I wrote the following poem as a sequel to "K is for Love." I thought that a sequel to a poem was one of the most facetious things I could do, so I did it. "N" in this case, stands for the NRA. One of the things that I really focused on in my early writing, and even now to some extent is exaggerated stereotypes. Generally I take an interest, group, or idea and then create a character that is focused (obsessed) with that idea alone. While many of my poems never get edited over the years some are condensed versions. This poem initially talked about the couple's sex life with guns, but I decided to edit it out because it was just too vulgar. (Note after having transcribed the poem) After performing this one night a young man came up to me and said, "I really like your poem, but Glock 9's don't shine." I stared at him blankly..... I am not even sure what a Glock 9 looks like or even that it exists, it's just something I think I have heard before, so as for it not shining...... I can't say that I care that much. Forgive the inaccuracy of this poem if you feel so inclined to be offended over its fantasy.
He's a man in the NRA
The second amendment is here to stay
He's looking for a woman for some fun
Under her pillow there's a loaded gun
She's a woman with automatic rifles
No liberal ever stifles
she loves her Glock nine
and how it shines
They like to shoot their guns
Killing animals and intruders for fun
They met one night at the shooting range
He saw her and had this feeling.... it was strange
It was like shooting a man, but better
He walked up to her and met her
"Hi, my NRA ID number is A65492
And who may I ask are you?"
"I am just a gun loving nut," she replied
He went weak in the knees and sighed
He was in love
Like shooting an Uzi at a flock of doves
They were married in a shotgun wedding
On their way they had to be heading
Off to the woods for their hunting honeymoon
but that would be their doom
He woke up one night to the sound of breaking glass
His reaction was fast
He grabbed the gun from under his pillow and marched to the sound
He was careful not to make any noise as he walked around
He saw the outline of an intruder
It was a woman, but he'd still shoot her
He jumped into the dark room
The intruder had a weapon, it was a broom!
Stop or I'll shoot he yelled as he pulled the trigger
Blood spat as the bullets hit her
POP1 POP2 POP3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16, CLICK CLICK
Out of ammo so he reloaded quick
16 more hollow point 44s in her head
Sufficed that she was then dead
He turned on the lights
and to his fright
it was his wife
Broom in her bloodied hands
Broken dish in a dust pan
"DAMN IT!" he yelled
as on his knees he fell
"I am ruining my life
This was my fourth wife!"
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Fear and Performance
I used to read my poetry at "open mics" all across the Phoenix area. I don't read poetry like other people do. My performance is just that. It's more about the act than about what I am reading, and as such, I managed to give really good performances to really mediocre poetry. Some of the posts in this blog will either be audio or even video because sometimes the text doesn't really portray what I want it to. Much of my writing is littered with parenthesis of what action I need to take while reading. In this blog I hope to give a little bit of back-story on each piece and adequately portray not just the writing, but the performance of the piece. For example: When I performed "K is for Love" I was scared out of my
mind that
people would think that I was actually spewing racist hate speech, so I used to speed through the first half to get to the part in which you could be assured that I wasn't pushing some KKK agenda. I did love reading that poem first though, because nothing gets people's attention like the first two lines. I promise that if you yell, "He's a man in the Ku Klux Klan" everyone in the room will stop talking and give you their undivided attention until you are finished speaking. I actually performed this poem in a bustling bar one night. I was the only poet amongst many musicians and when I started with that line everyone stopped talking and you could have heard a pin drop. It's quite the attention getter.
mind that
people would think that I was actually spewing racist hate speech, so I used to speed through the first half to get to the part in which you could be assured that I wasn't pushing some KKK agenda. I did love reading that poem first though, because nothing gets people's attention like the first two lines. I promise that if you yell, "He's a man in the Ku Klux Klan" everyone in the room will stop talking and give you their undivided attention until you are finished speaking. I actually performed this poem in a bustling bar one night. I was the only poet amongst many musicians and when I started with that line everyone stopped talking and you could have heard a pin drop. It's quite the attention getter.
K is for Love
I wrote this when I was 16 and is the only poem that I have ever committed to memory. (I am making the following note after having transcribed the poem) It is rough in parts and some of the rhymes feel either forced or simple (specifically the last two lines), but not bad for a 16 year old.
He's a man
In the Ku Klux Klan
and he's looking for a wife
to share his life
If she's gonna right
then she's gotta be white
with blue eyes and bright blonde hair
she will be his maiden fair
She's a woman with priorities
Sticks her nose up at minorities
she loves chaos
and the burning cross
They both hate their fellow man,
but hey, that's why they're in the Klan
They met one night at a Klan meeting
It was a civil rights activist they were beating
Their eyes met from across the flats
but they could barely see over those pointy white hats
But he saw she was white
and that was alright to start a conversation
He quickly snaked through
all the anti Jews (I know it's anti-Semites, but that doesn't rhyme)
he got really close to get a look
she was definitely white, but could she cook
They dated and it all went fine
They shared a hatred in minority swine
For romance
they didn't dance
They went around town
looking for minority children to drown
One day he said
We should wed
He bought her a white gold ring
a hymn of joy she would sing
They were married and soon there were kids
who hated minorities just like their parents did
But she resented the fact
That her life they would reenact
She didn't want them to hate
she wanted them to learn the lesson that she learned to late
Her husband was in a car crash
The train was coming and he made a dash
he was hit
his truck and skull were split
He was rushed to the emergency room
He was dead she assumed
She looked to the floor
as the doctor emerged from the door
She couldn't even look at him
She was so sure that of death her husband was a victim
The doctor then said
When your husband came in he was hanging by a thread
We worked a long time
and it looks like he is going to be fine
With eyes still to the floor she wept joyful tears
With them she washed away her abated fears
She looked up to kiss the man who had saved her husband's being
She couldn't believe what she was seeing
A minority had worked up a sweat
to save the live of a walking threat
The doctor was the best man she had ever known
hatred was something that she could no longer condone
but for her children it was too late
there was already too much hate
She taught them wrong and she feels bad
because a minority saved their dad.
He's a man
In the Ku Klux Klan
and he's looking for a wife
to share his life
If she's gonna right
then she's gotta be white
with blue eyes and bright blonde hair
she will be his maiden fair
She's a woman with priorities
Sticks her nose up at minorities
she loves chaos
and the burning cross
They both hate their fellow man,
but hey, that's why they're in the Klan
They met one night at a Klan meeting
It was a civil rights activist they were beating
Their eyes met from across the flats
but they could barely see over those pointy white hats
But he saw she was white
and that was alright to start a conversation
He quickly snaked through
all the anti Jews (I know it's anti-Semites, but that doesn't rhyme)
he got really close to get a look
she was definitely white, but could she cook
They dated and it all went fine
They shared a hatred in minority swine
For romance
they didn't dance
They went around town
looking for minority children to drown
One day he said
We should wed
He bought her a white gold ring
a hymn of joy she would sing
They were married and soon there were kids
who hated minorities just like their parents did
But she resented the fact
That her life they would reenact
She didn't want them to hate
she wanted them to learn the lesson that she learned to late
Her husband was in a car crash
The train was coming and he made a dash
he was hit
his truck and skull were split
He was rushed to the emergency room
He was dead she assumed
She looked to the floor
as the doctor emerged from the door
She couldn't even look at him
She was so sure that of death her husband was a victim
The doctor then said
When your husband came in he was hanging by a thread
We worked a long time
and it looks like he is going to be fine
With eyes still to the floor she wept joyful tears
With them she washed away her abated fears
She looked up to kiss the man who had saved her husband's being
She couldn't believe what she was seeing
A minority had worked up a sweat
to save the live of a walking threat
The doctor was the best man she had ever known
hatred was something that she could no longer condone
but for her children it was too late
there was already too much hate
She taught them wrong and she feels bad
because a minority saved their dad.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Why?
I am creating this blog because http://www.shootmeinthefaceplease.blogspot.com/ really isn't the place to showcase my creative writing, but rather life and satire. This page will show my creative writing. Poetry for punks will feature essays, short stories, and poetry of course. Before you mark this on your favorites or disregard it completely (dependent on which side of the spectrum you swing) I hate most poetry. I find most poets pretentious, pseudo intellectuals with a lot of words, but very little to say. I have been described by others as a poet for people that hate poetry. I hope you won't be disappointed. 
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