Happy New Year, and Blog Hiatus

Hello readers,

This blog has been much more successful than I could have hoped for, as a way to keep me writing. As I posted back in September, I am now on a quest along with Anna Fox Ryan to turn these collected poems into a book.

While I refocus on this project, I have decided to take a temporary break from regular blog posts. A few notes on this pause:

  1. I will still eagerly take requests and do request posts.
  2. I may resume at a later date.
  3. I went ahead and queued up three poems instead of the usual one today. Bon appetit!

Thanks so much for your support, and keep those requests (and advice for getting published? Contacts in the agency world? Genies and magic spells?) coming!

Solar Sys-Dumb

I don’t like space
The moon’s too dusty
Mercury’s too small
And crusty
Venus has acid clouds
That disgusts me
(Earth is fine
It’s nice and trusty)
Mars is far
Too red and rusty
Jupiter’s storms
Are far too gusty
Saturn’s rings make it
Look too fussy
Uranus? Neptune?
Cold and blustery
Pluto doesn’t count
Now does she?
We really don’t need
To learn this, trust me.
Don’t you think so?
Or is it just me?

I’m Not Sure This Even Qualifies as a Poem

One two three,
     A tall, tall tree
Four five six,
     Tree’s made of sticks
Seven eight nine,
     This tree is a pine
Ten eleven twelve,
     I’m an oak myself
Thirteen fourteen fifteen,
     Oh wow, you still are counting
Sixteen seventeen eighteen,
     Um…My leaves are green
Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one,
     Okay, I think I’m done
Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four,
     What are you counting for?
Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven,
     Would you stop if I quit rhyming?
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty,
     Or maybe if I just completely stop trying to have any poetic rhythm or anything?
Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three,
     Maybe if I stop responding, you’ll get the point?
Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six,

Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine,

Forty, forty-one, forty-two
     Okay, that didn’t work
Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five
     Forty-six
Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight
     Forty-five
Forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one
     A billion
Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four
     Infinity
Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven
     Green monkeys jumping on a trampoline made of tater tots
Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty
     There aren’t even any good rhymes for “sixty.”
Sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three
     “Picks Dee”? “Mix tea”?
Sixty-four, sixty-five, sixty-six
     TREES ARE NOT MADE OUT OF BRICKS
Sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine
     JUST KEEP COUNTING, IT’S FINE
Seventy, seventy-one, seventy-two
     I REALLY DON’T MIND IF YOU DO
Seventy-three, seventy-four
     …

     

     …Seventy-five?
     …Hello?
     …Why did you stop at seventy-four?
     …You were counting in threes. Seventy-four isn’t a multiple of three.
     …Hello?
Seventy-four pretzels. I have seventy-four pretzels.
     PRETZELS?
     THIS WAS ABOUT PRETZELS?
     Fine.
     Whatever.
     Happy to help with your counting or whatever you brought me in for.
     You’re welcome.
     And for the record, seventy-four is a lot of pretzels.
     Like, why do you have seventy-four pretzels?
     And, why did you need to count them?
     And, maybe count by tens next time? It’s faster.
     Actually, you know what?
Wait…
     mmmffff
     SEVENTY-THREE PRETZELS
     WHO’S COUNTING NOW?