Showing posts with label will wright. Show all posts
Showing posts with label will wright. Show all posts

Thursday, May 22, 2014

Will Wright’s Kinda Like


So I had a parody fall apart – no I don’t want to talk about it. It’s Wednesday night, and I have no post for Just Plain Stupid for Thursday morning.
The Rug (which is actually not a person, but an old hairpiece,) my old partner in the show, Headley and the Rug (and Cral) offered a bit he did about Swiss cheese. Stanley McFarland – a man who mistakenly thinks he has a sense of humor, offered me a poem from his book, Confessions of a Protestant link - (there’s a real knee-slapper.)
You might see each of these offerings in future posts, but luckily for you, Will Wright offered an actually good story from his chapbook, Salt for the Journey link . It’s also available, as is so much of the short fiction and commentary of Go Figure Reads writers, on the official blog of Go Figure Reads – Junk Drawer. Junk Drawer
Of course it’s good because I helped him write it…
Kinda Like…
by Will Wright

It’s kinda like this
Imagine a hamster
He spends all day in a converted fish aquarium
He’s is left alone
Except for two five minute periods a day
When some giant says a few meaningless words
Does a few chores
And replaces the water and food pellets

The rest of the day
He’s on his own

Now there’s only one interesting thing in his cage
The running wheel
Not surprisingly, the hamster starts to run

He runs because he likes to run
He runs because there’s nothing else to do
He keeps running
Even when he needs to poop
He runs
It doesn’t matter
The poop falls right through the wheel
And lands on the floor
The hamster keeps running
He poops again
And keeps running
Running, running poop running poop
After a while
He looks down
He thinks
Hey, that’s kind of interesting
When the poop falls through the wheel
It looks different than regular poop
It’s in an odd pattern
I wonder if I can do this
On purpose”

For the rest of the day
The hamster runs
And poops
With a purpose
Sometimes he moves to one side of the wheel
Sometimes to the other
He tries it while running extra fast
He tries it while walking
The pattern gets more and more interesting
When he has to eat and drink
He’s really careful getting down from the wheel
He doesn’t want to disturb the pattern

Just as the sun goes down
The giant returns
He grunts in human speech
Gee, you sure made a mess today!”
He takes the paper from the bottom of the cage
And rolls it up carefully
He puts down new paper
And gives the hamster
Water and pellets

The giant leaves
The hamster lies exhausted
He looks at the clean paper
He looks at the food and water
And he finally understands
He gave me food and water for my pretty pattern
He put down more paper for a new pattern
I must be an artist!
I’m underpaid”


Here's a hamster with a different "skill."  

Monday, April 22, 2013

Bad Poetry???


April 22, 2013

Some years back, everybody decided that it was time to send business envelopes that opened at the bottom instead of the top. There was no grand announcement, no note of explanation – it just started happening. I remember the first time I got one from Scurrilous and Scummy, a temp agency I worked for. I thought – isn’t this like Scurrilous and Scummy to have their envelopes printed upside down.

But it wasn’t just S&S. I started getting them from everywhere. If everyone but you is in on it, does that still count as a conspiracy? Maybe it’s just an update of my getting picked for kickball experience. I knew when they picked everyone, including a sleeping cat, but me – and nobody said a word that I was the only person not in on it.

Sneaky cat – pretending to sleep and hiding his little feline snickers.

I feel that way about poetry. What is good poetry? Everybody else seems to know, but me. In grade school it was a mystery to everyone. We’d have a passage like:

Come not, when I am dead,
To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave,
To trample round my fallen head,
And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save.
There let the wind sweep and the plover cry;
But thou, go by.

All of us kids would scrunch our underdeveloped noses while the teacher would go on about how brilliant Mr. Pompous Dead Poet was. Then years later – my classmates stopped scrunching their noses and said – “yeah, cool.”

Heck! Even Robin Williams, a guy I usually understand, is in on this one. He did a whole movie about how great poetry is, and how it’s supposed to drive adolescent boys to suicide.

Did anyone else understand this? Really?

Stop saying arrested development; I think it’s mass hypnosis. We knew better in third grade, now it’s, “Oh, poetry is so beautiful, meaningful, moving… except Headley’s”

Even at Go Figure Reads – a place you’d think would be on my side at least once, they talk about Stanley's poetry. “Stanley, I was so moved about how you went to church and talk about God and stuff.” Then they talk about Will's poetry. “Will, I love your little children’s story poems about ships and ducks and baseball.”

Church, God, ships, ducks, and baseball? C’mon, what’s so hard about that? It looks pretty easy to me. So I write a couple of poems and submit them to Go Figure Reads

Nobody says a word, but I swear I heard a cat snickering.

Okay, I get it. Go Figure Reads is not going to publish my poems, but I have this blog, now. I sorted through my collection and found the one that’s not a lymric – maybe I’ll give you those later.



Sir Isaac Phishernife



Sir Isaac Phishernife

Had but one goal in life

Which was fine with his wife

She was not one for strife



Though a very small lad
 

He heard from his dad

There was much to be had

So he should be glad



Though he would prefer

To seek possion du jour

He put away line and lure

And to his duty made sure



As a young squire

He was urged by his sire

To seek and acquire

More knightly attire



While still a young knight

He was sent out to fight

Any monster or blight

That was fearsome of sight



When the peers did accord

To make him a lord

He gave out from his hoard

Gifts he could not afford



As an earl of the realm

Wearing buckler and helm

He did host the Duke Ghelm

Though the costs overwhelm



When a Duke he was made

To the king he was bade

And before him were laid

Tasks that made him afraid



And then he was prince

No more need to wear chintz

There were whispers and hints

He’d be king not long since



And then golden plate

They did lay on his pate

But he took hold of his fate

And said, “I abdicate!”



He declared with a jeer

I’ll not be king, duke or peer

But by stream, lake or mere

I will set down my rear



And my tasks now shall be

To lean back on a tree

And with lure, worm or bee

Try to catch two or three”



So Sir Isaac and Ma’am

Live and fish by the dam

And if no fish nearby swam?

They just bake a nice ham



So, what do you think, huh? Send me an email: headleyh@hotmail.com