Mind Control

The media doesn't tell us what to think, it tells us what to think about. That's a whole lot scarier.

Texting While Rome Burns


From Yahoo! Online News: Jackson death was twittered, texted and Facebooked like wildfire: (AP)


BlackBerrys, iPods,
Facebook and Twitter.
They are the reason
we're in the shitter.

There once was a woman so heavy
She couldn't fit into her Chevy
She drove it about
With her ass hanging out
Till she plunged off the St. Louis Levee

There once was a little sonata
Who wanted to be a cantata
His voice was so bad
It drove people mad
They beat him just like a piñata.

I LOVE PUCCINI / O MIO BABBINO CARO (alternates between ¾ time and 4/4 bossa.)


I love Puccini
Giacomo's "Number One", but
If he were a Brasilian
He'd be a fav'rite son

He'd be a national hero
They'd name a street for him, yes!
A street in Ipanema
Right next to Tom Jobim

If he were a Brasilian, they would
Name ... a street ... for ....
I love Puccini
Giacomo's "Number One”

"Best Sex I Ever Had!"


When the Post headline came out in 1990, I wrote a finger-poppin' blues about the Donald. Can someone get the lyric to him? I'm hoping he'll sue me. I need the publicity.


THE DONALD

On a park bench, cold and damp
Sits a man named Donald Tramp
Dirty clothes, holes in his shoes
Three-day beard, he's yesterday's news
He rambles on about his life
Pulls out a picture of his ex-wife
She's blond and elegant, real high class
A very expensive piece of ass

Outta cash, outta luck, outta time
On the street, without a dime
Outta work, outta step, outta style
But The Donald had it all --- for a while

He had a great big ego, a big libido, too
So much charisma, he didn't know what to do
Marla said, "Best sex I ever had!"
Ivana said, "Donald, you've been very bad!"
He said, "Ivana, I need some time
You do your thing, and I'll do mine!"
The bankers and lawyers had a power lunch, they said
"We gotta beat that bitch to the punch!"

(Chorus)

Donald made Marla sign a pre-nup
But she couldn't hang 'til the five years was up - she said,
"Judge, it's invalid! He forced me to sign!
And half of his money is rightfully mine!"
They sold his casinos, seized his yachts
The courts and the creditors were calling the shots
Donald Tramp's broke - and cryin' the blues
And Marla's out shoppin' for a new pair of shoes

(Chorus)

S.N.A.F.U. BLUES


I got the S.N.A.F.U. BLUES ... I'm blue as I can be
I got the S.N.A.F.U. BLUES ... I'm blue as I can be
I got nothin' but trouble ...trouble from A to Z

I'm all stressed out ... I'm jumpy as a kangaroo
Yeah, I'm all stressed out ... Jumpy as a kangaroo
I'm climbin' the walls, like a monkey in the zoo

I'm overworked ... overweight
Can't find a job ... Can't get a date
I'm a single parent ... I'm buried in debt, and
My cholesterol is just about as high as it can get

I got the S.N.A.F.U. BLUES, etc.....

I'm agoraphobic - a total recluse
A victim of alcohol and substance abuse
I'm an Incest Survivor - a Wounded Child
And the "heartbreak of psoriasis" is drivin' me wild

I got the S.N.A.F.U. BLUES, etc.

I'm a cigarette smoker - two packs a day
There's a rash on my genitals that won't go away
I got flat feet and bunions and arthritic knees
My bladder's so weak - I pee when I sneeze

I got the S.N.A.F.U. BLUES ... I'm blue as I can be
I got the SN.A.F.U. BLUES ... I'm blue as I can be
I got nothin' but trouble ... trouble from A to Z

God must've made me on a Monday,
'cause EVERYTHING'S wrong with me!
(I got the S.N.A.F.U. BLUES.............................)




©2009 Meter Maid (BMI) Words & Music by Connie Bryson

Self-Portrait

I'm just an old lady
Who lives in her head
And when I stop posting
You'll know that I'm dead

RATS LIVE ON NO EVIL STAR*


Scurrying surrogates of
infamy turd the
purpled night sky

Drowning puppets
pirouette in
sea foam marginalia

Wide-berthed caesurae
Assholes winking
like genuflecting quarter notes

False maps beckon to
madrigals masturbating
in violin cases ……. splish splack!



*Profound, isn’t it? I scavenged nine key words from other people’s workshop poems. Can you guess which ones? Someone in the group borrowed Sylvia Plath’s palindrome without attribution. That gave me the idea of taking a word or phrase from each person's poem. I think it’s time for me to apply for a grant.

Verboten

Roses are red and
violets are blue shouldn't be
said in a haiku.

Pussy (after Adrienne Rich's "Fox")


I needed pussy badly
but for the long time
none had come near me
I craved to feel
her pelt and needed
fierce and sacrificial tail

I needed history of pussy recognition
from a triangulated face
but I settled for
sixteen volumes of
poetry and four books
of nonfiction prose
translated into German Spanish
Swedish Dutch Hebrew Greek
Italian and Japanese

Numerous awards fellowships
and prizes including the
Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize
The Lenore Marshall/Nation Prize
for Poetry the Fund for Human Dignity
Award of the National Gay Task Force
The Lambda Book Award
the Los Angeles Times Book Prize
for Poetry the National Book Award
The Poet’s Prize the
MacArthur Fellowship
and most recently
The Dorothea Tanning Prize of the
Academy of American Poets and
The Lannan Foundation Lifetime Achievement Award

Now I'm nominated again
for a National Book Award
but I don't need another prize
I have run through briars of legend
come a long way down
and I am in want of pussy

Is Edward Lear Overrated?


There was an Old Person of Cromer,
Who stood on one leg to read Homer;
When he found he grew stiff,
He jumped over the cliff,
Which concluded the Person of Cromer.


Lear always goes off the cliff when he gets to the last line. Writer's block?



There was an Old Person of Cromer,
Who stood on one leg to read Homer;
Lear gave it a shot, but a limerick, it's not.
To call it one is a misnomer.


There once was a fellow named Keating
Who said, "Inspiration is fleeting.
The few times I can
Get the fucker to scan,
The end rhyme is always repeating."

IMPORTANT LOVE POEM #451 (inspired by the experimental poet Arielle Greenberg)


There is witch hazel in
the bag that is not a douche.
Talk to me, I am
swimming out of your medicine.

I will lie with you and stitch you.
Measure the wandered floor, the
mended door. I know nothing.
I have a harelip I will show you.

Let us go into the garden.
and smear it all yellow.
I have a william coming loose
I am saving for your apology.

BRUSH UP YOUR SHAKESPEARES


Did you know Our Fearless Leader
Is "a eckalectic reader"?
Dubya's no ignoramus.
He is reading Albert Camus.

Thoughtful, cultured, Bush is both.
He digs Shakespeare, also Goethe.
He likes Shelley, Wordsworth, Keats,
T.S. Eliot and Yeats.

CICADA


Why the cicada?
Why not the flea?
Think of how many more
poems there could be!
Why not the cricket?
Why not the gnat?
Those you can rhyme at the
drop of a hat.
Termites and locusts
don’t stand a chance.
Neither do weevils,
grubs, ticks or ants.
Give the cicada
a well deserved rest.
Write summer poems
about some other pest.