman

screams in agony…

eener


These poems are from the third issue, which was
written five months after the first two. As you will soon tell, our
writing skills had improved immensely by this time. For instance, Renee
signed her name as “Alias Rear Window defogger…not!”

Denture

Twisted.

Dentures are twisted.

They clatter in the cup–

slurping up glue

and Pepsi–

vowing that someday

they’d travel under

20,000 toilets.

Dead. Skeleton. Rancid.

eener

Bang

Open–it welcomes

the public…

people swarm

over its black tiled

floors–

people pay to ogle–

the flying butresses–

a century has passed–

and it’s too late

for Matilda.

Bang.

eener

Stripe

Spittle–Mr. Meow.

He nods in agreement,

but still questions the

stripe.

eener

Blue

The misty blue

of the ripe blueberry

tempts me to

pluck it from the stem…

Mary had a little lamb

whose fleece was white

as snow,

e-i, e-i, o.

eener

Snow

A blanket covering the world–

it enfolds me in

soft white beauty…

the same,

yet all different–

the bungee cord

resembles a snake

as it strangles the

beast–

just as it was about

to burp up the

secret of life

eener

Ancient

Etched in stone

are the markings of

cavemen from

centuries ago.

Their final resting place

is none other than–

Excess water in the bathroom

melvan

The next poem is another one that sticks
around. You’ll soon see why.

Herbert

Confusion presides

in the enlosed space…

the last moonbeam fades

in the red sky–

the structure crumbles

in the distance…

as the viewers came to

the conclusion that

the structure, was indeed,

Elvis in his second life–

but alas Herbert

has outsmarted them all.

plop. plop. plop.

eener

Bong

The volcano bubbles,

and rumbles in a

threatening way–

and yea it did spew

forth the contents

of the deep–

which did contain

the Devil’s dirty dishes–

bong. bong. bong.

eener

And one of my personal favorites…

Introvert

The young pine tree

Quivers.

eener

Faded

Fading–

unable to be seen…

we question its existence–

but yet we smell it–

the final fragments

stick to the dead chicken’s

eyeball,

never to be seen again

Spaghetti, toad, armadillo.

eener

Duh

You look at me

with no hope left in your eyes.

Perhaps because–

you have no eyes…

eener

The

She ponders

the lifeless body

full of foot adornments.

The victim eyes

the bloated big toe–

crunch.

melvan & eener

Ed

Wigged

Wacked

Flipped

Flopped

Inverted

Epilepsy

eener


The next volume of Dumb Poetry in a Card Type Trash,
due to a clerical error, was also called Volume Three.

Picnic Basket

Courageously, she faces her opponent

he stands, tall and grim,

etched against the moonlit sky…

In the distance

a bombshell explodes

and screams of agony

join the chorus of crickets–

his facemask falls away

only to reveal

the picnic basket of death.

Banana. Orange. Apple.

eener

Dween

Innocent!

I am innocent!

My third cousin

is a salesman.

eener

Strawberry

Luscious,

a ripe red strawberry

hangs from the

lush green plant

in the middle of a field

in the middle of a farm

in the middle of a town

in the middle of Iowa

eener

Ranch

Shimmering icicles

hang from the

eaves of the house

a single droplet of water

journeys down the icicle

and onto the waiting snowbank.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch,

Herbert is trying to

conjugate verbs

at a frightening speed.

eener

Trust

I wonder

can I trust you,

or will you let me down?

I think I’ve found

the answer

and then it disappears

in a puff of smoke

and then comes a whisper

in my ear

“If you build it, they will come”

Unfortunately,

my eye inscriber

is out of order.

eener

Two

They line up against the wall–

the alligator man,

the kazoo man,

and the firefighter.

They have all come here

for one purpose–

They have come to

retrieve the Spleen of Dindor.

eener & melvan

A spoof on a very annoying television commercial, at least
to us.

H.C.F.M.

They smile at the viewers

convincingly–

bald men with fake hair.

One of them seems to

be in charge

He smiles at the camera

and says:

“Remember, I’m not only

the Hair Club president,

I’m also a big fat dork.”

eener


The fifth volume was titled “Volume
Something-or-Another”, because we both forgot which issue it was. How’s
that for teamwork? The first is about a popular musical artist, whose
name we will not mention, since you’ll probably be able to figure it out
for yourself anyway.

A Tribute

It doesn’t matter if you’re

black and white

Weee-ho

Or if you’re on drugs

Weee-ho

Or if your hair looks like

a lady’s

Weee-ho

Or if people mistake you

for your sister

Weee-ho

As for me…

Weee-ho

I’m black and white,

a lady and a man at the

same time!

eener

It

Eagerly he

approaches the

concealed being…

The exquisite voice calls

as he advances…

suddenly, the being

chokes on–what?

It violently thrashes about as

he peeks around the corner…

Hairball.

melvan

Another semi-political poem by Renee. Again, if you’re
liberal, you probably won’t find it funny, but I could be wrong.

Bill

Frantic–

the congressmen pickpocket

the commoners

at breakneck speed

They sign bills hurriedly

And they even signed

Bill. His face is easy to read.

eener

These next three poems come from Renee’s and my
experiences with the high school band. We both played clarinet (and bass
clarinet for one year). Band members are a totally different breed than
the rest of you out there. If you’ve ever been in band, you’ll
understand. If you haven’t, don’t think about it too hard…your brain
might blow up.

Clarinet

With a wild look in her eye,

she snapped the long

clarinet into playing position–

with spit flying, she played

a furious rendition of

“Christmas in Poland”

only to realize later

Her mouthpiece was

missing.

eener

And if you’ve ever played bass clarinet,
have you done what this poem is talking about? The title is Fiends.
Actually, when Renee was writing it, she meant to write “friends”, but
left out the r.

Fiends

The two fiends

played long black instruments

in small square cubicles

with backwards door handles,

they conspired–

and put their feet

at odd angles

into their horns.

eener

This one is about going back to playing a regular B flat
clarinet after playing a bass clarinet for the whole concert season.

Notes

He obviously is in a bad mood.

Yelling at trumpets.

“You lost two whole letter grades!”

Blat blat blat.

“Faster! Slower! Louder!”

AARGH!

Someone shrunk our horns!

melvan

Of course, being from Wisconsin, we have to include a few
complaints about our seemingly permanent winter weather. Here it
is…

Wisconsin version of “Little Boy Blue”

The pigs got out of the pen

the cows broke the fence

the sheep are in the corn

Where’s the boy who

looks after the sheep?

He’s under a haystack,

froze to death.

eener


The next issue was also called “Volume
Three”. I had mentioned to Renee that I thought it had been about a year
since we started the Dumb Poetry, so when she made the cover, she added
the phrase “Ten Year Anniversary Edition”. The first poem is one that has
taken on new meaning since I started working at Pizza Hut.

Pepperoni and Sausage

My tennis shoes

are an environmental threat

crustless little triangles

hop on the piano keys

performing “Chopsticks”

the end of the world is coming

while teethless hockey players

attack skaters.

Goodbye.

eener

Next we have a poem about a certain object that I had in
my room for a long time. It’s still there, it just doesn’t have any
batteries. Actually, I just figured out what it was about a few weeks
ago. It is a clock that says “This room has been declared a disaster
area.”

Disaster Area

Tick tock

tick tock

tick tock

tick tock

eener

Photographs

Old, faded photographs

tell stories from the past

toothpicks

hold sandwiches together

eener

These next two poems revive an old phrase we used when we
were in first grade. Neither of us remembers what it means anymore.

Old

He asks, “What is the

secret to your success?”

The wise sage ponders a

moment, then carefully,

deliberately, he answers:

“Sneelock Harn”

melvan

Older

She asks “What is the

secret to your powerful

political career?”

The politician doesn’t think,

but simply says

“I killed Sneelock Harn”

eener


These next poems come from the second
off-line edition of FME. Renee and I wrote them back and forth,
responding to the last one written.

Identity Crisis

Are you

my pituitary gland?

eener

The Answer

Yes

I am

your

pituitary

gland.

melvan

Identity Crisis II

I want to be

an Oscar Mayer Weiner.

eener

Identity Crisis III

So do

I.

melvan

Identity Crisis IV

I want to be

an

Identity Crisis.

eener

Conclusion

Gesundheit.

Fanny.

Weaselspit.

melvan

Identity Crisis, the sequel

Bang-bang.

I’m dead.

eener

Continued

Brush my teeth

and go to bed.

melvan

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