Archive for April, 2017


Friday, April 28th, 2017

April is National Poetry Month, so this month we’re writing poems inspired by our wares. Today’s poem:

You really do, you really do
On my fridge, stick to
The magnetic surface of it;
The shiny, metal surface.
Your magnetic head sticks there like glue.
Sylvie, I have had to buy you.
A puppet on my finger——
A magnet on my ‘frigerator.
Poetess clad in soft green cloth;
Small as a baby’s shoe.
And a head next to the GE logo
Near the rest of my puppet crew.
Yes, I’m a bit of a magnet hoarder.
But that’s better than having too few.
In the kitchen, near the sink and the stove
You watch over the food
I cook, cook, cook.
But you cannot eat any of it
My puppet friend.
Your puppet face looks a bit blue.
Your glare suggests I should eschew
Butter and sugar;
Other foods that are ecru.
Lipids stuck in my veins.
Your hair is a fluffy beige tuft
Held by a band
That matches your dress.
A designer took time styling you:
A mouth that’s not smiling,
Not frowning; not frowning
Outright, but likely you do.
You do frown on my awful poems.
I know that it’s likely you do.
I think it’s OK that you do.

The poor diction, weak syntax, the nonsensical lines
Are not very pure or true.
But your visage on my fridge inspires me
And my poetry and my poetry.
I wish I could write like you do.
I’ve always been in awe of you,
With your red hair and man-eating, too.
And your neat novel
And that Paltrow film that I rue.
Poetess, poetess, O You——
Not You but a puppet toy
Small enough to carry through,
From apartment to apartment all
Of the times that I have moved,
Moved around this urban zoo.
You stick upon my fridge, Sylvie,
So I have no picture of you.
Just a soft, fluffy puppet with no feet
But no less a delight for that, no not
Any less the woman who
Inspired my artwork; still do.
I was ten when I discovered you.
OK, twenty more likely
When I read, read, read of you.
And now this fine puppet will do
To help me recite Lady L——
To recall the words quickly and true.
I thank the UPG crew
That made a model of you,
A gal in green with a sulky look
And a youthful face, unlike a shrew.
You are so pleasant to view.
So Sylvie, I already knew
That I’d probably gift you to friends
When other gifts just won’t do.

If I gifted one, I’ve got two——
This small puppet that looks just like you.
I imagine your strong voice
Coming out of the tiny doll. 
But her lips don’t move at all. 

There’s a magnet in your small head
And you’re lined up in the puppet queue.
And though the others don’t have a clue,
My favorite puppet is you. 
Sylvie, Sylvie, you goddess, I’m through.

Stopping by a Brothel on a Snowy Evening

Tuesday, April 25th, 2017

April is National Poetry Month, so this month we’re writing poems inspired by our wares. Today’s poem:

Stopping by a Brothel on a Snowy Evening

Whose ear this is I think I know.
His house in town is bright yellow;
He often wanders inside here
Even on cold nights full of snow.

Everyone in town thinks him queer
His speech is slurred and oft unclear
And when they see the art he makes,
They laugh at how the strokes appear.

He looks so lost it makes me ache
To see someone with such heartbreak
Though now it seems my kindness caused
Him to leave me this strange keepsake.

The package lies there in a heap,
Turns out Van Gogh is a big creep,
I do not think this ear I’ll keep,
I do not think this ear I’ll keep.

Ode to the Lost Art of Penmanship Mug

Tuesday, April 18th, 2017

April is National Poetry Month, so this month we’re writing poems about our wares. Today’s poem:

Ode to the Lost Art of Penmanship Mug

O! ceramic chalice ringed with script
Enlined with blue and red
What lost art do you tempt us to decrypt
With utensil encor’d with lead?
For what purpose were you bred? 

O! companioned with paper pad
And pencil bold and true
Blissfully free of trend or fad
The modern age you do eschew.
You confront us with what we once knew. 

O! letters curved, with perfect form
Your arrows guide our hand
With the Zaner-Bloser method thou dost conform
Your instruction is our command
And may our future scribbling be rendered grand. 

O! what shall your stoneware depths enclose?
Coffee, tea, milk, or other?
Nectar, manna or ambros’
Absinthe, wine or broth o’ yak’s butter?
What might quench the thirst of yon script lover? 

The art of penmanship shall ne’er be lost
Immortalized ‘pon yonder grail
This knowledge worth immeasurable cost
Is yours today for $13.95 retail.

National Poetry Month: I Heart Sholom Aleichem

Tuesday, April 4th, 2017

April is National Poetry Month, and we’re celebrating by posting poems inspired by our wares.

Today’s poem:

I Heart Sholom Aleichem

The play “Fiddler on the Roof”
Was based on some fictional stuff
By a writer called Sholom
The whole world should know him
Aleichem, and this poem’s the proof!

– Secret Admirer