—Illustrations Courtesy of Public Domain
FIT
A cocktail party cruiser,
a broker working the room,
cornered me and asked,
“What do you do to keep fit?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m active
but not for the sake of fitness.
I hunt and fish.”
“Oh,” he replied, “I run.”
He looked at his watch,
touched his wrist as if
to check his standing heart rate,
already scanning the room
for another prospect.
“For what?” I asked.
“To keep fit, of course.”
“For what?” I repeated.
He paused, smiled nervously
and cleared his throat.
“So I’ll live longer.”
He was ready to bolt.
“For what?” I asked again.
He drifted off, shaking his head.
He only had wrong answers.
A cocktail party cruiser,
a broker working the room,
cornered me and asked,
“What do you do to keep fit?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m active
but not for the sake of fitness.
I hunt and fish.”
“Oh,” he replied, “I run.”
He looked at his watch,
touched his wrist as if
to check his standing heart rate,
already scanning the room
for another prospect.
“For what?” I asked.
“To keep fit, of course.”
“For what?” I repeated.
He paused, smiled nervously
and cleared his throat.
“So I’ll live longer.”
He was ready to bolt.
“For what?” I asked again.
He drifted off, shaking his head.
He only had wrong answers.
INSERT HERE
I need to put things into my mind
to write about because I don’t like
what’s filling up my head now.
I need to dream or hallucinate
new notions to examine,
to find fresh meat to feed
the hunger of my imagination.
Experience is one thing,
but daydreaming is quite another.
I need a list of odd topics
and a slot in the top of my skull
that says INSERT HERE,
like a cranial suggestion box
where I don’t have to worry
about dumb ideas or anonymity.
Drugs might help but with my history
it’s hard to say.
ONE HAIR
I have this one hair that grows
high in the middle of my chest.
It grows fast and long and finds
its way out of my collar
like a feeler, an antenna to capture
the music of the lower ranges,
but all it ever draws
are well-intentioned women
who approach me kindly
in grocery store lineups
with exculpatory smiles
and pinch-poised fingers
to snatch away
the offending thread,
little knowing
how much it hurts.
SEVEN DEADLY SINS
PRIDE should be pumped up
On display every day
Not talking chauvinism
Just plain old pride
GREED? If you don’t ask you don’t get
Am I right?
Greed fuels competition
A critical cornerstone
LUST is what separates us
From the animals
Because we don’t have
A special season for it
ENVY fuels capitalism
Makes Wall Street work
Without a healthy dose
We’re all socialists
GLUTTONY, I grant you
Is a tough one
Too much ‘all you can eat’
But the signs are there so . . .
WRATH? Well, if the world
Doesn’t piss you off
From time to time
You’re not living in it
SLOTH ought to be a virtue
In our workaday world
Put your feet up and relax
Don’t sweat it
MA HUBBARD
“Hard times,” I said.
“Hell,” she snorted,
“I’ve been through hard times before.”
“But your poor dog
has no bone to eat,” I said.
“And he had none yesterday,”
she snorted again,
“and none the day before. He’ll live.”
“Nobody talks about
the animals,” I said, “do they.”
“What about that little piggy,” she said.
“Oh, yeah.”
“He had none,” she said.
“That’s right.”
“Nobody said he didn’t make it.”
“Hard times,” I said.
“Hell,” she snorted,
“I’ve been through hard times before.”
“But your poor dog
has no bone to eat,” I said.
“And he had none yesterday,”
she snorted again,
“and none the day before. He’ll live.”
“Nobody talks about
the animals,” I said, “do they.”
“What about that little piggy,” she said.
“Oh, yeah.”
“He had none,” she said.
“That’s right.”
“Nobody said he didn’t make it.”
NUMERO UNO
never mind about Ayn Rand
there is something to be said
for taking care of numero uno
there will always be those who will
lineup demanding their happiness
from you but you haven’t got it
to give—it’s theirs to create
don’t look at me like I’m crazy
for doing what I want to do
when and where I want to do it
life is not too short
it’s exactly the right length
so long as you don’t sit around
waiting for it to end.
_________________
Today’s LittleNip:
We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.
—Charles Bukowski
_________________
Newcomer Gregg Norman lives and writes in a lakeside cottage in Manitoba, Canada, with his wife and a small dog who runs the joint, and where Gregg reads poetry every day to retain his frail grip on sanity. His work has been accepted by numerous poetry journals and literary magazines in Canada, USA, UK, Australia and India, including Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Dark Winter Literary Magazine, Borderless Journal, Synchronized Chaos, Book of Matches Literary Journal, Medusa’s Kitchen, Horror Sleaze Trash, Impspired Literary Magazine, The Littoral Magazine, MasticadoresUSA, The Piker Press, Academy of the Heart and Mind, Raconteur Magazine, and Suburban Witchcraft Magazine. He is also the author of four published novels and a novella. Welcome to the Kitchen, Gregg, and don’t be a stranger!
_________________
—Medusa
never mind about Ayn Rand
there is something to be said
for taking care of numero uno
there will always be those who will
lineup demanding their happiness
from you but you haven’t got it
to give—it’s theirs to create
don’t look at me like I’m crazy
for doing what I want to do
when and where I want to do it
life is not too short
it’s exactly the right length
so long as you don’t sit around
waiting for it to end.
_________________
Today’s LittleNip:
We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.
—Charles Bukowski
_________________
Newcomer Gregg Norman lives and writes in a lakeside cottage in Manitoba, Canada, with his wife and a small dog who runs the joint, and where Gregg reads poetry every day to retain his frail grip on sanity. His work has been accepted by numerous poetry journals and literary magazines in Canada, USA, UK, Australia and India, including Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Dark Winter Literary Magazine, Borderless Journal, Synchronized Chaos, Book of Matches Literary Journal, Medusa’s Kitchen, Horror Sleaze Trash, Impspired Literary Magazine, The Littoral Magazine, MasticadoresUSA, The Piker Press, Academy of the Heart and Mind, Raconteur Magazine, and Suburban Witchcraft Magazine. He is also the author of four published novels and a novella. Welcome to the Kitchen, Gregg, and don’t be a stranger!
_________________
—Medusa
Gregg Norman
For future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
creatures/pig
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
creatures/pig