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