Happy Bacon Day

I don’t really care for mushy Valentine’s Day greeting card poetry, so here’s something completely different:

Roses are red.
Bacon tastes good.
Poetry is hard.
Bacon.

(Unfortunately, I cannot take credit for this.)

Head Space

I just realized I no longer
Think in the present tense.
Only space in my head, these days.
My mind is not here right now
But please leave a message.
I’ll get back to you tomorrow
Or next week.
Or wherever my brain is.
All my thoughts are there.
Like my mind is always
One Delorean ride ahead.
And I’ll never catch up with it.

Dromedary Quite Contrary

I saw a dromedary,
On the first of February.
A contrary dromedary,
On the first of February.
And this very dromedary,
A quite wary dromedary,
Was outside of the library,
On the first of February.

My Kneeds

One really needs one’s knees.
Two working knees, not one.
Having both knees,
One finds it frees,
One up to jump and run.

My Name is Not Gven

Living, as I do, in Sweden.
I’ve often heard and often seen,
That Swedes don’t care,
Or aren’t aware,
That V and W are different.
Whilst seeking out a library book,
After a long and thorough look,
One may find that one,
Can locate none,
Of Wordsworth, Wells, or Whitman.
Try going back one letter, please.
They’re probably within the Vs,
Right next to Verne,
Since Swedes don’t discern,
There are two different consonants.

Meowtropolis

I chose “Steampunk Kitten” as the next theme for Casual Art, and this is what I came up with. It’s meant to be an homage to Fritz Lang’s 1927 Sci-Fi/Expressionist silent film, Metropolis.

Why did you become a teacher?

It took a couple of months but I’m gainfully employed again.
A middle school gig this time.

Yes, I know.

All middle school kids are psychopaths.
Who in their right mind would teach that level?
Well…me, I guess.
But then, I’ve never taken the conventional path in life.

Middle school kids can be difficult to teach.
Don’t try to bullshit them.
Never show them any fear or they’ll eat you alive.
Make them laugh.
Tell a joke.
Sing a song.
Whatever you do, just don’t be boring.

They love to ask me,
“Why did you become a teacher?”
I never really know how to answer that properly.
So I usually say,
“Because I just love being abused by young people.”
And that makes them laugh.

The real answer is complicated.
At first I didn’t know what else to do.
Didn’t know what I was good at.
So I decided to try teaching.
It turns out I’m a natural born teacher.
The kids can tell that I love doing it.

Losing my previous teaching gig,
Was so painful and traumatic,
I seriously thought about getting out of it.
But I just can’t imagine doing anything else.
I’ll always be a teacher.

I’ll be a teacher until being a teacher,
Is no longer any fun.

Dough Not

You can keep your candy,
And your chips.
Your chocolate bars,
And salty dips.
French fries, ice cream,
Or cookies.
But do not take my
Doughnuts, please.

A Mermaid’s Treasure

The earth’s breath,
Unzips my fishtail skirt.
And the sun’s warmth reveals,
The secret kept by the cold wet sea,
A mermaid’s hidden treasure.

Hello Sailor

Been thinking about mermaid sex lately, as it relates to a collaborative art project I’ve recently joined. This week’s theme is “Pregnant Mermaid.” Not surprisingly, “How do mermaids get pregnant?” is a question that has been asked on the internet, and often given the unimaginative answer, “Duh. Mermaids aren’t real.” Still, hypothetically, how would it happen? Well, according to legend, when a mermaid dries off, her fishtail transforms into legs. So that got me thinking. There aren’t any mermen (at least in my version of the legend) so when a mermaid wants to get pregnant, she emerges from the sea and waits for a male passerby. So here she is, my little mermaid just at the moment of transformation. I call this painting, “Hello Sailor.”