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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