We interrupt our regulary scheduled poetry posting…

We have a late breaking news story from the war torn, wanna be Orange County housewife infested region of Naples Island in the Long Beach region of southern California…And now our imbedded journalist, Christopher Baker…

The first blog category sounds great, contributions
are most indeed encouraged, seeing as how my CPU is
still in hiatus, floating amongst lines of code sent
from the fingertips of ultra-intelligent 16 year old
hackers with nothing better to do with their endless
supply of ENERGY but to interrupt, encrypt and corrupt
the files and folders on millions of  personal
computers every year. Can you blame them? I can't see
how one can. Every DOG must be a PUPPY right? But
those puppy bites can still hurt, scar and
infect….careful your arm doesn't fall off son.
How's that for a freestyle entry Dul?!?! cut , print
and copy that bitch. gotta run to Naples for a class
meeting on the identification of herbaceous plant
material on the lawns of far too rich for their own
damn good, patrons of the area of Long Beach called
"Naples Island". One day it will sink into the bay,
not fast, but slowly sink into swampy stink.  We will watch the rich pull
their most prized possesions, mistresses, and toy
sizeed puppy dogs from the bubbling bay?

peace and meets!
CCC

Herbaceous lawns, multi million dollar homes on a man made island and sixteen year old computer hackers, somewhere Dan Brown is taking notes.  Mr. Baker, take care.  Avoid soccer mom patrolled H2's and H3's at all costs.  Good day and good luck.   

Simple rhymes on a saturday

Doubt

Does nothing but deaden the desire the soul

dedicates itself to.  Forget the fallacy of falling

apart, forgive yourself for feeling forgotten.

I admire you for your admissions

of apprehension regarding my words.

Wait on my worth, walk with

me as we wind along the

walkway that is our trust.

Trust me, the truth, you tremble

when touched, tenderness and tact

be damned.  I

Demand your desire to devotion,

doubts be dimmed.

I am for you, you are for me

the rhyme is simple, as our

feelings should be.

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A little poem for one of my friends stuck in the ATL.

Glass Turkey Baster

Elegant design, easy to clean, can't stain

Get rid of your perpetually greasy, stained baster. Our glass baster can't stain or retain odors, cleans up more easily and far outlasts plastic models. Unique, angled tip directs liquid into small spaces to perfectly baste meats, poultry and vegetables. Tempered heat-proof glass can handle the hottest liquids. Durable rubber bulb. Dishwasher safe. 101/4"L. USA made. 

A turkey baster, employed, specifically-in the basting of turkeys; usually jammed into a kitchen junk drawer (besides corroding batteries and a broken temperature gauge); only seeing the light of day around the fourth Thursday in November. 

You, sir are neither Patuxet or Pilgrim.  You, sir- do not have a turkey either frozen or fresh in need of basting.  Sir, that does not belong spiked in your arm. 

This is the roughest of first drafts

 

Clayton Bigsby

While pissing

I hold my dick in my right hand.

I use my left hand to hold the

Toothbrush

that cleans my teeth.

And I think of contradictions.

Suntans

And

Racism.

  

 

 

A hint of poetry.

I originally wrote this poem for another blog.  the blog is called 50 first words, you basically take a word or phrase and then write the first 50 words of a story pertaining to said word or phrase.  The prompt for this particular poem was candlelit.

Candlelit

 

Candlelit cravings crept quickly

away while imagining the antiqued

purple rose petals strewn about

your pale-pale-

 

The constant quiet comes back,

the kitchen clock coughs,

the time is ten to ten pm.

Side by side the linguine

and chicken sit, sadly, lamenting

their cold skins as the candles

cry out goodbye.

Casting The Made For TV Moussaoui Movie

Hollywood Here I Come (Chatting with a casting director)

Cue the close up, cause I am ready!

Time to make me famous!

With all these Arab terrorists in movies

and on TV,

I feel it’s about time we cast an

actual Arab in these roles.

I come with credentials,

check out my name:

Abdul Rehman Mohammed Issa,

rolls off the tongue don't it?

Plaster that name on billboards and

I guarantee we’ll sell out theaters coast

to coast.

And check this,

my dad, his names Mohammed.

I come with an authentic Arabic lineage.

and

he is one of those devout Muslim guys.

You know the type, the ones that carry prayer rugs

wherever they go.

Where do I sign?

I mean come on, I so fit the

stereotype

of a

camel riding, Jihad joining, Flight school certificate holding

Dune Coon.

So pass me the turban and the pen,

I’m gonna be a star!

Do I speak Arabic?

Well, no,

but…

you want to cast my dad?

Might be a problem.

I haven’t um seen him since

I was six and he um

lives over in Saudi and

last I checked that’s a long drive from

Long Beach, CA.

Planes, are you serious?

I hate planes,

I hate flying.

My mom, yeah she speaks Arabic.  But

she’s not what you’re looking for. 

Trust me.  Dude, she’s a white girl.

Blond haired blue eyed devil.

See me slip into character right there.

Well screw you too.

Look I’m sorry.  I apologize for the

outburst.

Technically I’m half er a quarter Arab.

But…

Have a nice day?

Fuck you too buddy!

This was gonna be my big break,

I was gonna be a star.

Do I speak Spanish?

What the fuck do you mean

I look Hipanic?

Take this post with a grain of salt and a wink (considering this is my self indulgent blog)

A quick impersonation of myspace sites.  Ahem,

Looooooooooooooooooook at meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee loooooooooooooooooooooooooook Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm sooooooooooo cooooooooooooooooooooooool and u rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr laaaaaaaammmmmmmmmmmmeeeeeeeeeeeeee sooooooooooooooooooo laaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmeeeeeeee.  Looooooooooooook atttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee coooooooooooooooooooool people that do nooooooooooooooooooot suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckie people rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaameeeeeeeeeeeeee.

In closing, I'll probably have a myspace website I can call my own before you know it (no lame or suckie people though).  I'd also like to use this time to pose a question for anyone bored enough to slog through this post, would anyone be interested in a column of quotes from myspace sites?  That site is a gold mine for satirists. 

Emote

We are adhering to life now with our last muscle- the heart.

-Djuna Barnes, Nightwood (1937)