Various poems have appeared in magazines and anthologies:
ON THE DISRUPTION OF ... in Scholia Satyrica
THE YOUNG PERSON'S GUIDE ... in Lyrical Iowa
TINA VOWS TO KEEP ... in Lyrical Iowa
A BRIEF OVERWIEW OF ... in Jnl. Opt. Soc. Am.
ON THE DISRUPTION OF MY ATTACHMENT BOND
H.S.Akisall and W.T.McKinney Jr., Science 182, 20 (1973)
Tonight I shall again evoke the strawness of her hair
and drag free amines from my presynaptic store
through eighty proof somatic therapy,
but melancholia remains and bitter object loss.
Tonight I shall again evoke the rounding of her breasts
and desperately soothe my diencephalon
through every common pathway known to man,
but melancholia remains and bitter object loss.
Princes, relieve the torment of these too sweet dreams,
this loss of reinforcement, this learned helplessness
that darkens days and makes the demons of the night
turn on my periventricular punishment system.
Princes, suspend my negative cognitive set
or I shall dwell in the house of Skinner forever.
In the land of Guatemala the Indians tell this old story. They teach that when you have troubles, share them with your dolls. Remove one colored doll for each problem. Before you go to sleep, tell the doll your trouble. While you are sleeping, the doll will try to solve your troubles. Since there are only six dolls, you are allowed only six troubles a day.
Blue doll, my plants are dying,
my roses look like shit,
my grass is brown and frying,
please get to work, or split.
Black doll, my car stopped running,
I've sloshed through mud and snow.
Get up and use your cunning.
For God's sake, make it go.
Grey doll, my brain is burning,
my throat is hot and dry,
my stomach keeps on churning;
you're no MD, but try.
Pink doll, my love is leaving,
she's packing all her stuff,
the waterbed stopped heaving,
tell her enough's enough.
Tell her I'm sad and sorry,
tell her I've cried and cried,
just tell her any story,
and take Yellow and White.
Oh do not
disbelieve I love you not
if not why do I not not sleep
if not why do I not not eat
oh do not not stay away
oh do not not not come back
not now not not now not ever
oh do not.
When Sophie split, my mind went bloody blank,
but the homunculus inside my brain,
who has his own berserk agenda, sank
his teeth into the pilings of my pain.
I stopped the clock and shot its cuckoo dead,
I smashed the TV's sullen cyclops eye,
I twisted legs off chairs, broke down the bed,
papered the windows to shut out the sky.
I ripped the weasel-worded books of love,
tore sweetly smiling Sophie from her frame,
burned her lewd, lying letters, and, above
the pyre of perjury, cursed her foul name.
When I was done, I quenched the fires of hate,
called up Melinda, asked her for a date.
MS found in a computer
| 10 | INPUT | JULIETFILE |
| 20 | "I LOVE YOU , JULIET" | |
| 30 | INPUT | NO FINESSE, NEEDS INTRO |
| 40 | "YOU ARE A SUNNY CREATURE, JULIE" | |
| 50 | INPUT | NO POETRY, NEEDS METAPHOR |
| 60 | "YOU ARE A BIG YELLOW SUN, JULIE" | |
| 70 | INPUT | TOO WORDY, BE COOL |
| 80 | LET J$ = JULIET | |
| 90 | LET S$ = THE SUN | |
| 100 | LET J$ = S$ | |
| 110 | INPUT | TOO COOL. CHECK SHAKEFILE |
| 120 | "IT IS THE EAST AND JULIET IS THE SUN" | |
| 130 | INPUT | MUCH BETTER |
| 140 | "KILL THE MOON JULIE, SHE HATES YOU" | |
| 150 | INPUT | ????? |
| 160 | "BASIC SHE SPEAKS, YET SAYS NOTHING" | |
| 170 | INPUT | ????? |
| 180 | INPUT | CHECK SOLOMFILE |
| 190 | "HER MODEM IS LIKE A BOOLEAN TOWER" | |
| 200 | "HER EMULATOR IS LIKE A BINARY STRING" | |
| 210 | "HER RAM AND ROM ARE LIKE TWIN CURSORS" | |
| 220 | "THAT FEED AMONG THE SYMBOLS" | |
| 230 | INPUT | YES, YES |
| 240 | LET J$ = JULIET | |
| 250 | LET M$ = ME | |
| 260 | LET J$ = M$ | |
| 270 | INPUT | PLEASE, OH PLEASE |
SYLLABLES OF THE SALUTATION ARE NOT HEARD
Minutes of the Academic Affairs
Advisory Committee, April 15, 1987 : ... Council members offered
observations concerning their
experiences with the new communications system:... syllables of the
s
alutation are not heard.
Once during lonely lunch, for on the noon hour my mishap occurred,
thinking of sad Melancholy and her wanton sister Mirth,
dipping listlessly my rutabagas in the soggy yoghurt curd,
a joyful ringing hit my ears; slowly lifting my great girth,
I to the phone, eager for my darling's precious word
to rouse my delicate libido, to restore my wasted worth.
"Hello," said I, "hello, is it sweet you again, you g olden bird?"
But icy silence greeted me and never since a single word:
Syllables of the salutation were not heard.
Come to me
I will enhance your enjoyment
unexpected delights await you
free without risk.
Look at me
I am the most comprehensive
the earth shaking
the perfectly executed.
Be with me
You will significantly improve
stress will be alleviated
bonus points earned.
Cancel me
if you wish anytime
but savor me, rattle my bones
with sensuous toys.
Oh, be beautiful and bold
let me delight in varied items
show me a rich array
of much much more.
ON EATING PANCAKES WITH GINGER IN THE HAGUE
Some say life sucks
and others, more refined,
say Vita Vixit Non De Luxe
and Love's like Wormwood in the Mind.
I, on the other hand, like life a lot.
True,love will pall, hearing turns bad,
and generally one goes to pot;
yet lovely things can still be had
such as, for instance, sauce mousseline
or chocolate mousse with curacao
or sole meunière almondine,
or peppersteak with red Bordeaux,
or, more specificaly, less vague,
pancakes with ginger in the Hague.
SOAP OPERA'S, What happened
this week, by Lynda Hirsch, Iowa Press Citizen , July 24, 1987: ONE LIFE
TO LIVE. Tina vows to keep baby Al. Asa laughs in Tina's face when she
asks her for one million dollars. Elizabeth plots to destroy Patrick's
lab. As Tina talks to Patrick in the lab, chemicals begin to boil and explode.
Tom admits to Mary Lynn that her mother may be alive.
Now that dull Dick has slurped his egg and left
to shuffle numbers in some cubicle downtown,
now is the morning hers, to rearrange the weft
and warp of boring Virtue's somber gown.
So at eleven, when the Emulator's spell
begins to work its magic with a gentle glow,
she weeps with Tina for her baby Al,
and cringes under Asa's vicious blow.
Later, in Patrick's lab, her moist marauding kiss
reduces the old chemist to a quivering mass,
Bottles begin to pop, liquids to boil and hiss,
as they make passionate love amidst the shattered glass.
And neither Liz nor Tom nor Mary Lynn
can rob her day of the sweet smell of sin.
To Katmandu or Samarkand,
whose names like temple bells
tell of a magic shrouded land,
add England's Tunbridge Wells.
Its Pantiles mark the days of yore
when waters here were took,
when desperate yeomen sick and sore
came here by hook or crook
to cure the pox or heal the gout
or worse still, banish fear
that penile stupor would lash out
when skies of love seemed clear.
And so they sadly sipped their brew
until, bloated with health, they knew
that prowess had returned and life was good
and that, like ruddy English gods, they could
again ring Aphrodite's bells
on the Pantiles in old Tunbridge Wells.
Yes
Oh yes
Sweet Jesus yes
Dear dear God yes
Oh Daniel
Oh my
Oh
Me
Me alone
little squirt
little busy squirt me
freestyle up the Amazon
and then bang slam I'm inside
and safe, oh my God I'm dividing
one two four eight sixteen, shazam
toadpole, newt, salamander, blindbaby
tail, legs, arms, wrinkletum in cellophane
penis tickled by ultrasound, it's a boy, look Dan
quit it Doc, how'd you like your balls cooked ?
don't throw up, M'am, oh please don't throw up
where are we going, what are all those sounds?
somebody turn that light off
let go off my head
don't pull on
Me
1.
Custom is God, tradition reigns
in this royal King-and-Queen land.
It rains and rains and rains and rains
in this sceptred isle, this England.
2.
The rooster sounds his watery call
gargling against the sky:
"Up and at it, one and all,
man the pumps or die."
3.
The patter of tiny little drops
upon my tiny window pane.
Oh, for a tiny little sun
and for a tiny bit less rain.
4.
Eating steak and kidney pie
drinking Guinness stout
in the Bloated Pig and Sty
or the Punk and Lout,
bleak the weather, grey the sky
damned if I'll go out
rather sit here till I die
In the Hoof and Snout.
5.
On Dartmoor where the howling hounds
of Baskerville should roam
we saw three ponies and two sheep
standing around a Coke machine.
They gazed like tourists at the soggy scene
and then the fog closed in
on our bucolic package deal
and pretty soon
we only saw
the steering
wheel.
Around and around on the roundabout
looking for the M-4
left and right and in and out
and roundabout once more.
And when we find that blasted route
and peace replaces strife
we'll be on another roundabout
looking for the M-5.
Think left in Britain and you might, just might
live on to see the awesome sight
of speed crazed Britons whizzing by
in itty bitty buzz cars that defy
the laws of physics and of man,
and run in pathologic orbits when
their drivers, chortling with insane delight
try to exceed the speed of light.
Think left in Britain and if luck holds out
you'll live through your first roundabout
and will escape with no more pain
then going round forever in the inside lane,
desperately reading in the fading light of day
the signs that point from nix to nosuchway.
Grace under pressure, that's what it's all about
when you hit sixty on the roundabout.
Think left in Britain and by God's good grace
you'll have the fortitude to face
two dumptrucks on a county lane
roaring towards you while your brain,
numb with disbelief, has quit
trying to figure how to fit
three cars on a two car road,
and shifts into panic mode.
Think left in Britain and you might, just might
give up your Don Quixotic fight
to try and really understand
the lawless logic of this land
where left is right and right is wrong.
Give up, return where you belong,
forget this nightmare if you can,
back in the world of Sapient Man.
THE YOUNG PERSON'S GUIDE
TO TELEPHONE SPELLING
A for Amenhotep, B for Botany Bay
C for Callous Cretin, D For Dulcinae,
E for Enigmatic, F for Fanny Hill
G for Goody Twoshoes, H for Hipperwill
I for Iawatha, J for Juxtapose
K for Knockkneed Knickknacks, L for Liquoroce
M for Maestoso, N for Notsobad
O for Oxymoron, P for Pseudograd
Q for Quaquaversal, R for Right On Mate
S for Salpiglossis, T for Troglodyte
U for Ustulation, V for Very Vine
We for Wilhelmstrasse, X for Xolophyne
Y for Yonder Meadows, Z for Zeppeline.
AVOID THE 5 POWER-ROBBING APPEARANCE MISTAKES
*Career Track Seminars, a one-day workshop, Cedar Rapids, July 14, 1987: When you leave your "Image & Self-Projection" workshop you'll know how to avoid the 5 power-robbing appearance mistakes ...
Lao-Tze, he whom Wisdom bred,
inscrutably sat in his bower.
A bird shat on his balding head,
and robbed him quickly of his power.
Chorus of instructors:
Oh, shun the power robbers Five.
Escape their malefactions.
Don't let them catch you by surprise,
they're after your projections.
Helen, she of the thousand ships,
upon whom gods perfection showered,
awoke one morn with chappéd lips,
and spent the whole day underpowered.
Cho:
Don Juan, who did in honey drench
his words, to ravish Woman's flower,
was one day laughed at by a girl,
and instantly lost all his power.
And so it goes, just when we feel
like gods in this our finest hour,
one of the Five will trip us up
and rob us of our awesome power.
Oh, shun the power robbers Five
Escape their malefactions
Don't let them catch you by surprise
They're after your projections.
Iowa Press-Citizen, July 24, 1987. Licia Torres, music director for KJLH: " I think this song, because every station in the country is going to play it, it'll have a strong burnout factor."
When I first saw the light of dreary day
and wanted back, I hollered all night long
and during intermission heard the doctor say,
his burnout factor will be strong.
At eight I dared my fifth grade foe
who had a barreled body like King Kong
and hissed, while striking me blow upon blow:
your burnout factor must be strong.
At sixteen I met gorgeous Liz
who sweetly taught me not to be so tense
and whispered huskily, after my playful kiss:
your burnout factor is immense.
Her boyfriend Killer thought so too
and told me earnestly, with a kind gleam
in his red eyes, that in his well considered view
my burnout factor was extreme.
At twenty I joined the Marines
but did not take to kindly, patient sarge
who said, in words unnecessarily obscene,
my burnout factor was too large.
At twenty five I told the Mob
that I was sorry to forego our deal
about repayment; they begged me not to stop
and proved my burnout factor to be real.
And now, at twenty six, I leave this sorry place
to go where pure and radiant angels throng.
Sad enemies will sob, kneeling upon my grave:
his burnout factor was too strong.
L.Shastri,"Massive parallelism in artificial intelligence": Sec. 3.1. A Brief Overview of the Brain., Appl. Opt.,26, 1829 (1987).
The brain, as everyone who owns one is aware,
comes packaged in an ugly bony box
wrapped in red, wrinkly, mottled skin
with glued-on nose and eyes and hair.
It smiles distrustfully, expects hard knocks,
is not too wild about the world it's in.
But be that as it may, how does Brain really work?
How come Eye cries, Mouth mutters, Heart hates
Soul grieves, Lips lie, Body cares,
Mind excuses, Tongue twists, Limbs jerk
Storm disquiets, Thunder awes, Envy grates
Sun cheers, Moon sings, Love glows, Lust flares?
Prince, do send us a manual, give a brief overview
to teach us how to feel, and what in heaven's name to do.
From the Congressional hearings on the Iran-Contra affair, as recorded by the New York Times, June 3, 1987: ... In his defense, Mr. Abrams asserted that he was "literally correct" because the money had never arrived in the secret Swiss bank account he had given the Brunei authorities. ... Mr. Abrams said today that he was "literally correct and perhaps misleading" in that testimony because the contras themselves had never solicited money from a foreign government.
Don Juan's new wife, by him misled,
ranted and raved, at strife no slouch:
"Didst take that wanton slut to bed?"
"Not I," said Juan, " the Lord will vouch
that I did not," -- and thought, her bed ?
Not so, we made love on her couch.
Chorus of philanderers:
Excellent Juan, we pay thee our respect.
no sleazy liar, thou, but literally correct.
Benedict Arnold, Prince of Men,
was questioned by old George one day,
"I saw no redcoats, Sir.," said Ben,
--and thought, I heard them though, but hey,
he didn't ask me that, so then
when no one asks, what's there to say?
Chorus of loyalists:
Excellent Ben, we pay thee our respect.
No lying traitor, thou, but literally correct !
And so, in present days, we find
that lying is quite obsolete,
that truth, sufficiently refined,
and made precise, spare, lean and neat
by an exact and literal mind,
is more effective than deceit.
Excellent patriot, our deep respect.
Perhaps misleading, thou, but literally correct.
Staring toward Warsaw till the sun goes down,
no plane is seen, no engine heard,
no Polish voice says the Good Word,
the toilet paper's coarse and brown,
old Germans talk of war and war
and how, when young and blond and brave
good times were had in this enclave
called Dantzig then and nevermore.
And so we wait and curse the day
that in our innocence we booked
this bloody plane that God forsook
and that will never come our way.
Please, pretty please, Prince, do your best
and lead us decadently West.
We review and evaluate,
we plan, project, prognose,
we masticate and ruminate
and bring up gooey prose.
We meet and move , manipulate,
pretend a cabbage is a rose,
discuss, dispute, articulate
and bring up gooey prose.
We set our goals and stipulate
vistas beyond our nose,
we talk until we constipate
and bring up gooey prose.
And all the visions of our soul
are darkened by the ogre Goal.
Good dinosaurs eat berries, bad dinosaurs eat meat
Good dinosaurs are loving, the bad ones are in heat
Good dinosaurs do homework, bad dinosaurs make out
Good dinosaurs use condoms, the bad ones do without.
For every gentle dinosaur, there is an evil twin
For every married dinosaur, a loose one lives in sin
For every praying dinosaur, a swearing one drinks gin
Yet when the big rock strikes, it'll do the whole lot in.
After Eugen Roth
A Mensch, of scientific bend,
set out to prove that common sand
(because of threefold symmetry
in oxygen's affinity)
should show some sticky hysteresis.
He quickly wrote a lively thesis,
called "Friction in SiO3"
and duly got his Ph.D.
The Dean delightedly thought"WOW!
This fellow is the cat's meow.
My office is at his disposal
provided he write a proposal".
And so the Mensch, anxious to stay,
wrote day and night and night and day
about the greatest research plan
ever conceived by mind of man:
to test ten thousand tons of sand
for finding two grains end-to-end.
He then sat back and practiced to disarm
the bigots who'd review this with alarm.
The first, however, wrote, "T'is fine,
but he should quote this old idea of mine."
The second wrote, "T'is really grand,
but I propose he use more sand."
The third wrote, "I would like it too,
but isn't sand SiO2?".
... when concatenating C shells,
do not forget to first insert <';`/:"//'`;,>.
In Germany, where Germans all
must German speak or remain mute,
it's wise to say, when in a brawl,
"Grüss Gott, und geht es Ihnen gut?"
In France, where Frenchmen congregate
while speaking French comme oh-la-la,
it's bad, when lover bound and late,
to say,"Bonjour Chérie, ça va ?"
In Russia where the Russians dwell
and toil away at Russian speech,
it's good form, when they treat you well,
to say, "Spasiba, tovaritch."
In Unixon where Eunics walk,
and Unix is what people speak,
it's crucial that, before you talk,
you say, " <';`/:"//'`;,> "
SMALL, BUT BAD, NIGHT HAPPENING IN HOSPITAL
Oh great god Urinus, your gaping plastic self
is found at every bed; on every sterile shelf
we see the symbol of your snouted mug
next to the flowers and the water jug.
The day before the surgery
I asked of you so urgently
to not forsake me when the hour be there,
to let my waters flow as freely and as fair
as gurgling brooks in shady woods,
but you again sold me a bill of goods:
for when the hour had come and 't seemed
I really had it there,
you sent your ugly friend,
the feared and hateful Catheter.
Professor Jones was working late
on his great invention.
To make sweet love of bitter hate
was his good intention.
On his great invention,
he wasted days and squandered nights.
Was his good intention
naive or is he just not bright?
He wasted days and squandered nights,
so after all is he
naive or is he just not bright,
or is he right maybe?
So after all is he
a visionary or an ass,
or is he right maybe,
or is he just a bag of gas?
A visionary or an ass,
who can tell them apart?
Or is he just a bag of gas?
We must make a new start.
Who can tell them apart
when politicians do abound?
We must make a new start;
we must find high and moral ground.
When politicians do abound ?
Come on, you're joking chap!
"WE MUST FIND HIGH AND MORAL GROUND"
I never heard such crap!
Come on, you're joking, chap.
Maybe you think lawyers are great,
I never heard such crap.
We know they turn love into hate.
Maybe you think lawyers are great.
Me, I don't buy that shit
we know they turn love into hate,
we know they never quit!
Me, I don't buy that shit.
Give me some poets full of words;
we know they never quit.
They're honest, straight, proud to be heard.
Give me some poets full of words
I say, great lovers all,
They're honest, straight, proud to be heard
carousing till they fall.
I say great lovers all
share the same goal, do the same thing
carousing till they fall,
they feast until they're dingeling.
Share the same goa, do the same thing,
join the mad poets when
they feast until they're dingeling,
or babble about Zen.
Join the mad poets when
they speak of meter, rhyme and beat,
or babble about Zen.
Join in; this life is cool and neat,
they speak of meter, rhyme and beat
but do as they damn well please.
Join in, this life is cool and neat,
they dot their i's and cross their tees,
but do as they damn well please.
However you must not think because
they dot our i's and cross our tees,
they always work without a pause.
However you must not think, because
that's where Professor Jones went wrong.
"I always work without a pause,"
he said, "without a song."
That's where Prof Jones went wrong.
"Great thinkers need no fun and games,"
he said, "without a song,
my work goes fine, but I need dames."
"Great thinkers need no fun and games,
it is of no account.
My work goes fine,but I need no dames
to do what really counts."
It is of no account
to make sweet love of bitter hate.
To do what really counts
Professor Jones was working late.