Poetry Post

In spite of the encouragement of most of my readers, I still write poetry from time to time. So here’s a bit of the backlog – poems that (unjustly) never made it to publication.

Dear Teacher

by Headley Hauser

I did not do the assignment

I am existentially challenged

I am unable to take a stand

On the issue of my being

If I stipulate my existence

I would have to consider my environment

And other beings in it

The moral implication staggers

It’s not just a matter of doing the hokey-pokey

And turning yourself around

It’s what it’s all about

If anyone’s interested, no, that excuse didn’t fly. The next poem’s about some people I spend a great deal of time with.

Heart Friends

by Headley Hauser

Pauline’s not very bright

Ben’s unlucky

But Michelle’s a bitch

It great

That Microsoft gives me friends

I can insult

As I play them in Hearts

I’ve spent many hours

With these buddies

If they resent

That I walk out on games I’m losing

They’ve never shown it

Of course

They also lack the decency

To look embarrassed when I skunk them

I guess

No friends are perfect

Friendships are hard to come by – especially for me. I wonder why that is?

I Don’t Remember Your Name

by Headley Hauser

I may be a closet misanthrope

But I think it’s just

The way my mind works

Or doesn’t work

Like when I’m playing the hand drum

When I think about it

I screw up

The memory’s an amazing thing

I heard that somewhere

I just don’t remember where

I used to be in plays

I’d remember dozens of lines

And songs

Word perfect

But a face

And a name

Even after a dozen meetings

Rarely clicks

Am I lazy

Do I not care enough

Or like with the drum

Do I think about it too much

Worry

That great memory retardant

What do you think?

I’m sorry

What was your name again?

This last poem I wrote for a friend of mine. I don’t remember her name. She was discussing the correct use of lie, lay, and lain with some other folks.

The English Lesson

by Headley Hauser

Larry lay some soap of lye

A rose sink to clean fore beddy-bye

As he did lie he heard a lay

For a ring did sing, what did it say?

"Come lay that lye upon the sink

And scrub off layers back to pink

For layers will lie where they have lain

And as hygiene lies it seems insane

To lick or lap or take a drink

From a dingy layer laden sink"

But lazy Larry went beddy-bye

For he knew that rings on sinks do lie.

Don’t ask me about that last poem because I don’t understand it anymore. Here’s an interlude from one of my favorite Tick episodes:

Stanley McFarland’s Top Ten

So fellow Go Figure Reads writer, Stanley McFarland sees I’m doing lists of ten and he mentions that he has one himself in this month’s edition of Bethlehem Writers Roundtable.link Stanley’s not exactly a barrel of laughs, but I figure free material for the blog is free material for the blog. If you like this kind of serious stuff, you might want to check out his story, Sammy and May in the same issue.

Sounds That Make Me Smile

by Stanley W. McFarland

1)  A baby’s laugh.  You see a creature so completely innocent and awe-inspiring – then she pours out wisdom she’ll never top in her life.  Was I ever so wise?

2)  A train whistle.  A doorway to imagination – a train can lead to anywhere, from a grisly battle to an animated wonderland.

3)  Rain on the roof.  Do I smile because there is so great a sea of water above me – or because the roof keeps me dry?

4)  The whirring of an automatic can opener.  I think of all the cats I’ve known – poised, wishing, dreaming of that sound.

5)  A bat hitting a baseball.  Do I love baseball for the sights, smells, and sounds – or the game?  Which came first…

6)  Playing cards clacking in the spokes of a bike.  You almost never hear this anymore.  As a child it made me wish I was on a motorcycle.  As an adult it makes me wish I was a child.

7)  Opening theme music from the 1996 animated version of The Tick.  Okay, that might just be me.

8)  Dixieland Jazz.  Satchmo – I miss you dearly.

9)  Crickets, peepers, bullfrogs, an owl calling to its mate.  The quiet of the night cleans the noise from the world and leaves the beauty.

10) The heartbeat of the one I love – my head resting on her chest.  The rest of the world grows dim.

Sometimes people ask me why I can’t be more like Stanley.

 To be honest, Stan kinda reminds me of this guy.

I’ll admit – he’s more sensitive than I am, even poetic, but I can write sensitive. I even write poetry! On Monday, I’ll post some of my poetry – really good sensitive crap. You’ll like it!

Top Ten Disturbing Fantasy Creatures

Top Ten Disturbing Fantasy Creatures

by Headley Hauser

1) Jiminy Cricket

 He’s a grasshopper, or a locust, or maybe a preying mantis, but clearly not a cricket! What’s he trying to pull? With a conscience like that, no wonder Pinocchio goes so wrong.

2) Glinda The Witch of the North

 let’s get this straight, all Dorothy has to do is stand there in Munchkinland and click her heels, but this “Good” witch sends her on a bloody vendetta?

3) Hercules

 He kills his best friend, Iphitos and sentences himself to live a year as a transvestite to make it all better? Don’t believe me? Look it up.

4) Spongebob

 He’s a sponge with a butt. I don’t want to think about it.

5) Jack

 He invades the giant’s house, steals his harp and his golden goose. When the giant gets pissed, Jack feels justified in killing him.

6) Fairy Godmother Part One

 Cinderella feels oppressed so FGM creates a dress-making sweatshop for little mice and birdies.

7) Fairy Godmother Part Two

 She turns rodents into people, makes them work all night, then turns them back into rodents. Obviously no labor laws in fantasyland.

8) Pac Man

 He takes drugs so he can eat dead people.

9) Gandolf

 He forgets so much fighting a Balrog that he doesn’t recognize his friends. Then he recites long incredibly boring passages in Elvish.

10) Donald Trump

 What? You say he’s real? C’mon – look at him. He can’t be.

Fellow blogger Alice from the blog Post Alice link reminded me of this rather disturbing Fantasy couple from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (A title I and my 9yo friends delighted in mispronouncing.)

Ten People Who Look Like Animals

 So Monday’s post must have gotten shared because it was more popular than any post I’ve had in months. Maybe it was the baby farting, but let’s stay with the TEN theme and see what happens.

Ten People Who Look Like Animals

by Headley Hauser

1) Ben Stein:

Owl.

Actually he was hatched as an owl. His transformation to human form is one of the lesser-known conspiracies of the Watergate era.

2) Angelina Jolie:

Shark. 

 Look at her teeth. Look at the silvery sheath-like costumes she wears. I hope she’s not adopting all those kids in case she runs out of grouper.

3) Paul Reubens AKA Pee-wee Herman:

Prairie Dog.

Ask Chairy. (S)He’s the one who told me.

4) Tammy-Faye:

Pekingese.

5) Tommy Lee Jones:

Bloodhound. 

 You ever notice that in many of his roles, he’s tracking people down?  I don't know about you, but I like bloodhounds more than pekingese.

6) Siegfried and Roy:

Cockatoos.

7) Michele Pfeiffer, Ann Hathaway, Julie Newmar, and a significant percentage of the planet’s female population:

Feline.

8) Jimmy Fallon:

Otter. 

(Not really - he paid me to say that.) (He said he was afraid I’d say something else like slug, warthog, or bloat fish.) (What really frightened him was that I might leave him off the list.) (Jimmy Fallon is an insecure otter.)

9) Lee Van Cleef:

Eagle.

You ever notice how he’s scarier when he’s smiling than when he’s not? Now I need to see an eagle smile… Maybe not.

10) Jayma Mays:

Bunny Rabbit,

 Whatever she is – if you saw her at a pet store, you’d have to bring her home.

Because he's an insecure otter (and he paid me,) today's video is of Jimmy Fallon

So that's why he's so insecure.

Ten Words for Baby New Year

So, it’s almost the New Year.

Growing up I saw cartoons of old man 19__ paired with baby 19__ in newspapers, billboards, and sometimes even on doodles made by bored classmates.

As I was a child, I focused on the old man. I felt sorry for him – knowing that his mission, if not his life, would end at midnight New Years Eve.

Now I’m on my way to being an old man, I look at the baby. He looks so clueless. Somebody should help him out.

Here’s

Ten Words for Baby New Year.

by Headley Hauser

1) Sleep. It’s under-rated. As a baby, they let you sleep all the time. Take advantage of it. Before February rolls along, they’ll be waking you up for school, and then it never ends. Store up your zzzs while you can.

2) Floss. It’s over-rated. Baby food tastes just as good in November as it does in January.

3) Christmas. Sorry Baby New Year, you have been royally rooked. Your birthday doesn’t come till you’re about to go to Old Man retirement, and Christmas is only a week before that. It’s a form of child abuse. Demand presents now! Declare MLK birthday as your Christmas, or maybe wait till Valentines Day – by then you’ll be ready for a nice bike.

4) Weather. We’re not in Australia here – January is COLD. Old Man Year gets to wear a full robe and carry a combination hour glass/space heater, while you’re stuck in a diaper? Find yourself a good pair of footy pajamas and don’t let go of them till St Patrick’s Day.

5) Yummy. It’s a trick word that parents use. When they tell you something’s yummy, it’s probably lima beans or spinach. Yummy may sound like a good thing, but make them eat a spoonful first.

6) Football. It’s a sport. All the boring games took place in Old Man Year’s term and now people are excited about the games in your first several days. Don’t worry. Barney will be back on the air by the time you’ve outgrown him.

7) Rock-a-bye. I know – it’s scary as hell. It doesn’t mean that the people singing it want to put you on a tree top and then let it rock till you come crashing down to earth. They really mean well, believe it or not.

8) Farts. They are funny. Old people pretend they’re not, but they’ll still laugh when a baby like you does it. Knock yourself out.

9) Pets. On the whole – they’re good. No, the dog that licks your face is not trying to eat you.

The cat avoids you because he knows you want to pull his tail. No matter how much the fish beg – they really won’t like it outside of the bowl.

10) Politicians. Avoid them. Every politician loves to claim you as the reason it’s time for his or her poorly-thought-out concept of what’s in the public good. Lucky for you, Baby 2014, you’re not one of those big change years like poor old Baby 2000, but still be on your guard. Remember, even before you learn how to talk, you can still blow raspberries – very effective with these clowns.

Here's a video with some more high-brow baby humor.

Heritage of Donuts and Toilet Tissue

They say that the ozone layer is depleting rapidly (or maybe it’s increasing dangerously?) diseases are mutating at an alarming rate, and the world economy is standing at the brink of collapse. What I want to know is what’s up with Mr Whipple and Fred, the Dunkin’ Donut guy?

In my town, every child knew the big three rules 1) never play with matches, 2) walk facing traffic (I guess so we couldn’t say “I never knew what hit me”) and 3) “Please don’t squeeze the Charmin.”

I could have included – “It’s time to make the donuts,” but that wasn’t really a rule.

As I age, I’m dealing with the unpleasant realization that the trivial icons of my generation are resonating with fewer and fewer people. I now get the same blank stare I once gave old fogies who said to me, “Twenty-three skidoo!

What was that about, anyway?

The thing that’s most frustrating is that there’s no reason for today’s wrinkle-less, gray-less youths to learn about Fred and Mr. Whipple. Fred didn’t march with Martin Luther King, or even supply donuts to those who did. Mr. Whipple didn’t end the war in Vietnam – or even wipe up afterwards.

Fred and Mr. Whipple sold donuts and toilet tissue.

And they weren’t even that funny. Why did we think they were funny… Alright, I’ll speak for myself - why did I think they were funny? Why did I chirp, “Ring around the collar,” and laugh as I got dressed for school? Why did I chortle over “Let Hertz put you in the driver’s seat,” as I piled into the family station wagon? Why did I wander down residential macadam singing out, “If you think it’s butter, but it’s not…?”

Well, there was a reason for that last one. Being a little boy of the 1960s, I had fewer bad words available to me without serious repercussions. Though I and my pals sang the Chiffon margarine jingle correctly, what we heard in our heads was: If you think it’s butter, but it’s snot.”

Yes, little boys are gross.

Yes, I grew up – I’m taller than I was. What’s your point?

As much as we are defined by what we do, we are also defined by what our generation does. My father’s generation saved us from the Germans.

My grandfather’s generation saved us from the Germans.

(Maybe we were in a bit of a rut there.)

But what did my generation do? We watched TV and learned advertising jingles, and as shallow and downright (synonym of shallow used here for rhetorical flourish without enhancing meaning) we were, I still care about these two silly little men.

Are they still with us? Is Fred still making donuts, or has he been promoted to the great deep fryer beyond?

That doesn’t sound nearly as pleasant as I meant it to.

Is Mr. Whipple still meticulously stacking paper products – an act which was clearly anal (talk about subliminal advertising!)

Wherever they are, and whatever they are doing, I am grateful for having such trivial influences in my life.

Donuts and toilet tissue are a lot easier to think about than ozone, disease, and economics.

For those of you who A) want hard things to think about or B) want one last blast of the Christmas Season – here’s a Weird Al classic.

Modern Single Holiday

My most frequently published bit. Merry Christmas (thank goodness it's almost over.)

 

Modern Single Holiday

by Headley Hauser

Appears in A Christmas Sampler: Sweet, Funny, and Strange Holiday Tales 2009

Great Stocking Stuffer

We wish you a merry humbug.

We wish you a merry humbug…

– maybe I covered that in the first sentence.

Single men get labeled (unfairly) as Scrooge-like when it comes to the holidays. While it’s true that Ebenezer was a bachelor, it would be unreasonable to say that he was typical of our type. 

First of all, Ebenezer hardly lived alone. He had four ghosts in residence, including his Rasta ex-business partner Jacob Bob Marley. Secondly, the man had servants and never once slept in an unmade bed or ate a bag of microwave popcorn for dinner. Finally… I can’t think of a third reason, but who ever heard of a position without three points?

You might think that just because single men throw Christmas cards away unopened and snarl at shopping mall Santas that we lack an appreciation for holiday spirit. What you fail to take into account is that we, the unwashed denizens of studio apartments, have legitimate holiday traditions of our own.

Now, please remember that tolerance begins with appreciating the differences of others. Single men are rarely P.C. [?suggest “politically correct” in text or as footnote] (at heart), but we have no qualms about invoking [? “imposing?] such tripe on others. So stuff that judgmental attitude where the sun don’t shine, and enter the world of the Bachelor Winter Wonderland.

Deck the halls with dirty laundry.

What? Surely you’re not so close-minded as to insist on pretty lights, peppermint sticks, and frosted Dollar Store figurines to make a home festive? A chair is just a chair, but a chair with blue jeans, jockey shorts, and one odd sock is a festooned celebration of peace on earth and good will till laundry day.

I’ve always taken great comfort in that old favorite:

God rest ye single gentlemen, and sleep through church this day.

At night they light the candles, so wait for the display

To save us in that darkened hour so we can slip away

Without bindings or promises of toil – promise of toil

Such as deacon-work, our holiday to spoil.

Of course there’s the twelve days of Christmas (in the sink).

On the twelfth day of Christmas my scrub sink held for me

Twelve spoons from coffee,

Eleven knives from toffee,

Ten forks spaghetti,

Nine pans Crocker Betty,

Eight cups a-soakin’,

Seven dishes broken,

Six things best-not-spoken,

Five drops of Joy…

(La – la – la)

Four Tupperware,

Three sauce pans,

Two really grungy pads,

And a crock pot I got from Aunt Marge.

Let’s pause a moment, in the midst of our euphoric gaiety, and salute the very reason our kind survives, sometimes for decades, past college graduation: the female relative. If it weren’t for Aunt Marge, Mom, Sis, Grandma, Niece, and Soft-hearted-neighbor-lady-who-adopts-strays, your average bachelor would be eating wet sawdust off the floor before his twenty-eighth birthday. (I mention twenty-eight because that’s the year most women, quite correctly, recognize that the bachelor, so appealing in years past, has now spoiled like a soft cantaloupe and will never be trainable as a proper husband.) These noble women (if you’re having trouble following this paragraph, just ignore all parenthetical asides) provide edible food and helpful laundry tips in sufficiently frequent intervals to keep bachelors from such feral acts as eating raw tuna-helper while peeing in the shower.

(Only the ignored single man does both at the same time.) Their visits to the bachelor’s home ensure that he will wash (or throw out) the dishes, do his laundry, and hide debris regularly.

Back to traditions.

Oh little mound of Doritos bags, how still I see thee lie

On my trash heap and way down deep in my laundry not yet dry.

Yet with your sparkling presence your green and red doth glow.

When from my seat I see none to eat, to the convenience store I go.

For Christmas many single men turn to the hot Doritos. If the trashcan, like a merry heart, is overflowing, it just makes sense that bags should be green as well as red. It’s not that we want to eat Doritos actually, it’s that we know they are so nutritionally balanced. There’s nacho cheese (dairy), corn (grain), hot peppers (fruits and veggies), and the hydrogenated animal fat… (distant cousin to protein?).

Away in a futon, no room on his bed,

The cherubic bachelor with dreams in his head

That Jesus and Santa will work side by side

And bring him an X-box and a Porsche-a to ride.

Of course we know that Jesus was born a baby, ignorant of social customs and incapable of caring for his own needs. Sound like someone you know? Perhaps we, the full-sized infants known as single men, expose our pathetic ineptitude during the holiday season as a public service.

Or maybe we’re just hoping that Scrooge’s ghosts will stop by and tidy up a bit.

Looking for the perfect Christmas gift for that someone special?