The honk on the street, the noise from above,
Impact. Steering lost, fighting for control.
The light touch of wind from the fan,
Over, on the curb, the deer, fighting to stand.

[ June 22, 2001: Message edited by: Jeff Kardde ]
 

This is an assignment from my writing class this summer (getting a "heads up" on switching majors, wouldn't you know...)

We wrote one poem about a nice place. That poem was:

Moonlight streaming between the blinds,
Cat asleep on the futon, tail twitching,
The honk on the street, the noise from above,
The light touch of wind from the fan,

Then, we wrote a poem about a scary moment. That poem was:

Down a curve, shifting into fourth.
Frozen in my headlights, eyes meet.
Impact. Steering lost, fighting for control.
Over, on the curb, the deer, fighting to stand.

Our assignment was to combine the two. Whatdya' think? (Relax! I didn't hit another deer...)
 

Ha! I = Master of blaming others!
 

A Strange and Twisted poem

by Me

***

In the audience I sat, in Chicago for the day,
Among the college kids, the rednecks.
The single mothers looking for excitement,
The security men, aware as Jerry took to stage.

His first guest, a Republican pastor,
Preached and railed against fags his whole life.
Got his ass kicked in London, mistook fag for a cig,
Didn't deter him, took to the streets his message.

On campaign trail, in stadiums and parks,
To crowds of thousands or a baker's dozen.
The sins of same sex intercourse, he argued,
Against the bible, against God, he argued.

One night, in a hotel with two girls,
Floor sticky with alcohol, empty bottles of vodka.
A trick maneuver, the sudden surprise of his wife's call,
A fall, his wife's voice: "the kids miss you."

The ambulance, the police,
Sirens flashing, whisked to the hospital.
The doctor with a lisp, "You'll be fine, sir,"
A dammed -- the darkeness of forced sleep.

He awoke with a start, the young nurse uninteresting,
With a start, out of the hospital.
The women - slim, sexy - he was not interested in,
Only the men, he lusted after.

To a lawyer went he, his story incredible,
The liberals mocked him a hipocrite.
Rush Limbaugh blasted him as unworthy,
His bank account drained, his wife to Bermuda.

So here on Springer, to confront the man who altered him,
"A fag did he make me!" he cried.
To the boos of the audience,
Onto stage the doctor stepped.

But there was no right-hook, no thrown chair,
instead a passionate embrace, to the cheers of the audience.
The two kissed,
And for Jerry, a touch on his keister.
 

The "title" came from the National Enquirer. I could've chosen to write a poem about:

"Green Thumb Psycho" kills 16 Women With a Grass Trimmer, Cops Charge

Why Is My 3-Year Old Son Speaking Latin?

Dads Bowl For Custody Of Four-Year Old Daughter!

E.T.'s Cut My Leg Off ... and kept it as a souvenir!

Anti-Gay Activist Sues Surgeon -- For Turning Him Into A Homosexual!

World's Only Waterskiing Elephant Dead at 80!
 

It might be the title of my autobiography.