I’m enjoying
being odd
like
others are
enjoying being
cruel
But it’s not at the core of their being. I enjoy watching where this is going.
soup’s
on
oh good
good
where you
been?
ah, keeping to
ma self
in ma journal
dear diary
you come off
all cold
& dreary
you think?
dear writer
onto my
blank surface
from this
vantage point
you need
a good shave
but keep
making
impressions anyway
noted
thank you
Never thought my own journal could be so snippy with me. Anyway, I want crackers with the soup and a lush poetry scene. Tonight I get neither. Everyone went home. No, everyone stayed home. Um, that. Yeah.
boiling water
for
your meal
two sleeping
cats
Made a discovery at the bookstore today, that Rudra and Kalika are of the short-haired Korat family, originating from Thailand. From photographs (Link 1, Link 2), I’m almost certain of this. All this time we were thinking perhaps they were Russian Blues.
• • •
Class, today we have a guest speaker slash performance artist. Before we bring him on, I’d like to note that he’s a little eccentric in his ways and may only communicate in truncated stanzas. But he’s so good, we thought we’d have him. If you have any questions, I’ve read his book already. So if you feel more comfortable asking me, well, I can try to answer for him…
bring
him
on
already!
And so, after years of waiting, I give to you…
children
hello
my name is…
and I
enjoy
being odd
Like this week for example I wrote a poem entitled In Bed By 6 AM but then stayed up some past that and found it was the coffee’s fault from earlier that evening, and it wasn’t until 10 AM that I was able to crash into my dreams.
I’ve come to ask what you all want to be for Halloween this year, among other things. ‘Cause if you really want to know, in the spirit of Halloween, I’m here to do it right—I’m here to scare the total crap out of you.
no one
leaves
this
room
(classroom door mysteriously slams shut so that the windows rattle)
That’s right. Halloween is for monsters and ghouls and ghosts and witches and aliens and all that—this holiday we are meant to relish horror. Not dress up as circus clowns or as cowboys with holsters and six-shooters and spurs. How the hell is that even scary?
so each
one
shall be
privileged
Remember, I am an artist. It is mandatory that you participate in my art. By law I am required to make astounding assurances that “no harm will come to you during the course of my stay,” but (and this is a big but) I am outside the law; so I… can’t make any promises.
So each one of you shall be privileged to hang from your ankles, to be dunked head first—for no predetermined amount of time—into this witches’ brew.
Ask yourselves, small bibbies, how much are you willing to sacrifice for the glory of the Dark Lord? How much to have some real fun on Halloween?
(one child raises hand)
At this point I shall add that this is no longer a classroom by conventional standards, and that your teacher’s authoritative powers here have been circumvented. Anyone raising their hand to ask a question runs a… risk.
So I shall tell you some stories while the eye ball ceremonies are underway.
• • •
As small children, me and my friends developed a curiosity towards this small house in the woods. For its natural creepiness, it was known to us as the Haunted House. It was said that one day, a mail man, for whatever reason, approached the house and went inside
and
never
came
back
out
But the most haunted house in our area was in the neighborhood next to ours, on top of a hill surrounded by masses of old, dead and angry trees, and through the thick of these trees, it was nighttime on that other side, even in the middle of the day. No one had ever seen its owners. Some days we would be on the school bus and pass by, point up to it.
What if, on Halloween, we climb over those gates? Climb over the gates and do what? Climb over and run up there. If we run into anyone, we can scream Trick or Treat at them
and
hope
for
the
best
This house was the one that survived the earthquake. Trenches were ripped open in the earth at the hill’s bottom, but the house, it still stood. We realized mail carriers in this sector were not obligated to go up that long driveway through the woods to deliver the mail; the box was down at the road. But we wanted our day. We wanted to face our fears and go up there where no postal service had trespassed before. We worked up this nerve by the time we were in high school and feeling rambunctious enough to pull off such a stunt. We would probably be chased off the property by semi-normal citizens. And at worst, well, our worst fears could come to life and we just might not escape the clutches of a truly horrific entity of the dark lands.
BGKPOETRY.COM 