Friday, April 01, 2011

Just Foolin'

'Unicorn bones' were discovered at the Tower of London 
(Pic: Ally Carmichael)

—Joyce Odam, Sacramento

What kind of day is this
for April Fools.

We fought the day
and found it full of anger
and old rules.

We fought the way
we loved each other less
and blamed each other more.

How slow we were to speak
then not to speak.

I think we paid too much
for all this grief.

I think we might have
saved ourselves
at some far turn.

Or maybe not.
I am no longer sure.


Thanks to JO for the April Fools poem! And my apologies to Kevin Jones for my failing to credit his poem, "Dear Old/Mad Old Dad" to him on yesterday's post.

For more ways to befuddle your friends today, go to  As if Edson wouldn't befuddle them enough...


—Russell Edson
               (for Michael Cuddihy)

     A man registers some pigeons at a hotel. They fly up to their rooms.
     He's not sure that his mind doesn't fly with them . . .
     He asks the desk clerk if everything seems all right. He would like to know if the smoke coming out of his cigarette is real, or something the management has had painted on the wall?
     The desk clerk has turned his back and is sorting the mail.
     Sir . . . ,  says the man.
     But the desk clerk continues to arrange the mail.
     Sir, would you look this way for a moment?
     I can hear you, I'm just sorting the mail.
     I wanted you to notice the smoke of my cigarette . . . Since the pigeons flew up to their rooms . . . You never know about the future, I mean how things will finally turn out . . . Please, could you check my smoke . . . ?
     When the desk clerk turns his face is covered with hair, like the back of his head; and the front of his body is like the back of his body.
     Where is your front?
     My twin brother has the fronts; I was born with two backs . . .  I always got the spankings . . .  But why regret the past?
     That's good philosophy . . .
     My best subject.
     . . . Tell me, is everything turning out all right?
     So far so good . . .


—Russell Edson

     A scientist has a test tube full of sheep. He wonders if he should try to shrink a pasture for them.
     They are like grains of rice.
     He wonders if it is possible to shrink something out of existence.
     He wonders if the sheep are aware of their tininess, if they have any sense of scale. Perhaps they just think the test tube is a glass barn . . .
     He wonders what he should do with them; they certainly have less meat and wool than ordinary sheep. Has he reduced their commercial value?
     He wonders if they could be used as a substitute for rice, a sort of woolly rice . . .
     He wonders if he just shouldn't rub them into a red past between his fingers.
     He wonders if they're breeding, or if any of them have died.
     He puts them under a microscope and falls asleep counting them . . .


—Russell Edson
                (for Robert Bly)

There was a woman named Martha George
who had discovered one day that her chest
was a radio. She turned it on with her left
nipple. A voice came out from between her
breasts: We now present the adventures of
                  Martha George. As you remember
                  in our last episode Martha had
                  been fiddling with her breasts—
                  We find her now fiddling with
                  her breasts. She turns her left
                  nipple. She's afraid it might come
                  off. But instead, a voice comes out
                  from between her breasts: We
                                      now present the fur-
                                      ther adventures of
                                      Martha George . . .


Today's LittleNip: 

—Alexander Pope

Sir, I admit your general rule,
That every poet is a fool.
But you yourself may serve to show it,
That every fool is not a poet.