official statement by and about a poet named chi chi
this is an official statement. i have never proffered an official statement before mainly because it is stupid. but also because i have no talent. then it occurred to me that that is exactly what it requires. not that this was any kind of a revelation, it was more like a resignation. i am now ready to stand before you and announce, "my name is chi chi and i have no talent." now since i have no talent this will dwindle to a whimpering end. it will not end. it will just give up in despair.
this is the second paragraph that chi chi built. it is not his/her best paragraph and it is not his/her worst paragraph but it is a paragraph and that is done.
on the third paragraph chi chi said, let there be levity, and things floated for awhile until they gave up and became brutal reminders. this reminds me of a story. i have now remembered the story and have laughed loudly. i will not relate the story because i have no talent.
four times now i have gone to the refrigerator and brought back nothing. it was not for nothing that i went but it was with nothing i returned. it is because i have no vision but i sure am hungry.
six bunnies were bantering. the first bunny said, how much for that hat? the second bunny said, what hat? i don't see a hat. the third bunny said, you can have the hat for a joke. the fourth bunny said, that's no hat that's my mother. the fifth bunny said, anyone can live in a hat but can you chop off my foot and make a key chain out of it? the sixth bunny said, with this hat i can rule that part of the world that has no fashion sense. and he did. a tip of the hat goes to winston in baltimore.
this is the seventh and final example. i. it. the. things. bah.
the cretic
the cretic, for the critic, in a couplet, with counterpoint in conventional denotation,
as r.s. crane proposes, in Ictus Delicto,
is best iambic to avoid hyperbole.
metaphorically, mellic poetry, sung or danced, arrange strophes in triads but i would not want to try that here. it's much too dangerous.
pattern poetry, with perfect, true, or full rhyme, in sestinas measures out at perfect time but that gets butchered like little pastourelle kittens. where o where is a home for one like me?
byunnys
i like byunnies hip hop hippity hippety hip hop bunnies are cool and taste good too i like buynies to run and romp they really chomp them carrots. Whenever i see a buny i go hip hip hippety hop hop and chop them into little pieces. they have fun they are bvunnies and run all around my yard. they have tails and ignore my snails they are bunnies on the run. they do hip hop too. chewy chewy bunnys all around they are what comes out of what comes out of the ground. yumm.
keeping you abreast of my day
last night
nefandous preteristic tankling thru my window. when i rub my ears it hurts. i am most cowering, scrawling my will with neologisms.
this morning
noology came ther my winder. "suck you bus", it sert. "ip so sub u burb".
around noon
my agent comes bearing grafts. it is a causal relationship.
night fall
i am a squeaky little mouse. please help me. i will save you.
worms are eating my shoelaces
every one of us must kill a lazy moment a former principle, a tenuous grapple hold so i killed bunnies
how dare bunnies forsake me and not bring me candied eggs i will obliterate them all
this is not a poem i am not copyrighting it you may use it but be careful the bunnies you kill today might be owned by
fred the fine fella who lent me his umbrella i held it aloft at the bus stop and met bunny she's employed i have an umbrella
delete
rafty, syncope
hoggerel doggerel
hoyden avoidin
me
croodle my glock
thesmothete this
i'll sycomancy your figs
some writer communities say
"lexiphanic dwarf graveolent scroggling your skintle songs are trane. bad bad bad bad bad
tittup gangrel frotteur."
aubade no good
too much beeswing to be beswink my name is elmer thwang cynathropy frolics in my family but then we're greyhounds i'm a bilch i married my first bitch, the whiddler zori maker have i already told you this story? these were woodsy folk and i'm no ballhooter i was had by lobola and married the ugly daughter, fewmet
she could cook while i slank with mabby from her father's cellar she made me a fly swatter made from the tail of a yak i began my career as a martext but before long i was as you see.
the bodach
it begins with formication with an m. look it up. you are all closed in with the fear of potoo. i do not explaterate. this is all pertinent. you and zorillo are hankin, popping corn in the fireplace and sharing a colletic snifter. this ain't poculation or mungo.
this is the real deal. the conchers are restless.
this portends ill.
the chthonic moreta of man's last leap
don't concern yourself about it
he runs with the hodads
don't we all at first...
plonk, the french revolution, carmagnole, and you
the mimp and the pschutt lost
these are not pom poms these little epigerms
put that away don't you know it's not polite to care?
send your snake mail to mephistopheles
my construction blocks are in a pile
i lost my suspenders at sears
i live in a bee hive my name is bruce
ferdinand muggins reads the sunday paper
he logoleapt in disappointed at every turn the musty smell of the finance section advice from miss rixatrix editorial erectarines cornobbled funnies
tales of brave pulissis
she walks in many angles torn from sequence
the precipitous mouthing of sweet basils not smelled but smiled bear the beginnings of something called me.
i'll turn on a green light when i hear my mouth say something i truly believe. here it comes now it speaks in circles of parapraxal bunny shoot when finally her angle appeared direct to me i struck.
monoglot
y'all
bablo yerfroota – poem and first paragraph of new biography
bablo yerfroota (1934-2003), whose real name was nefertiti picado roland bassanova, was born on 14 June, 1934, in my own hometown of nalga fina, chile. his father was a runaway impressario and his mother, who died shortly after his first taco, a boarding school matron. some years later his father, who had by then moved to the town of phlegmuco, remarried doña trini lopezverde. the poet spent his second childhood and dotage in phlegmuco, where he unoriginally met barbarella mistaffe, head of the girls' aquatics center, who took a liking to him due to his soppy sentimentality and breast stroke. at the early age of fitty three he began to contribute some articles to the semiregular "writeThis", among them, entusiasmo persevaricator - his first publication - and his first poem "Horsies"*. In 1999 he became a contributor to the literary journal "Readlers Dijest" under the pen name of Bablo Yerfroota, which he adopted in memory of the Czechoslovak poet Slom Yerfroota (1834-1891). Some of the poems Yerfroota wrote at that time are to be found in his first published book: Corpuscularius (1999).
*The coffee she is a centipede: hear how she gallops through the sea, through the sky and in glue.
She wants to buck me: listen how she works the phones to get me to Pasadena.
Hide me between your thighs just for christmas, while the hearth pounds against chimney and esophagus its santa claus spit.
Listen how the grandfather clock calls me to digging a hole to take me to Venus.
With your hairlip on my spectacles, with your chapstick on my ear, our booties tied to the fireplace grill, let you pass wind and me not pass-out.
Let the wind rush crowned with burrito, let it call to me and seek me barumpa bum bumming in the shadow, while I, sunk between your broadsides, just once this holiday shall tootle, my love.
