I put a possum in my pocket
Everywhere I go
To protect against probability
My sister says I’m superstitious
But Probability is Math
And Math is a Science
And Scientists are not superstitious

So to sway my sister
This is my hypothesis

The probability of a piano
Plummeting from the sky and
Pancakeing a passerby
Is for the sake of argument
A one in a million
That’s not bad
But not bad is not good enough
For Science
So I put a possum in my pocket

Let me show you the Math
No one has a possum in their pocket
Because they eat pockets
And smell like pee.
The probability therefore
of a person who has a pocket possum
getting pummeled with a piano is
One in the entire population of the planet

Now potentially
Upon publication of this premise
People will Put Possums
in their pants pockets
Pushing the probability
Past the perfection point
And soon there will be news stories
Involving people possums and pianos
Popping up all over the place.

That is not the fault of Science
That is the fault of my sister

Let me show the Math
Sassy sister says scientist
Sibling is superstitious.
So said sibling summarizes
A Scientific supposition
Which suddenly circulates
His safety secrets
Somehow the son of science
Synchronizes his standard
Into a simple syllogism

If you subtly store something simple
In a sack a sock or a side pocket
Said simple something will
Substantially supplement survival
Or
Probability protects
Providing persons
Are good at Math
And sister-less

So select something
Not a possum to potentially pocket
And live forever.
It’s Science.

So this weekend I heard an awesome performance on Garrison Keillor's radio show A Praire Home Companion by my new favorite poet Billy Collins. Here is his fan site. He has an entire one of his CD's called The Best Cigarette avalible through a Creative Commons Licencse. That is awesome. It is also at Download.com.

I'm pretty sure he is my new poetic hero. Read this poem that made me fall in love with him.

The Revenant

I am the dog you put to sleep,
as you like to call the needle of oblivion,
come back to tell you this simple thing:
I never liked you--not one bit.

When I licked your face,
I thought of biting off your nose.
When I watched you toweling yourself dry,
I wanted to leap and unman you with a snap.

I resented the way you moved,
your lack of animal grace,
the way you would sit in a chair to eat,
a napkin on your lap, knife in your hand.

I would have run away,
but I was too weak, a trick you taught me
while I was learning to sit and heel,
and--greatest of insults--shake hands without a hand.

I admit the sight of the leash
would excite me
but only because it meant I was about
to smell things you had never touched.

You do not want to believe this,
but I have no reason to lie.
I hated the car, the rubber toys,
disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives.

The jingling of my tags drove me mad.
You always scratched me in the wrong place.
All I ever wanted from you
was food and fresh water in my metal bowls.

While you slept, I watched you breathe
as the moon rose in the sky.
It took all of my strength
not to raise my head and howl.

Now I am free of the collar,
the yellow raincoat, monogrammed sweater,
the absurdity of your lawn,
and that is all you need to know about this place

except what you already supposed
and are glad it did not happen sooner--
that everyone here can read and write,
the dogs in poetry, the cats and the others in prose.

- Billy Collins

Political Animal

On Thanksgiving I took my brother’s cat out for breakfast sausage
But IHOP was closed.
Probably because of the stupid parade
So we decided to go home and drink Bloody Marys.

I’d been wanting to get drunk and talk politics with an animal
Ever since the election,
And because my brother’s cat is a communist
I thought I would pick his brain about the current political climate.

Communists are fun to talk to while inebriated in the morning
Or anytime really
Just because of their mixture of Marxist ideals and mustaches
And my fraternal feline is heavy on the facial fur.

So he starts talking about the war and segues into the future utopia
Cats tend to over segue
Then because I agree to his basic premise of putting capitalists into gulags
We end up toasting Stalin and shouting about Land Reform

Out of nowhere my brothers cat starts making Jew Jokes
And it’s uncomfortable
Either because it was Thanksgiving or because I was drunk, I laugh.
And to this day I feel guilty when I eat at Jerusalem Café.

Once again another amazing piece of documentary madness.

Get ready for Ninja moves and Annie Oakley

Without further ado Two Original Song Poems by Caglar Juan Singletary.



This is from the flick Off the Charts. It originally aired on PBS and contains some magic moments that are absolutely incredible people. This guy writes poems and sends them off to a company that makes them into songs. And he pays them money.

If you like watching real people who live strange lives rent this from your local library

The Observant and the Crossdresser:
A Morality Play

Man 1: Those are women's socks

Man 2: So

Man 1: I didn't know you wear women's socks

Man 2: There is a lot you don't know about me.

Man 1: I've never seen you wearing women's socks before

Man 2: Are you constantly aware of my socks

Man 1: I make a point to notice things.

Man 2: Socks?

Man 1: Occasionally I notice socks.

Man 2: I think that that is a problem.

Man 1: And I think that it is a skill.

Man 2: A worthless creepy skill that will cause you problems.

Man 1: Are you threatening me?

Man 2: Not specifically

Man 1: Was it a general threat than?

Man 2: Just a warning. Know that sock watching may have consequences.

Man 1: No that is a threat. A malicious threat. I'm going to press charges.

Man 2: Go ahead.

Man 1: I'm serious.

Man 2: Be my guest.

Man 1: Oh you better make the guest bed because I am not messing around.

Man 2: I'll tell my wife

Man 1: Those are her socks aren't they?

Man 2: My socks are my business.

Man 1: Maybe that would be true if you wore longer pants. But they are clearly visible, Ipso Facto they are public space.

Man 2: Ipso Facto. Are you a lawyer now?

Man 1: Everybody says ipso facto.

Man 2: Nobody just goes around saying ipso facto about someone else's socks.

Man 1: That's just it. They are everyone's socks. Because of your high water pants.

Man 2: Just because I like my ankles to breathe now my socks belong to the masses.

Man 1: Masses? What are you some kind of philosopher.

Man 2: People say masses. Don't try to make masses into ipso facto. They are in totally different worlds my friend.

Man 1: The masses don't say masses.

Man 2: Some do.

Man 1: But the majority of the masses don't say masses. So ipso facto, masses and ipso facto are the same.

(Pause)

Man 2: You really think people can tell. I mean black socks are black socks. I was out of black socks and she hand some socks so I thought. Who cares, nobody notices socks.

Man 1: You'd be surprised what people notice.

Man 2: The fact that you are not dead or in jail makes me think that most average people don’t notice like you notice.

Man 1: What is that supposed to mean?

Man 2: I mean if everyone noticed you noticing them all the time they would punch you or shoot you or throw you in jail.

Man 1: It’s not a crime to be observant.

Man 2: It depends on whom and how you observe.

Man 1: I’m not illegally observing important peoples private property.

Man 2: Well you sure are all up in my ankles.

Man 1: All up in? Snoop Dogg is in the house.

Man 2: Oh shut up. Mr. “important peoples private property”. That alliteration is out of control. You sound like a 19^th century English poet on speed.

Man 1: Which one is the 19^th century?

Man 2: The 1800’s

Man 1: I always get that confused.

Man 2: Maybe you should have noticed more in school.

Man 1: Touché

Man 2: Because it means that you concede my point, and I also happen to like the word touché, I will not make fun of you for using it.

Man 1: Very well. Where were we? Ah Yes. I may concede that historical observation is not my strong suit, but that in no way makes cultural observation, which is indeed my specialty, somehow as you have suggested illegal. I mean who are you to go around threatening “consequences” for people who notice the gender of other people’s footwear. . .

Man 2: Just lay off about my socks.

Man 1: You mean your wives socks.

Man 2: Whoever’s socks.

Man 1: They could be more aptly described as stockings, or maybe even pantyhose.

Man 2: (Punches him in the face)

Man 1: (On ground) I’m trying to think of something witty to say after getting hit in the face by you . . . Something with punching and women’s socks . . .

Man 2: (Pulls gun) Say it, but just know it will not go unpunished.

Man 1: You sock like a girl.

Man 2: That is funny but it seemed a little forced.

Man 1: I know.

Man 2: What about “you sock”.

Man 1: I thought about that but I think it’s too raw. And we lost the whole female angle.

Man 2: Yeah.

Man 1: I’ve got it. Those socks go great with that right hook.

Man 2: Touché (Shoots him in the face)

Poem Archive

Poem Archive

Mostly Silly Poems

Almost Rich
America: A Jerry Bruckheimer-ish Film (Rated R)
Animal Lover
Ask A Hobo
Boy George of the Jungle
The Carnivore and the Vegan
The Chicken Bush
The Crazy Old Scientist
Diary of a Dromedary

Dirk and Doc

George Bush Wal-mart and the Vatican: A Political Poem
The Grass is Greener with Jésus
Gypsies and Goats
Harold the Cockeyed Cockney Cock goes to Texas
I'm Pretty Sure I Would Drink My Own Pee
In A Field of Pumpkins Grown for Seed
I Pushed a Giraffe Down the Stairs
I Put a Possum in My Pocket
I Tripped Over a Penguin at Walgreen’s
The Incident
Karl Marx and Adam Smith at a Carnival
Little Miss Bighead
Mailing Mayhem
My Community Church
My Doggie
My Guidance Counselor is a Pirate
My Guru’s Name is Matt
My Sister is a Rhombus
Nova Scotia
Pete the One Legged Pigeon
Pirate Love
Political Animal
Poison is Static
The Punishment of One Insensitive Rich Man
Reformation, I say
Ridicualistic
Roger the African Antelope
Shopping For A New Jesus
Someone Else's Pipe
Terry the Terrorist
Wilbur the Combat Wombat

Mostly Serious Poems

A Mudbox Mostly
As Lost as a Blind Man On Vacation By Himself
The Beast with Ambiguous Eyes
Derelict Insects
Fruits of the Spirit
Hospital Thanksgiving
Indivdual Instants
Let the Peace of Christ Rule in Your Hearts
On the Corner
Paycheck to Paycheck
Straight Lines
Suburbia


Mostly Love Poems

A Love Poem
Sonnet Number 18

Ninja Revenja

What Ninja’s do when they’re not ninjaing

Have you wondered what ninjas do when they are not ninjaing? What are they like at the grocery store or at a party. How would it feel to be a ninja all the time. Come check out an all new free comedy show

NINJA REVENJA

And we will answer all your ninja questions including some you didn’t think to ask.

Two shows
Written and Preformed by
Billy Brame &
Brian Lechner
Friday October 13th
5:30 and 6:30
Downtown KCK in front of the Library
625 Minnesota Ave.

Check out our flyer here

Check out the Downtown KCK website here

So I am sitting on my couch watching a somewhat mediocre documentary called Poetry in motion when all of a sudden a cosmic event occurs. In between somewhat famous poets (John Cage and Allen Ginsberg) a group of "poets" called simply The Four Horsemen are introduced. The primal screams, the silly noises, I am just like what the heck. It was one of those funny things that feels weird to laugh at alone. I had to get up and turn the DVD off. The look on their faces at the very end was just too much. I had to rip it and share it with the world. And I recommend you do the same. This is the link to the video I uploaded to Google here P.S. I checked these guys out. I can't tell if they take themselves serious or not. They have an album called Live at the West and here is how they describe it. P.P.S They are from Canada

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till the Apocalypse
When my Savior Raptures me
From my Work ethic

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till Kingdom Comes
And Jubilee will take care of
Visa, MasterCard, and Discover

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till Judgment Day
Because my pastor said I have a purpose
And I’ve found that it’s expensive

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till Armageddon
When the enemies blood
Will sure up the war bonds

Paycheck to Paycheck
Till the Trumpet Sounds
And my house in the suburbs
Will still retain its value.

Harold the Cockeyed Cockney Cock goes to Texas

Deep in the Heart of the British Slums
Full of British Pimps and British Bums
On the roughest and toughest British Block
Lives Harold the Cockeyed Cockney Cock

His unfortunate features are grossly distinct
From his vertical eyebrow to his sideways blink
His menacing stares with his left eye askance
Can make any Brit drop a load in his pants

Now most cocks are cocky but Harold’s the worst
Even his grandma thinks he is a jerk.
And it doesn’t take much to set that cock off
He once punched a priest that God blessed his cough

In fact he is famous all over Great Britain
For ruthlessly beating an elderly chicken
His name is synonymous with pounding in faces
Of chickens who mention that he drops all his H’s

One day a hen laughed when he said ‘ello
So he kicked at her beak and broke her elbow
His conduct was deemed so outrageously reckless
That the Queen had Harold banished to Texas

Reluctantly Harold packed his suitcase
And hopped the next plane to the lone star state
He landed in Houston an exiled cock
And suffered immediate culture shock

In England Harold was famous and feared
But in Texas Harold was just cockeyed and weird
Suddenly roosters wearing ten gallon hats
Pointed at Harold and said “hey what’s that”

“Oh Go ‘ey yourself” said the cocky cock Harry
Then he shot them a stare trying to be scary
But these cocks were cowboys raised on a ranch
And no loads were dropping in their cowboy pants

Out stepped a cowboy cock almost 3 feet tall
Looking just like Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall
“Listen Mr. Queer Eye, We don’t like your type
With all your missing H’s and lazy eye sight”

Harold who is always a master of tact
Said “To ‘ell with ‘ouston and cowboys ‘ats”
If you have a problem with me or my eye
I’ll fight you and kill you until you all die”

Some people think cock fights are cruel and inhumane
But some cocks are born to beat other cocks brains
The Houston cock with one Brad Pitty punch
Leveled out Harold to the ground with a crunch

The force of the pretty cock’s fist was so great
That it knocked Harold’s left eye from cockeyed to straight
Pain ricocheted through his entire cock body
And the punch broke his beak so he couldn’t speak cockney

Slowly the contrite cock rose to his feet
Humbled because he knew he’d been beat
Silent, straight eyed, alone and upset
Harold walked into the Texas sunset

A Mudbox Mostly

It’s mostly a mudbox
Cracked and gritty earth
Packed tight like a parking lot
Light slips off scattered
Sand spots
A beautiful wasteland

It’s mostly a mudbox
Dark overdug corners
Plundered like a Pirate Island
Sun scorched
Pigment-less pail
Turned rain catcher

It’s mostly a mudbox
Half of a Hot-Wheel
Ass end up like an ostrich
Abandoned Army men
Green gun appendages
Stoically skyward

It’s mostly a mudbox
Innocent hands
Once shaped structures like a potter
Filled fingernails
With the future of flesh
Dust unto Dust

Hey Everyone I have a sketch comedy show coming up on Friday July 28th it is called Bad British Accents.

More info here

Calling all actors with bad British accents.

I am putting together a sketch show and I need some warm bodies who can make funny with me. If you are interested let me know soon. Hit me up here or email me at tallandlanky@juno.com

The show is July 28th from about 5-8 pm. We will do about 45 minutes of original sketches twice. We will rehearse Thursdays in July.

Right-e-0 Than.

This is poem a wrote for my wife. We have been married 2 years now and I love her so much it isn't even funny. Happy Anniversary Beautiful


Sonnet number 18

Sixteen and I sit with my future

Next to history I don't know

And art she is more beautiful than.

The search for secret brought us here.

Some hidden place to call ours

And let our hearts beat fast in.

Through perfectly placed trees

The stars know we are destined for more

As our hands take their maiden voyage

I whisper famous words across the blanket

Without understanding their meaning

So she will know I Shakespeare her

We seal our possibility with ceremony

Crystal glasses full of sparkling un-wine

Foreshadowing a June night to come when we

Will be made one flesh forever.

The punishment of one insensitive rich man

At 0 one hundred hours central standard time
In a house too big for its own good
And too big for a man and his butler,
A man finds himself lost,
Somewhere between the toilet and the refrigerator.

To find one’s self lost
Is neither to find nor to lose,
But simply to realize one’s position.
That position the man deduced was
Somewhere between the toilet and the refrigerator.

He had set out upon his mission at 11 hundred hours
On the night prior to the day current
To make himself a cheese sandwich.
American cheese, because he is a patriot,
As his father was a patriot and his father before him.

He digressed however to the toilet, for obvious reasons,
And after a leisurely stint
On the American Standard porcelain maiden
He flushed, washed, and saluted, because he is a patriot,
As his father was a patriot and his father before him.

Upon exiting his lavatory it was so dark that he lost his way,
And happened upon a new hallway
That led him to where he now stands a place he had never seen.
He assumed quite egotistically that he owned it
For he was a rich man and owned many things he knew not of.

The place seemed to be reminiscent of someplace else
Someplace both familiar and foreign to him
Familiar and foreign, Like his Bulgarian Butler.
The Butler is actually Russian but the man knew not the difference.
For He was a rich man and owned many things he knew not of.

“Curses to the darkness for turning me around” said the rich man
“Sending me through hallways
Disregarding my need for a sandwich.
Stopping me here in this familiar no place.
Curses”.

“Curses to God who made the darkness” said the rich man
“Who made toilet and the refrigerator,
The hallways and American Cheese,
The God who made My Bulgarian Butler.
Curses.

A sound
A step
A bop on the head

“AGGGH!” said the rich man

“I’ll show you who’s ‘Bulgarian’,
You rich American Trash!”

The Carnivore and the Vegan

It’s Midnight and I’m naked
In my basement eating bacon
When in walks a Tyrannosaurus Rex
I’m so frightened of the Lizard
That there is a bacon blizzard
On my entertainment complex

I ask him not to eat me
He comes at me rather speedy
And suddenly my couch is not so dry
I’m staring at the Dino
White as an Albino
When I notice a tear in his eye

As it turns out in fact
It wasn’t an attack
He had just bent down to pick up the bacon
He lifted it so gently
And stared at it intently
That for a second I forgot that I was naked

He said "Listen Mr. Nudist
I am a Vegan Buddhist
And I don’t think you should eat this living soul”
Then he fixed his glare on me
So disappointedly
That he made me feel like I was 3 years old

I told him I liked meat
And should be able to eat
Anything I pleased in my own basement
He said “Meat is Murder!”
With a passionate fervor
And screamed “Eat tofu as a replacement”

His Teeny T-Rex Hands
Reached in his sweat pants
And pulled out some home made brochures
He threw them on the TV
And told me to read
About his Buddhist and Vegan mentors

So I’m kind of offended
That he’d try to up end
My carnivorous lifestyle choices
But what could I do
I’m only 5’2
And he’s a freaking Tyrannosaurs

It finally hit me
He’s a dinosaur hippie
And there was no way I’m gonna get eaten
So I rolled up my sleeves
And told him to leave
Or else he could expect to get beaten.

So there’s a moral I guess
To my tale of distress
While eating bacon naked at Midnight
When they try to convert you
Who cares about virtue?
Meat will always beat plants in a fight.

George Bush, Wal-Mart and the Vatican: A Political Poem

People should stand for things
I mean really care about things
Important things
Like AIDS
I stand for that
Other People standing for things
Things like
Saving the lives of innocent children
And their things
I want all our leaders
Political, Cooperate and Spiritual
To be willing to do what it takes
To make things happen
And help things out.
And change things.

Bush could help things
He’s the president
If he stood for things
Things would work out.
So let’s all write him a letter
And tell him things like
Stand up for things.

Wal-Mart has everything
Think of all the things
They could change
If they stood for things
And gave some things
To people who don’t have anything
So let’s boycott them
And not buy our things there
Until they start
Standing for things

And the Vatican
They’ve got God
They could pray about things
And ask God to heal things
And spread the gospel
Of changing things
All over the world
So let’s tell our priest
When we’re in that confessional thing
To tell people to repent for their things
Because if we all fix our own things
We could change things
All over the world

So in conclusion
Stand up for things.

My Community Church

Community
Christian
New Life
Of Love
Faith
Family
And Hope
Worship
Community
Center
Untied
By the River
Of The Heart
Of Grace
And
A Community
Of Peace
Faithfulness
Hopefulness
Joyfulness
And Love-fullness
After the way of
St. Mary
And St. John
And St. Mark
And St. Paul
And a different St. John
And St. Mary the mother of
And the blessed virgin of
Peace
And Family
And community
Looking toward
The Cross
And Calvary
And Immanuel
And Emmanuel
And Mt. Zion
Missionary
Assembly of
Holiness
Baptist
Spirit Filled
Presbyterian
Lutheran
Methodist
Catholic
Episcopal-esqe
But Still
Non-Denominational
And Community
Oriented
Church
Of the
Resurrection
And the
Word
And the
Bible
And the
Redeemed
And the
Covenant . . .
And Community
Walking with
The Holy Spirit
Community
of Christ
Community
In Jesus
Community
Did I say Community?
And Family
We have Family's

My Guidance Counselor is a Pirate
He has Scurvy.
I'm not sure what Scurvy is
But he is always telling us that he has it.
I think it makes you smell like fish
His office is on a boat
Next to the cafeteria
This is a pretty progressive school.

He carries two swords and a gun.
Not like a little cop gun
But a big flintlock pistol
That he tucks in his pirate pants
Next to his short sword.
I’m pretty sure the weapons are illegal
But we don’t have metal detectors here.
We’re too progressive.

If you want to switch classes
He makes you walk the plank
I usually just stick to my schedule.
He is always trying to convince me
To go to this college in the Netherlands
That let’s you major in being a Pirate
I don’t understand how that’s a major.
But it’s probably some progressive thing.

He sponsor’s a fencing team
Except he calls it Swashbuckling
They all wear bandanas and sashes
And get to use real swords
I was going to try out
But my mom was afraid
I might lose a hand
She’s not very progressive.

He’s really good with kids
And he can write a very convincing
Letter of recommendation
He may fly the Jolly Roger
And carry infectious diseases
But I’d take him over
Some guy in a suit any day
After all what’s more progressive than a pirate.

*******EDIT*******

So Friday Got Cancelled. I might be doing some stuff at the same place on April 15th. I will keep everyone informed. And by everyone I mean J.W. Harding.

******* END EDIT ******

Come out and see me read some poetry on Friday in Super South Overland Park.

Come on it's not that far to drive. It's only 149th and Metcalf. That's just a few blocks past the end of the world. It will be fun.

I am doing a bunch of poems. The coffee house is called MyJava and is on the west side of the street next to a Pizza place. Call me if you need more directions.

Thanks for putting up with my shameless self promotion.

1 - It's a Mango

2 - A Mango?

1 - Yes.

2 - I don't think I've ever seen a Mango before

1 - I'm pretty sure you have.

2 - I think I would remember seeing a Mango.

1 - You may have mistaken it for another melon.

2 - Wait a Mango is not a Melon

1 - It most certainly is

2 - Your thinking of Cantelope

1 - No I'm not

2 - A Cantelope is most certainly a Melon

1 - As is a Mango

2 - I'm pretty sure Mango's grow on trees

1 - Melons can grow on trees

2 - Vines. melons grow on vines.

1 - How would you know? You seem to think that you have never seen a Mango prior to this very moment, and now all of the sudden you are some kind of Mango expert.

2 - I took botnay in college.

1 - It must have been a pretty crappy botnay class to not show any slides of Mangos

2 - I saw slides of Mango Trees, they just weren't in full Mango bloom at the time.

1 - Trees don't bloom fruit.

2 - Then what is it called

1 - You tell me, you're the one with Doctorate in Trees

2 - I say it's called blooming

1 - And I say your a blooming idiot.

(Pause)

2 - It's a nice looking fruit

1 - Sexy

2 - I wouldn't go that far

1 - I'm just saying it's very vuluptous

2 - See I'm not in to that

1 - You like skinny fruit

2 - Not skinny but not vuluptous

1 - A bannana?

2 - Too phalic

1 - Agreed.

2- I'm not knocking the mango, I'd just rather have a plum or a peach or tangello

1 - Those are all too round and perfect

2 - You lik'em oblong and vuluptous

1 - More asymetrical than oblong.

2 - Curvy?

1 - Curvy is good.

2 - Pears?

1 - That is what I dream of at night.

2 - You are a sick Man

(Pause)

Hey Everyone who reads this: Come check out some of my poems and sketch comedy preformed live in Downtown KCK at the Art Walk. We are on the stage in front of the libary from 4-7 bringing the good old fashioned funny.

The Incident

"Please Pardon my Protrusion"
Said the dolphin to the whale
"It's no bother" the other
"Won't you please excuse my tale"

Though politely whale acknowledged
That he would indeed excuse
The compunctious clumsy porpoise
That bumped his whale caboose

He wondered in his whale mind
Just how a little dolphin
Had succeeded in his swimming
To run right into his bottom

On the other hand the dolphin
Put to mind this mental morsel
How does a two-ton whale tale
Wind up upon my dorsal

With both the creatures thinking
That the other was in error
They took their separate stories
And two truths for forever.