‘Amazing like a minotaur’s mancave': Exquisite Corpse poems (3 of 3)

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See previous recent Exquisite Corpse poems by my current students here and here. These lines are from my 9th hour class.

“Like I really care” is how war starts.

People love when this class ends and then starts again.

Beauty in a girl that we are not terrified of.

Food can taste good with you and me.

Fun-loving father, won’t you sing and dance to the thing?

Peter is a name that is a rib sandwich with turkey and bacon.

You have no food at the front of the panda.

Blue trident of the Poseidon has something like Trident gum.

Teachers are the coolest people that have big feet.

Reindeer cannot really fly, like you won’t again.

Weekend nights are crazy like a turkey sandwich on T.V.

Doing this is so funny that I can’t write anything good at all.

Home is where you don’t slip on the banana shoved in my mouth.

Meth lab coats are so pretty.

Silly rabbit, tricks are for everyone to eat pizza.

Ugly is the new pretty.

Singing Michael Jackson while cooking makes me have to poop.

Number the stairs to remind me to do chores like smoking the salmon.

Medicine cabinets show criminals in a comfy place with friends.

Rosy lips and cheeks bending like I’m the bender.

The ocean said that I’m ugly. Jerk.

Zoos remind me of memories, like the time I liked smelling myself.

The worst feeling in the entire day has gone well for the first time.

In the right mind, your own business people pledge to help but can a wood chuck Norris?

Tomorrow I get to see the dawn’s early light pigs jumping on top.

Real friends are better than a hot dog with barbeque sauce and chicken tenders.

Children are the most adorable cucumbers in their minivan.

Kitten is to cats as basketball games are amazing like a minotaur’s mancave.

Stuck between a rock and roll is lightning!

No question is a horrible thing on a stick.

Bad things can always happen when I decide to go out of house.

I live like you are dying.

Weak boys are for babies, and men are for the first time in the catacombs.

Hard classes make me mad at the cashier’s mood.

Spell sombrero upside down.

We are young so let’s jump off a bridge somewhere over the rainbow.

Skittles are in the toilet like the pink one your grandma had.

New exciting things always happen at the end of life.

My day is going swell, up like a balloon.

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed cold on Thanksgiving dinner.

Mean old man chases down a newly dug grave.

But who even knows the truth to the world?

Very interesting people are in the big giant fluffy bunny.

Bad friends have better things to do.

Lame people are very exciting places to see.

Mayonnaise is like her legs.

Old shoes taste like old men.

A taco is what my mom is who gave birth.

Some flowers smell like red roses are red.

Violet is blue. I prefer it green.

Would you like to kiss me later tonight? I am going to eat a green pickle.

The whole pack of cigarettes is very gross too unless they are in the boogey move dance.

She always forgets herself in the nasty store.

Boy, do I love when school is over the river and through the woods.

Poems rhyme but only sometimes.

Is this a joke or is this a joke?

You are very cute in hot salsa.

Food cramps I get when my father dropped the new Sponge Bob rocks.

‘Even transcendent moments can drain you': Pocket pages week in review

I indulge my obsessive mind sometimes in pursuing an idea. Maybe that’s why my posts (for example, here), my writing, can get a little too dense, some readers have commented.

It’s OK if I don’t have all my ideas and ideals worked out. The tension makes my writing interesting (maybe).

My town's water tower gains a crown during maintenance work this week.

My town’s water tower gains a crown during maintenance work this week.

There’s no need to speak against an artwork (like this example speaks against the movie Dead Poets Society). A person may like or love an artwork’s tone or voice, without caring too much about whether the artwork is particularly realistic or accurate or even philosophically astute.

I got upset about something I read that my alma mater did. I’m reminding myself that I don’t need to get upset about institutional decisions — there will always be ones I don’t agree with. I can disagree with things without actually getting upset about them.

My blog doesn’t need to be as timely as a news site is. I’m writing more “undated” (as the journalists say) pieces that can be read at various times. I’m building an archive, a set of stories, ideas, etc. More a book (like an anthology?) than a newspaper.

Reading in book “Jazz Poems” a poem by Frank Landon Brown that contains the line “a boy … who’d become great before he should have.” This prompts a thought that there are seasons, there’s a paced unfurling, to a life. And it may not help to hurry it. That if we get attention young, we may not be able to handle it, or we may be ignoring /sacrificing some other part of our lives. That even transcendent moments can drain you.

After seeing an ad in American Poetry Review for Bennington College M.F.A. program, an ad that said, in 72-point Helvetica,

read.

write.

be read.

as if readers could be delivered. What if people were actually eager to read writings? What would those writings be like? It doesn’t seem that writers should need all this machinery working toward fame — the small journals, the MFA programs, the poetry contests with entry fees, etc.

I was showing off for my fellow teachers last night, I can now [the next morning after the open house] recognize. I was telling stories in an attempt to entertain.

There’s a narrow range of responses, reactions, a person might have to something (particularly I’m thinking here of reactions to seeing, reading, or hearing something in real life or in media). This range of responses might include agreeing, disagreeing, associating something with it, mocking it, etc. To go beyond these mere responses, you gotta think a little deeper, dive in, engage, not go with your first reactions, which tend to be of that narrow range. Instead, you can use that event as a starting point, not as the whole first half, of an essay.

The midpoint of my commute from home to school (or school to home) is just a concept, the middle of a whole, a unit, a defined distance. But physical things aren’t relative to particular points. There isn’t an obvious relation or comparison between the locations of my home and my school, except that they are locations that matter to me.

I have an obsessive tendency to check a few things, in particular, to check to make sure my stove is off before I leave the house, and to make sure my classroom’s windows are locked before I leave school. I look at each thing, each burner knob, each window, and I say “off” or “locked,” respectively, as I look at its state. I wonder if having this habit is part of what inspired my interest in wondering in a more general sense how much words and perceptions match physical reality. Perhaps I say “off, off, off, off,” to confirm my perception of the stove’s real status, to make sure I am paying attention, forming a memorable idea that it’s really off (that if I say “off” at the same time I’m looking at the burner, I may remember that I said “off” and that it really was off). [My variety of obsessive thought involves being concerned that I am paying attention now to turning off the stove so that if I later wonder if I turned off the stove, I can reassure myself. But actually the goal is to not wonder later at all -- it's better to get busy doing something else. But maybe this habit of mine is partly why I'm philosophically interested in wondering how ideas and words match/reflect reality, as here, for example.]

Writers write in order to find something to say (for explanation). We don’t have things in mind that we need to say, or at least not always do we. When we do, that’s not usually as interesting.

A different way of thinking about places, about physical things: There doesn’t need to be, there is no one way to conceive of nature, including the concept of no-concept.

Weather and other physical world conditions don’t matter in the mental realm — or maybe they do. I mean, we can read and discuss, say, Plato, whether it’s cold or hot outside. We’re inside, climate-controlled — it’s hard to even read outside (it’s too bright, etc.). But if clouds shape (even partially) our mood, and mood shapes ideas … maybe I’m sensitive to my surroundings. I observe lots, and get critical of things, maybe because I feel overwhelmed and feel a need to respond, so I get defensive (and thus critical).

I did no reading online while eating today at lunch (I usually do read online, or watch TV, or even write, while eating).

[End of the school day Thursday:] Feeling too tired today to want to grade student papers. This is what I felt like much of last year, rather than the energetic mood of the last few days when I was keeping up with grading.

“Oh, well, what’s a little memory loss,” laughed one of my colleague teachers to a student.

Every time I go to Walmart, I regret it.

I think that one thing I’m searching for in my writing is some unity of consciousness and place/physical locale. I know I’ll never get to know the truth of the physical world (not talking particle physics here, but what really happened as outside of, apart from, my perception of what happened), but the particular consciousness’s voice matters. The writer’s voice is in, is embedded in, comes from, the consciousness.

In contrast to the individual’s voice, there’s the language we use when people join into groups, organizations, institutions — anonymous, role-based speech. Not unique consciousnesses at all (or the uniqueness is minimized) because the teacher in the classroom, the boss in front of a staff meeting, feels the need to play the role of teacher, of boss.

On Friday afternoon in the parking lot, one male student was telling another male student some plans for afterschool transport options. The second student said, “I think that’s your mother over there.” The first student said, “Oh. Nevermind.”

Grandpa’s flirting again

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Today at the diner, an old man with a cane stopped at the counter where a couple of waitresses were rolling silverware into napkins and he sang, Jerry Lewis-style, “two bizzy laydees.”

Bikers used to be cool

Also this morning, I saw a couple on a motorcycle in our small downtown. If they were to refer to each other as “my old lady” and “my old man,” they wouldn’t be exaggerating.

‘Every guy is a serious conversation with a kangaroo': More Exquisite Corpse poems (2 of 3)

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More new Exquisite Corpse poems from this semester’s creative writing class; these are from my fourth-hour section. See here for more from this fall.

Guts are in the body and the mind.

Tranquility on the moon when the moon blows up to touch the sky.

Bathrooms are where to be, or not to be, mean.

I don’t want this anymore, so I will touch the backside of the bouncy castle.

Pizza, given the circumstance, is a big word.

Then I was like I was doing something.

Corn makes the cork sound a lot like cake.

Fish, scaly and forever moving like a cactus sleeps.

When we had his funeral was last week on the bench next to your front door.

Midnight is when the narwhal who ate the man’s large chest smacked the truck.

We will all tumble down the stairs, breaking up with you because it was really cold.

Snack time is for a question unanswered.

My child climbed up the slippery, so don’t fall down the, stairs.

She went to the mall yesterday. I had to work hard and play hard when she walked in.

Every way he went, people knew that apple.

Tuxedos look good on penguins deep in ice epiphany.

Night time is so pretty ugly when the clouds of smoke came from buying some illegal DVDs about baby dolphins swimming.

And “he shall bamboozle” was what she said to fly a kite.

Grapefruit is not a fruit, which proves mangoes are so boring and hungry after playing a game.

The little boy short and very annoying when I grew my hair.

Melodies played loudly in the fish in the ocean.

Eating bananas alone is a fun way to show off.

Anything can happen with hope; I can also.

She whispered, “Oh! Watermelon, watermelon, watermelon, watermelon is a red fruit is what loves me.”

The world is ending, was rather sad but

Soft, curvaceous, kind — but French fries are better.

The zoo is a great place, is so much fun to party at night when you climbed into a wet, dark hole in one.

Serendipity: like when ice cream melts into my friend’s car.

Of course it’s hot inside a person’s eye.

I do what I wish I had.

Yonder window breaks my heart that she fell down the stairs.

Fish open the gate to gardens where the seahorses play with the three girls.

Love is not love which alters when it was really, really awkward.

I like to go to the gym with my heart’s desire.

A weird-word dictionary, book-Bible God is all-knowing, or not.

Not only the pepper, but also we bake a dozen eggs that broke on the parade float stands by the blue bleachers at a game.

Pepperoni face has feelings.

Feelings are way too mainstream.

The trees’ leaves fell off a cliff and she fell over rocks.

A baby lion tried to scratch my back as we kill the neighbors across the field.

My milkshake brings all the courage it took.

My life is full of jerks and jocks; also, thine own demise is a cruel word.

A cruel word is very, very boring in the way of the day’s death, twilight.

I hate when people are wasteful; they waste the hairspray for my dog.

The ocean is very blue and usually likes eating tacos.

Common is a rapper who will be the next fire truck.

The best way to do it is with long nasty hair with the German sparkle.

Stagnate like a baker who will end the game tonight.

Old and beautiful ancient toys break when babies will bury their bottles.

Soda pop is sticky, and carbonated car engine is loud.

Most people don’t know when I can eat this with a spoon with my cute pet, the largest hedgehog ever — ever — getting back together.

The woman with huge hands grabbed ahold of me and yet he — doth thou even lift?

Why is that question, and answer this: question all that is wanderlust like a Pilgrim who will eat the cookie?

Sun shine on the beach is so hot, but I love Mexican food, which was already cold.

That is wrong done.

I love to go to the store for me to realize how would you like it.

Match the shirt with the mastermind of the American flag.

Finite color, whatever that means.

Something is gonna kill me after lunch.

Set my heart ablaze like a fire tomorrow.

Event-planning like Aunt Betty’s old maple syrup recipe to make fudge brownies but not the kind lady gave me.

Me, myself, and I will love to share me and her workout with heffalumps and weasels.

In my nightmares, paranoia like a Reece’s Pieces of my heart scattered bones everywhere at the ugly park.

Clothes should never be on and off with emotions.

The topic of the size of the cat is lame.

Nails can be pretty, or you could buy milk.

Bones break under pressure, so I married my sister.

That led her to God, but he shan’t give me money, so I am a weird kid who does other things.

Harold can’t ever fix the tires to my mom.

This is not what I am ready for.

Day or night, he will love to see the classroom is boring.

Floating around the big lake house is the perfect way to end the night.

Violets are black and falling apart from my baby girl.

The weird troll sang my favorite song when the saints go marching down by the river.

Games don’t like me.

Freddy Kruger saw the sign, and it was huge, and loud music is the way you turn right, and then I can go watch this girl play volleyball.

Very big animals hate my facial features.

I never had to smell a rose like donkeys who jump down the water park slide to the right.

Every guy is a serious conversation with a kangaroo.

Movie stars will always start something in the far distance between us, creating feelings.

Sweet chocolate is like heaven seems to be, so I do not forget that I gotta go to the bathroom bad enough to cry excessively.

Excessively telling is not a way to eat food.

I do not like to eat what I see.

Big hopes and dreams crushed God.

Stuff is fun to have.

Solstice fruit punch tastes like the way the shore line were many shells.

People just aren’t the same thing as I said to kill my brother.

‘Most flowers die fast or get passed gas': Exquisite Corpse poems (1 of 3)

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New Exquisite Corpse poems from this semester’s creative writing class, second hour. Minor changes (punctuation, appropriate word endings) were made to improve readability. I love how poems created somewhat randomly, unintentionally, end up being so wonderfully surprising.

He shaves your grandma’s legs when cash rules everything.

Love is a many-splendored thing that scares us so.

I’m giving up, up, and away.

Stop signs are pointless because there are many dogs.

Bed time is my favorite color.

Underwear is like outerwear, except for the exceptionalism of the word.

Donkeys are dumb animals on the edge of moonbeams and rainbows having to see the light at the end.

I did not want to drink, or not, to my house and kids I destroyed.

I need you to find true love, which is beautifully hot in Acapulco with coconut.

Winter is the season that rhymes with a bat.

I want a drink of me and the time.

And the award goes to go home sad.

The alligator chewed the gum loudly. The trumpet played quietly.

I ate is the past tense purpose of writing.

Good fortune is bad luck in the bowl of being the best person.

Death-defying stunts are two words that cannot express hatred.

The future will never change.

Big people eat a lot of the tip of my nose.

To the supermarket for 20 years to life.

True friends don’t really exist, like in Jurassic Park with dinosaurs running around.

Mate like two moths under the sea where [you’d] better run or else nothing matters the most.

Twelfth Street is the place where the people stay with me ‘til we are like you.

See the big trees die in the clear blue skies and cold lemonade.

The tree was at the park to hold my love.

You gave up instantly the coffee began spilling.

Red violets are blue; I’ve been drinking watermelon juice.

Time goes by very much in the style that only I have.

Your personality intrigues me to rescue her majesty and marry her hair.

Most flowers die fast or get passed gas.

Orange squares taste exactly enough.

Milk does a body; good God, we need ketchup.

Goldfish are very funny looking through Alice’s looking glass.

The ocean sand in your toes feels like gorillas on water.

Mind-numbing gets done at the people.

The cutest little girl in the middle of the ocean where the water looks like an ugly monkey.

Once upon a time flies when you’re having a kitten.

Why did she do whatever you want to do with my favorite food?

Last night I experimented with all the power in a meadow for unicorns.

“This isn’t fun anymore” reminds me of Macklemore.

“Very odd” is what people call me later.

Selfish people always live longer than an elephant’s trunk that has baby chickens.

Night owl was an owl that I wanted to eat.

Me? I’m the best I ever had.

Man, I feel like a person with a pair of socks.

Any dish makes me feel greatness.

A wild animal had been really confused lately.

Like playing a musical chicken that sings girly stuff, yo’ daddy likes when pony tails aren’t.

Clean is better than nothing.

I’m excited about girls who stink like you.

18 Questions not to ask in an all-staff email

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1. Does anyone have a way to forge receipts to cover the expenses from my affair?

2. Does anyone know an easy way to get dried blood off a desk?

3. Does anyone have an extra bag of dog crap I could use to prank my supervisor?

4. Does anyone mind that I puked in the mailroom but was too drunk to clean it up?

5. Does anyone know the name of a good hitman?

6. Does anyone else have any complaints I could add to my anonymous letter of complaint to the Board?

7. Does anyone have time to look at this weird skin-thing on my inner thigh?

8. Does anyone have a jock-strap I could borrow just for 10 minutes?

9. Would anyone go with me to try on wigs?

10. How would I go about hiding an illegal bribe?

11. When would be too soon to start dating again?

12. What do you all think of my beard?

13. Should I still be this angry about what my 1st-grade teacher did to me?

14. (For teachers) How soon can I reasonably turn in grades if I don’t feel like grading final exams?

15. (Also for teachers) I flunked a student because I didn’t like him. How can I explain this so it sounds better?

16. Should I move?

17. Does anyone have a mongoose I could borrow for a day? I’ve got cobra in my cabinets.

18. Does anyone need a lightly punctured mongoose?

Family portraits by six-year-old me

I recently found these drawings, marked August 1980, in the baby book my mom made for me.

My dad

My dad

It speaks either to my skill, or to my resemblance to my father, or both, but when my wife saw this drawing, she thought at first that it was depicting me.

My mom

My mom

I couldn’t now tell you why mom’s one eye is bigger and double-circled, and why her nose is so equilateral.

My grandmother Phoebe

My grandmother Phoebe

Her hair has been this short for most of the time I’ve known my grandmother, but, honestly, her hair has never had a lot of body.

My mom's aunt (my great-aunt) Betty

My mom’s aunt (my great-aunt) Betty

OK, I really am not sure what’s going on with the chin-shading. I don’t recall my great-aunt having a beard, so I’m hoping this was just a shadow? Or maybe an oddly high turtleneck?

My great-grandmother Alice

My great-grandmother Alice

For a six-year-old, I did a decent job of representing the shapes of these faces in a way that somehow does remind me of these actual people.