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Feature
Poet:
Robert
Dunn
Pill
of Particulars
Faithfully,
She took her pills,
Until one night . . .
Her pills took her.
Meeting the Challenge
Upon offering to wrestle anybody
in this crowd for five dollars,
I took another look at you all .. .
Decided to wrestle the five dollars instead.
The Little Mental Black Book Block
Aunt Twitchie said,
"The next time you find
A little black address book
Lying in the street and
Instead of succumbing
To the temptation of selling it
To the highest bidder
Or some foreign power,
You decide to restore it
To its rightful owner,
But you can't find
The rightful owner's
Name and address in it--
Well, then, just make a list
Of every name and address
You do find scribbled in it
And whoever is missing
Must be the owner . . .
Because, come to think of it,
You never put your own name
And address in your own
Little black address book,
Now would you?
That's plain simple common sense,
Now isn't it?
And once that is settled,
Then you can sell the
Little black address book
To the highest bidder
Or some foreign power
So that Uncle Mulch and I
Can retire early
Off your proceeds
And then we will be
So incredibly proud of you . . .
Sucker!
Now, about that secret code book . . .
Dedication (by Sonnet Sam)
If I should do the wash tonight,
I'll have tomorrow free, I trust,
To deal with such other tasks I must . . .
Like wage that parking ticket fight.
If I blow this evening sniffing bleach,
And softener, and detergent, see,
Tomorrow I can tackle neglected emergencies
Whose solutions sat beyond my reach
Owing to the severest time restraints
(I can't be everywhere at once, you know).
In this way, my character must surely grow,
And I'll someday take my place among the Saints.
Yea! I'll do the wash and my heart will leap . . .
Then tomorrow morning I'll probably oversleep.
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Robert Dunn is the Publisher of the literary
magazine, Medicinal Purposes and The Schedule,
the monththy listing of readings in the New York area. He
leads the Poet-to-Poet reading series and cable television
shows. He can be reached at robert.dunn17@gte.net
Quick Open Mic:
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Clip of Poet
Better Stick to a Little Goose
(by Pantoum Pinchus)
The Thanksgiving Spirit whispers "Pssst!
Yes, although she may have tempting gams,
Beware the turkey masochist.
Remember that she plays with yams."
Yes ... although she may have tempting gams,
The turkey does prove a dangerous breed.
Remember that she plays with yams
And boasts of other dubious deeds.
The turkey does prove a dangerous breed ...
As her voice cuts through November's snows:
And boasts of other dubious deeds:
"Pluck me! Stuff me! Make me crow!"
As her voice cuts through November's snows,
It instills in me a morbid fear.
"Pluck me? Stuff me? Make me crow? ..."
I don't eat birds who volunteer.
It instills in me a morbid fear . . .
Beware the turkey masochist!
"I don't eat birds who volunteer,"
The Thanksgiving Spirit whispers. "Pssst!"
Tales from the Pig's Eye Cafe (by Haiku Stu)
Rip-Snorter on Tenth Avenue
Flies buzz around trash
Cans glistening in moonlight.
Street gangs muscle in.
Jump Slump
Brash motorcycle
Daredevil jumps bike over
Gorge...well, almost jumps.
The Well-Flustered Feather Duster
Tropical pet store
Romance: multi-hued bird meets
Birdseed. Object? Lunch.
Bed Ticking
If you don't like your
Bed ticking, then for God's sake
Stop winding it up.
Requiem for Another Heavyweight
When Allen Ginsberg died,
All the social-climbers
Who wanted career boosts
Began cluttering up readings
By performing ornate elegies
On his behalf -- as if he
Might come back sometime next week.
When my turn rolled around,
I announced, "Leave it to Ginsberg
To try to upstage National Poetry Month
By dropping dead at the start of it.
Allen -- wherever you are tonight --
Let me just say ... I never liked you."
The bar grew so quiet
You could hear a pimp drop.
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