5-7-5 night

Last night was First Draft Poetry's Nuku Haiku Night. All Haiku. All new. Had a few written out that I was going to read, then I was asked to be in the Death Match so I had to write more.

Not very good with Haiku, and in a head to head best of five battle I was even worse as I lost 4-1. When you lose though, you want to be beaten by the best and I lost to Dan the Lawyer, who won the coveted crown. Always a fun night. Here's what I put together.


Submit your poems to
The Columbus Arts Festival
You have one week left

Thick hair on the soap
That we found in the bathtub
Is that yours, or mine?

Vladimir Putin
Half naked, killing a bear
Don’t molest children

The haiku battle
I look forward to the shit
Not cleaning it up

Delayed orgasm
Oh the waiting, the waiting
Like health care dot gov

Remember that time
We were all so pissed off at
Ani DiFranco?

What death really is
A totally accurate
Mayan calendar

Artisan condoms
Made from things around the house
Just like McGuyver

When Peyton Manning
yells Omaha, a Cleveland
Brown gets arrested

100 reasons
Why we’re dumbing down quickly
Buzzfeed can suck it

Your haiku is weak
Did you write it at your desk
The same way I did

I never win these
Three lines is so hard
Seventeen sylla-

Which castaway will
Die alone on the island?
Maryann? Ginger?

Every NFL
Player wants to see Denver
It’s reefer madness

There is a sex doll
That is made out of bacon
Hipster obsessions

An IPA beer
Whose spare gas fills bike tires
Hipster obsessions

I have lost enough
Of these to know for certain
I will lose again

Train Seals to Balance Big Balls on Their Snoots

Last night at Writers' Block First Draft was a posthumous battle between two children's authors and their post-death writing. Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein. The host of the night, asked me to take on the Seuss and Scott Woods to assume the role of Silverstein.

This was going to be tough. The tale of the page has the new book by Silverstein, "Everything on It" coming in at 208 pages, with dozens of poems, if not more, to choose to read. The Seuss, The Bippolo Seed and Other Lost Stories is 72 pages, and 17 of them are the forward. The books is seven stories. I chose to read three of them but had to cut two of them in half to meet the constrictions of a five round event.

After an epic day of smacktalking on Facebook between Scott and I, the battle was finally on.



In round one, I read the first half of Gustav the Goldfish, but it was not enough as Scott won the round.

Round two, however, was all mine.



Round three went to Scott as I started the Steak for Supper story, but once again I took the round with the second part of the story.

At this time, Scott went deep into character and brought out a guitar. An impressive act, even if he can only play one chord.



At one point he even suggested that Dr. Seuss was a Nazi. The nerve. Ok, earlier I did compare the reading to Agincourt and called Scott a French mercenary, but a Nazi? Really?

We went into the final round tied at two. Scott read first and I was about halfway through The Great Henry McBride when the thread snapped.



The wonderful audience started heckling, Shel was heckling at my right and the story was turning into foreplay for a certain ex-defensive coordinator of a big ten school. Things got a bit out of hand, pants were almost wet onstage. It's on tape somewhere but I have not seen it yet. It's rather legendary. Thanks to Ara and Steph for the pictures here.

Scott won the round, and the night, but one poet is changing his name to Two Gun Henry McBride. It was so much fun, you should have been there. Thanks to all who turned up and to Louise Robertson for hosting the night.

From First Draft

Last night I did a poem in the style of a dead poet. I chose William Topaz McGonagall and mashed it up with The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. One woman showed up in the middle of the poem and said after wards that she really liked my narrative poetry. I really did not know what else to say except thank you.

The Edmund Fitzgerald Disaster

Beautiful ship on Lake Superior
The one they call Gitche Gumee
Alas I'm sorry to say
That twenty nine lives had been taken away
Which will be remembered for a very long time

Twas about seven o'clock at night
And the wind blew with all its might
And the main hatchway caved in
And the dark clouds seemed to frown
And the Witch of November came stealin'
I'll take down the Edmund Fitzgerald

When the ship left some mill in Wisconsin
The crew and the captain well seasoned
But the gales of November came slashing
Which put the good ship and crew in peril
And many of the crew with fear did say
I hope God will send us safe across to Whitefish Bay

But when the ship late at night rang its bells
The north wind came loud and angry
And the wires on the ship made a tattletale sound
On that November day
Which will be remembered for a very long time

So the ship sailed on with all its might
And the shore of Whitefish Bay soon in sight
And the crew's heart's felt light
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on Thanksgiving Day
With the friends at home they love most dear
And wish them all a Happy Thanksgiving

So the ship moved slowly toward Whitefish Bay
Until it was the middle of the night
Then it might of split up, or capsized
And down went the crew of the Edmund Fitzgerald
The November witch did loudly bray
Because twenty nine lives had been taken away
on a November day of 1975
Which will be remembered for a very long time

As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
On the faces of the wives and the sons and the daughters
The church bell cried in Detroit town
Good heavens, the Edmund Fitzgerald has gone down
And the ship that was built in Cleveland
Filled all the people's hearts with sorrow
And made them for to turn pale
Because none of the crew were saved to tell the tale
How this disaster happened on that November day
Which will be remembered for a very long time

It must have been an awful sight
To witness the ship sink in the dusky moonlight
While the November Witch did laugh, and the angry did bray
Of the good ship the Edmund Fitzgerald
Oh ill fated ship the Edmund Fitzgerald

I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay
That your hull would not have given away
Had it not been filled with so much iron ore
At least many sensible men confesses
For the stronger our ships do build
The less chance we have of being killed.