This poem has training wheels,
because—having read it over
twice now—I’m convinced it simply
cannot
stand
alone.
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Props, dude.
Jeff, you’re a genius!
heckuva lot better than deb’s poetry.. funnier than her stand up act too… not to mention smarter.
As for me, I feel my IQ slipping dangerously lower
This is not a poem,
It doesn’t even rhyme;
You may think that it’s met-
Rical, but it isn’t
Particularly.
Training wheels are for balance while riding, not for helping a bike stand alone. If one wants a bike to remain upright while it’s stationary, the bike needs a kickstand, not training wheels.
I was going to revoke your poetic license, but I’ll let you off with a warning.
This
Naked Poetry
Shall
Not
Stand.
This blog has training wheels
Becaue–having read it for over
Two years–I’m convinced its author
eats
too much
paste
Consider this – bikes wtih training wheels do not need kickstands. Mine doesn’t.
I can kick my training wheels but I can’t stand my… um…
Can’t stand my…
I got nothin’.
Happy meals?
Methadone? Dude, what?
I hope I don’t lose sleep over this.
Can’t stand my…spoke cards.
sphinctersayswhat?
Awww, he’s no fun.
He fell right over.
– I condemn that poem
– since it can’t stand alone
– and it doesn’t even ryhme
– Like this one doesn’t either
So I condemn it too
Wu Wei?
(Those Chinese have a word for everything!)
How recursive of you…
Was that before or after he passed a gas station?
Reminiscent of “Them” poems, created by Mason Williams, who also wrote & performed “Classical Gas” the guitar solo. “Them” poems were all the rage on college campuses in the early 1960’s.
How about them training wheels,
Ain’t they a hoot?
Keeps Jeff’s poem
From smelling like a poot.
Ah, Classical Gas. Love that tune.
And while I am only a Goddess of a science classroom, I like the poem. It is short, sweet, and gets to the point.
The best kind of poetry.
Thank you, Teacher’s Pet. Your are justly worshipped. Now spank me, please.
Ah. OK. This I get. This is good. Like e.e.cummings, right?
Very nice – but my praise is lightly regarded in this area, Jeff. Wait for Gail H. to come in – if she gives you the nod, then feel free to beam with appropraite pride.
Transfigure your idea! for rhyme and scan
Be servant to a crux within your reach;
As brilliant strike transfixes jumbled land
So measured pitch stands from the yawp and screech.
Restraint and focus best sustain your way
To realize poetic ends bards know,
Cry no!â€â€it’s rampant feeling screams display?
Fling wide then passion’s throat for outburst flow.
Yet think, spawn of McKuen and the rest,
That vomit from a drunk is so expressed.
Have you tried working on its poetic feet?
If your poem can’t stand alone, then why can cheese?
If you enjoy Jeff’s poetry hit the tip jar so he can buy himself a bottle of this.
There is something wrong with this poem. Can you find it.
TW: Surface, as in on the surface these poems seem quite similar. Have you been falling asleep listening to my poetry reading CDs again?
– I seldom buy canned cheese…. Unless of course, it’s well written….
TW: The law of “rapt gouda is bettah”.
what?
That poem needs axle grease,
for no particular reason
other than the fact that it’s
squeaking
in
my head.
Fuck Kerouac.
Okay, that’s the second Firesign reference I’ve seen in ten days.
And we have comments in iambic pentameter that reference Rod McKuen.
I love this blog.
yours/
peter.
peter did you want to send that Firesign reference by day wire, night wire, or guaranteed delivery?
Best dang poem I’ve seen since:
A decrepit old gasman named Peter,
while working around a gas heater,
touched a leak with his light;
he rose out of sight–
and as anyone who knows anything
about poetry can tell you
he also ruined the meter.