Paul's Poetry Corner
By Paul Shrug, Section Columns Posted on Sun Sep 2nd, 2007 at 10:15:19 PM PDT
Now that the suits aren't around, I can finally do what I've longed to do on Satanosphere since the day it started -- a regular column featuring my own original poetry.

Boats On Lake Union There are boats on Lake Union Sailing, sailing, sailing Regard the boats. There are boats on Lake Union My, there are a lot of them The Russians must be back. The boats are still on Lake Union I thought perhaps they were leaving Apparently, they've decided otherwise. Boats on Lake Union Boats, boats, boaty-boaty-boaties An armada of sea-things. Will the boats bring my love back to me? Boats, do you answer my call? Just wave or something. Boats on Lake Union Sailing, sailing, sailing But alas. No broads on 'em. Thank you. Thank you very much. Here's another one of my original poems for your enlightenment. Aurora Boulevard At Night Aurora Boulevard takes on a strange countenance at night Tarnished rusty submitted dervishes Approach my vessel with hung low eyes Do they proffer a coupon? Damn, I don't have 15 bucks Another night with magazines and Baked Lays Crumbs on the bed Oh, baby, sing me a low song of sorry Or just rap for a bit Do I look like I give a good goddamn? Maybe cheese sauce. I hope that poem wasn't too ribald for you. Again, it was intended for your enlightenment and education. Here's another poem with much of the same general intent. Tuesday Night at the China Clipper How the fuck do I know? I don't live there anymore. As you can see, I enjoy being minimalist with my poetry. Sometimes, it is worth leaving a lot of details out of the equation to allow the reader to form conclusions of his or her own. This next poem was inspired by the work of Alaskan poetess Jewel. Salmon Salmon Do not quote the work of Joyce or know how to use a file cabinet Sometimes I wonder whe re I put my Speak 'n' Spell Not that it would do me any good at this late date Besides the batteries are out That's why I speak like Rain Man Thank you again for examining that poem of mine. And now, I would like to present my finale -- a poem in the style of T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land," filled with imagistic details and multi-layered meanings, with multiple and unique narratives piling on top of each other to produce a cumulative, complex effect, at which I am very good at doing. I Totally Rowlfed At the Twilight Exit Last Night Dinner would complete itself, dreaming Curlicues of curry sauce, steaming But stop it does not the inverted umbrella, drinking The customer, instead of the other way around As in Soviet Russia, where the... Oh, for Christ's sake. I hate poetry. I fucking hate it. I hate it. Hate, hate, hate poetry. Hate, hate, hate it. The fuck I have to answer to you guys for? For crying out loud -- I'm respectable now! What do I have to get on here and beg for attention for? You know what I used to live for? I'll tell you, pokey. It wasn't love. It wasn't art. It was drink tickets. Bring me my goddamn drink tickets. I'm buying a goddamn house, for crying out loud. A house. And by "house," I mean a thing with walls and a roof, and a place I can park my car where nobody else can park it. A literal house. Not a "house salad." Not "house music." Not "a book published by Random House." Not "a TV show about improbably complicated medical situations starring Hugh Laurie." I mean A HOUSE. Ha, ha-ha-ha-ha! You know what I did in Olympia for self-worth? Karaoke. For God's sake. You know how long it's been since I did karaoke for anything other than a special occasion? Months! (Although the new house is directly across the street from a karaoke bar, but I think it's all in Japanese. Lotta good that'll do me.) Remember how I wanted a job? I have a job. I have a job now. It's permanent. You know how much money I make? Enough to buy brand-name salsa whenever I want it. I don't need this shit! I got nothing to say! Anything I have to say goes through my realtor first! Then she faxes it back to me with notes! And I read it back to her, and it's completely different from what I originally had to say in the first place! Fuck this shit! Um... boats. And whores. Boats, and also whores. Thank you for reading my poetry. I'll be doing a "slam" next week at Nectar, after which the audience will be invited to beat me up. That's what we do in Seattle. On the edge? You can call it that.

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