Insane Poetics

The In&Out called "Poetic Insanity" has been around for awhile. On its front page are links to static collections of it's older entries.

While I was reading them, I found sections that I liked so much that I wanted to put them in a more standardized format. The only thing original from ME about the selections below is the mild editing I had to do. All the words come from those who posted to "Poetic Insanity" many moons in the past. THESE ARE NOT MY WORDS. There is no need to rate it. It is just something I read and enjoyed.

IN & OUT

Poetic Insanity  (13+) Complete the previous line and enter part of a new line of poetry... #283804 by deemac

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THE MEANING OF LIFE

He keeps telling me to put the horse before the cart because that increases the horsepower, but spark plugs are so cheap now’ days that ya might as well just plug yourself into your toaster and hope for the best, though that's what Albert Einstein did, and now HE'S DEAD!

So, just grab that orange and peel it with your toes while shouting "Rama-a-lama-lama-lama-dama-ding-dong-do..." because those are your happy words which you always say when you think you have run out of papers, but find an old pack that has five leaves left.

"Five Leaves Left" was the name of your favorite Nick Drake album back when you were hitchin' time zones, dodgin' nursery rhymes, paintin' museums dedicated to alabaster thread, and generally wonderin' about the meaning of life.


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GADZOOKS!

"Gadzooks!" she cried, "I ordered broiled chicken, not fried!"

"No you didn't," the waiter lied, in a voice that was quite snide.

This really hurt her pride, so she left the restaurant and cried.

In the streets she wandered far
in search of her car
but instead found a bar
full of aliens trying to master the use of credit cards and video games.


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LIFE'S CONTRADICTIONS

In the back there is a convention where the highlight is about authors who are called "Stars" and ask questions about eyeballs popping out.

Meanwhile, little David plays his tuba in the halftime show trying to revisit his past because he forgot where he put his ba-ba. Someone finds it and sends it to a little old lady in Pasadena because the "voices" in their head like to sing beach boys tunes, a psychological condition called Old Man Bad Band Psychosis.

You just know this is the fault of growing up in an era of sex, drugs, and fantastic rock-n-roll. From there life’s contradictions whirled you into a life of Powerpuff Girls and chocolate Easter bunnies.


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SHOPPING IN BORA BORA

I shop in the town of Bora Bora,
Outside of Angora,
Where small children huddle
To keep warm by the fire.

They play on the wires,
So hot with desire,
Bogged down in the mire,
Like drunken town criers,
Roasting pigs on the fire
While the choir sing
Up in the church spire.

Oh how I admire those who read the paper from a skyscraper - the Clowns on the Wire!

Except for the one who looks like he got too much sun
The one whose teeth won't stay inside because he eats too much crackers and dropsy snide.
His breath smells like formaldehyde.
He should stop sucking on toads.

Unless they are kicking.

Tomorrow, the frogs will turn into Venus Flytraps, snapping at me with their
wiry little teeth and all the while staring at me with their beady little "all knowing" eyes.

But I'll show THEM when I douse them in gasoline and ignite their little gonads.


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SOMETHING I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND

Something I will never understand is the way you can't see that piece of brocoli stuck between your teeth.

But anyways, broccoli is the least of your worries, because the guy in the cubical next to you is trying to catch a glimpse of your lemon meringue pie with its mounds of luscious mashed carrots just like mama used to make.

Except she would add a pinch more of salt.


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PEOPLE BEAT THEIR DOLLS WITH KNIVES

People beat their dolls with knives while crying out "You lied to me you son of a feathered boa!"

Grrr! How I hate wrapping my legs around your throat when we wrestle or play blind man's bluff in the minefields. The explosions really ruin my day!

So why don't we play it instead in a cave where bats bite you until you bleed a lot and scream for your neo-feminist grandfather who has a problem with turtles. They ate his parents when he was a mere child and now when he sees a turtle he pees his pants and breaks out in red bumps.


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PULL OUT YOUR BLASTER


The writer is talking through the window to the writer next-door.

Together, with mischievous laughter, they will wage a war against each other with limericks as their only weapons, leaving a wasteland of balled-up paper between their two houses.

A wasteland filled with all the wordities, absurdities, non-conformities, abnormities, maladjustments, non-alignments of every phrase and sentence ever known to man, woman, and child.

Oh it is WILD! Join one and all in the crudities or, as Hans Solo said, "Pull out your blaster and blow them away!"