All posts for the month March, 2011

Lock Stock And Last Rebel Meth Gang Zorro

Lock stock and last rebel meth gang Zorro,
Bad ambush scout king.

Where the red fern groes legend,
Savage seraphim fall dead,
Savage fury invasion rides again,
Thicker than water.

The Overlander of Saturday matinee mystery plane,
Stand tall,
True mighty silver,
Son of Wyatt Earp,
Battlin’ son of devil’s nomads.

The big bad secret of the blue room father?
Wake deadlier.
Some girls do.

The dude goes west,
Story trinity and placid serenade,
Corvette from a chain gang.

King Kong Billy called hell
Arizona bounty,
The dog men justice,
Canteen adventures,
Grusome gentlemen from Texas, New Mexico.
The black cat ride
in a whirlwind outlaw flaming Mustang crimson ghost.

The great man of the east,
Deaf mail order public hero,
Choice buckeye and age,
$100,000 for phantom cowboy,
Born to trouble of the red Harlem range,
The wild return of hell.

Heroes,
Enter the devil,
Petrified.

The Harvard girls,
Return to snowy
High voltage,
Blood city.

And god said to Cain,
“Geronimo!”

Thundercloud,
Six miles from Alcatrez,
Go for broke.
Hell.

Wildcat curse,
The black whip sheriff of fracture jaw,
Last days of cash,
Golden girl swamp fire,
A genius, a partner & a five man army,
Come and get it
Rock star terror.

Dan Candy’s law?
Any gun can play buffalo girls,
Perils of the jungle,
Dynasty phantom.

I’d clime highest mountain stealing candy,
The fastest man, the forest hurricane,
All of me black fox peace.

Break out.
Don’t wait.
Shoot, younger gunfighter.

Go, come back, gone.

With the West,
Each dawn I die best,
The badmen devil and the last outpost,
the eagle and the dead guns of the revolution.

Savage land police,
Marked Mrs. Sundance,
Rogue of the Rio Grande,
It happened.

Tell them Willie Boy is here, saucer men.

My man Godfrey,
God forgives, I don’t.
God will forgive my pistol eaten alive.

Papaya love spawn of the north,
You only live once Mad Mrs.Mantan.
Flash the outlaw death rage,
Judge the night rider Captain Sin.

They rode west.
Four rode out.
The undying dutchess and
Dirtwater Zorro dressed to kill,
The mountains police rookie,
Lawless John,
The longest sundance kill.
I was far and away.

Hold on Mrs. Brown,
Go get yourself a girl,
Don’t knock the twist,
Twist around the clock.
Don’t knock the rock,
Black noon lust in the dust,
Jake’s way.

Ms. Miller, return to the rocket,
20,000 leagues beneath the enemy,
Below Maria’s lovers,
Seven brothers,
The silent dead heavens jungle.

The blue gun for hire?
Mondo topless son of morning star.

Admiral was a lady hitchhiker,
Bitter cry of the desperate dead air man,
And boy – full house appaloosa.
A man called the man who came back,
A horseman man in the wilderness
The golden gun trap Wild West.

True murder in Harlem
of the lost.

erasure poem using as source material a list of “Johnny’s Rare Serials and ‘B’ Westerns” on
www.johnnysrareserials.com/assortedmovies500.htm

Leave a Comment
by Tom Busillo on March 31, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in erasure poetry, Free verse
Tagged , , , ,

Posted by Tom Busillo on March 31, 2011

http://monsterbegood.com/2011/03/31/lock-stock-and-last-rebel-meth-gang-zorro/

My Baby

Hi, my name is Josie and I’m six.

My baby calls me the Loch Ness Monster.
I have two great big humps and then a long neck that goes into the sky.

I call my baby Sasquatch.
I dress her in newspaper clippings about Sasquatch.

Sometimes Sasquatch pulls on a lamp cord or sucks on a stereo knob.
Sometimes Sasquatch leaves for several days and comes back with a bag full of Rolex watches.
Sometimes Sasquatch sneezes pepples.

I firmly tell her “no” and she cries.

I reach into the sky and feed her stars,
and she glows like a Japanese lantern.

When she is done glowing she asks,
“Can we go ask the nearest dermatologist or Brian Wilson
how much it costs to get a mole removed from your face?”

And we do and it is always an amazing experience.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my narrative as I’ve tried my best to write it in a short time.

Leave a Comment
by Tom Busillo on March 30, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in flarf/quasi-flarf, Free verse, Poetry
Tagged , ,

Posted by Tom Busillo on March 30, 2011

http://monsterbegood.com/2011/03/30/my-baby/

In a Knife Half-Thrusted

If the Trued Riders True Ride
involved not a Horse
but the Direst Stride
of Duties Suited
Murder Rumored
Your Torrid Demur
would be a Suture Muted

Dourer Doers Doused and Roused
Soured Doter
First-Time Soused
Ruder Tutor
Rusted Muted
Your Suited Error
Lies Undisputed

So Fan the Fires, Fire the Rioter
Trick out the Trickster’s
Stumble Quieter
Dusted Busted
Felon-Crusted
Your Story ends
in a Knife Half-Thrusted

Leave a Comment
by Tom Busillo on March 29, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in Poetry, Rhyming verse
Tagged ,

Posted by Tom Busillo on March 29, 2011

http://monsterbegood.com/2011/03/29/in-a-knife-half-thrusted/

Fork in the Road

It’ll come to you,
you’ll learn it soon,
sometimes a fork in the road
turns out to be a spoon.

Sometimes the wise man
is really the loon,
and the high holy man –
a shitting baboon.

The lecher will leech,
the pervert exposes,
and finicky types can’t stop
twitching their noses.

So don’t be fooled.

That fairy dust they’re blowing
out of their fairy dust hoses?
It’s just 2 cups of flour
and some old ground up roses.

Leave a Comment
by Tom Busillo on March 28, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in Poetry, Rhyming verse
Tagged , ,

Posted by Tom Busillo on March 28, 2011

http://monsterbegood.com/2011/03/28/fork-in-the-road/

Introduction to Cognitive Presence

This paper investigates the crucial cognitive, emotive, and social presences presented in another research paper explaining an ongoing collaborative process as well as the satisfaction with the outcome of the collaborative effort.

As follow-up, documents were coded to enhance collaboration success through interactions that support choice of format related to the perceived social impact – ipso facto, a selection of what is most comfortable to bring about the course.

Results indicate outcomes generated from 25 in-field studies focused on egalitarian possibilities of interaction, facilitation, role adjustment, virtual realization of complexity, theory and praxis – all correlated with perception of achievement, accomplishment and satisfaction.

A third, as yet unwritten, paper contains elements, categories and indices of assimilation of the aforementioned perceived learning demonstrating through less common construction of knowledge – asynchronous to the process of knowledge – the extent to which differences measured in the success of superior evidence or select positive dissonance impacts our ability to construct meaning as a perceived learning or the perceived presence of other constructs through the design, facilitation, and direction of content indicative of a community of processes that do lead to construction, engagement, and presence as well as the predictability of these factors on perceived second order factors of presence – social, cognitive and emotive – and perceived outcome as developed through the relationship between collaborative higher-order outcomes as major predictors of interaction, outcome and presence.

Leave a Comment
by Tom Busillo on March 27, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in Free verse, prose poem
Tagged , , , ,

Posted by Tom Busillo on March 27, 2011

http://monsterbegood.com/2011/03/27/introduction-to-cognitive-presence/

The Letter We Sent

When they came to take my arms, I pleaded with them
“But we had agreed that you’d let me keep my arms.”
And they responded, “Didn’t you read the letter we sent?”
and I read the letter they had sent, and in paragraph four
it stated very plainly they would be coming taking my arms.

I was so weakened already, but at least I still had my legs,
so I let them take my arms.

When they came to take my legs, I pleaded with them
“But we had agreed that you’d let me keep my legs.”
And they responded, “Didn’t you read the other letter we sent?”
and I read the other letter they sent, and in paragraph three
it stated very plainly they would be coming taking my legs.

I was so weakened already, weaker now that they had
already taken my arms, but at least I had my eyes
so I let them take my legs.

When they came to take my eyes, I pleaded with them
“But we had agreed that you’d let me keep my eyes.”
And they responded, “Didn’t you read the other letter we sent?”
and I read the other letter they sent, and in paragraph two
it stated very plainly they would be coming taking my eyes.

I was so weakened already, weaker now that they had
already taken my arms and legs, but I still had my heart,
so I let them take my eyes.

When they came to take my heart, I pleaded with them
“But we had agreed you’d let me keep my heart.”
And they responded, “Didn’t you read the other letter we sent?”
And I told them, “But you took my eyes. How am I to read your letter?”
And they said, “That’s your problem. We sent the letter and it
stated very plainly in paragraph one that we’d be coming to take your heart.”

I was so weakened already, weaker now that they had
already taken my arms and legs and eyes, but I still had my mind,
and knew that it was only a matter of time that they’d
write more letters making their plunder of every last piece of me seem official.

So I took my heart out and crushed it before them
with everything that was left in me.

And this is how I died.

And when they saw me lying dead, they smiled,
picked up what was left of me and tossed it into
same pit where they’d tossed my arms, legs and eyes,
and crossed me off the list
of people who needed to be sent letters.

Leave a Comment
by Tom Busillo on March 26, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in Free verse, Poetry
Tagged , , , , ,

Posted by Tom Busillo on March 26, 2011

http://monsterbegood.com/2011/03/26/the-letter-we-sent/

Got Your Game On War On Hard On? Wolf Does.

Here we go.

Got your game on?
Got your war on?
Got your hard on?

Wolf Blitzer’s got his war on hard on
It’s unlikely you’ll see it on TV any more
as the producers at CNN have become
quite adept at knowing when to shoot him
from the waist up, but you can see it in his eyes
that mix of bloodlust and embarrassment
that he has pitched a tent in response to
the thrill of reporting on the bombers bombing
the bunkers busting, the jets strafing
the mangled armour smoking.

There are times when they cut back to him
from a report with some very tasty footage –
Tomahawk missiles in all flash and smoke,
tracers captured in that sick night vision green
lighting up like fireworks in reverse,
or the video feed from a laser guided missile –
and you can tell by a very slight, slight, slight something
that you are looking at a man
who has just spontaneously
ejaculated into his suit pants.

Unnamed sources from the Situation Room
are reporting that at first they used to
just keep a change of suit pants
handy on the set and
clean and change him between commercials.

But it was Judy, a production intern from Syracuse University,
who moonlights as a stripper at Atlanta’s Gold Club
and has firsthand experience of the fallout from lap dances,
who first had the idea to simply put a rubber on him
to deal with Wolf’s moments of warrational exuberance,
whip it off and replace it with a new one during commercial breaks.

So far it’s working.
Wolf looks happier.
The producers are happier.
The wardrobe folks are definitely happier.
And the staff from No.1 Cleaners
near the CNN center in Atlanta are definitely the happiest.

And as for Judy,
isn’t it obvious that she has a very bright future
in the cable news industry?

This just in:
Sources from the FoxNews Center in Nutwingville report
they do not have this problem on their sets during war reporting
as the anchors simply give each other handjobs under the
(sort of) news desk.

The above is clearly satire, but IMHO there is something a little weird about Wolf Blitzer when he’s got his war on.

Leave a Comment
by Tom Busillo on March 25, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in Free verse, Poetry, Satire
Tagged , , , , , , ,

Posted by Tom Busillo on March 25, 2011

http://monsterbegood.com/2011/03/25/got-your-game-on-war-on-hard-on-wolf-does/

Something In There To Chew

Chevy’s jammers get me crème brule to cure my acid tongue.
It ain’t me you know, it has a mind of its own,
and won’t break off for it has no bone.
What’s a man who wants to live in silence to do,
except to always make sure there’s something in there to chew.

Leave a Comment
by Tom Busillo on March 24, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in Free verse, Poetry
Tagged ,

Posted by Tom Busillo on March 24, 2011

http://monsterbegood.com/2011/03/24/something-in-there-to-chew/

Where to Find the Traffic

I’ve got a permit for my armour
denser quells
quake and folly
and a holy man playing let’s make a deal

Two doors
Door 1: petit mal seizures on a grande scale, vivid and discrete
Door 2: a poor nag done in by contentment over stale hay

* * * * *

I’ve got a bill from my snake charmer
denser spells
shake and break
and a holy man playing let’s make him heel

Dog 1 has shreds of paper in his mouth
Dog 2 refuses to believe the sun now sets in the South
Dog 3 is too tired to fight
Dog 4 still has the whip marks from them beating out his bite
Dog 5 wants to close a book
Dog 6 wants every living soul to have a look
Dog 7 knows he being played
Dog 8 for only his mother is afraid
Dog 9 made a lying bitch cry
Dog 10 wants to do it again in a much more public eye
Dog 11 believes promises should never be broken
Dog 12 thinks of the unseen man who advised the token
Dog 13 thinks in abstract principles to make things much less graphic
Dog 14 will choose his day and time – still knowing how to run and where to find the traffic

Leave a Comment
by Tom Busillo on March 23, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in Free verse, Poetry
Tagged ,

Posted by Tom Busillo on March 23, 2011

http://monsterbegood.com/2011/03/23/where-to-find-the-traffic/

On Permanent Vacation

these bays seen manta rays give rebates moist and base
done men in thunder under water, underused and under haste

did you pass the test?
did you get plus ten for your saviour’s grace?
did you get the extra credit?
did you draw the devil with your face
grimacing in unrest plus your armour caked in roe?

take it from the man in the iron mask
when you’re suffocating, the armour is your foe

jet in, rent rays, catch a plush cloud, cue the breeze
the last plane sailed out with the last mail bag
bound for our enemies

so quiz with your arms the gap above
play tap tap tap the tanks, bubble up a song of love

the ten ton heavy searcher lost the floating sun
can’t catch a breathe from his harpoon gun
can’t catch a break from his second son
distracted on acid and playing slalom with the buoys just for fun

Please God, we’re not asking for land, but merely for the surface
Mary Oliver, yes roses are quite beautiful, but when drowning for what purpose?

so write the last note on your whiteboard
read it out and let it rise
a bubble barely visible from the shore
too small to reach the skies

you know in the end we’ll all feel land burrow up our noses
sand in our mouths, stretched out in our dead man
didn’t float, he just sank to the bottom and slowly flayed apart, underwater poses

and shark incisors will find their way to rip the throat from failed heroes
on permanent vacation, the tanks all down to zeros

This poem actually started as a homophonic translation of “Baise m’encor’” by Louise Labé, and then morphed into it’s present form.

I’ve still yet to do a homophonic translation – a straight sound-for-word poem – that I really like as is the first time through. But I’ll get there yet.

Leave a Comment
by Tom Busillo on March 22, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in Poetry
Tagged , , ,

Posted by Tom Busillo on March 22, 2011

http://monsterbegood.com/2011/03/22/on-permanent-vacation/

« Older Posts
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 48 other followers