Updated: Apr 14
Art by Johnny Quintanilla
Not Thucydides, The Ulysses Trap
You crave escape from this Ulysses Trap,
Where my grizzled beartrap brain raves ensnared,
Metal scrapped, rapt by his madcap mousetrap,
Baring rhymes like the mentally impaired.
So, what’s the subject of this crap project?
No! Not the claptrap of identity.
Your oh so special affect sounds suspect.
Faux respect flaps unchecked. Blow…or just spare me.
Who steals tables and chairs from Starbucks?
With no seats, bums can’t sit, your lap sucks.
This seems a vague rant about the real crooks.
Is this yap better than the best of books?
No. This be the verse outside Joyce’s trap:
A perverse joyless ride. Get back in ASAP.
Stay tuned for more spilling sonnets.
Same frothy time, same caffeinated channel.
Updated: Apr 7
Poetry Workshop, Incident Report #1
So, Robert Roman walks into a bar…
Wait. Who’s telling this joke? This sounds bizarre.
Actually, it’s a poetry workshop…
Aw, Hell no, that boy don’t belong in gen pop.
We let that fool read, there’s trouble always.
Whoa, hold up, that’s never my intention,
I write what I think, then things go sideways.
That’s why your dumb ass deserves detention.
Then this dude says at the workshop table,
“My piece is in the voice of Robert Roman.”
Really? It’s always a bad omen
When your good name is a warning label.
Did James Joyce ever join a workshop or class?
Never, in that Aesop’s fable he’d be the ass.
Stay tuned for more twisted sonnets.
Same torturous time, same confined channel.