#100Days100Poems Day 59–A #TrumParody

Your double dose includes a parody. We should probably apologize to Hall & Oates, but to the tune of their “Private Eyes” is this little ditty:

Microwaves

I see you, you see me
Watch you callin’ the Reds
When you’re rigging the vote
Oh Trump you’ve got to know
What the House overlooks
the oven will show to the folks
when it’s watching for lies
you can’t escape my

Microwaves
They’re watching you
They see your every move
Microwaves
They’re watching you
Microwaves
They’re watching you
Watching you watching you watching you

 

You play with words, you play with lies
You can tweet it around Trumpy that ain’t enough
‘Cause Drumpf we’re gonna know
When you’re working with Reds and conning us, yo
Don’t lie when you’re tweeting at night
‘Cause you can’t escape my

Microwaves
They’re watching you
They see your every move
Microwaves
They’re watching you
Microwaves
They’re watching you
Watching you watching you watching you

 

Why you try to put up a wall down south
I’m a spy for the right side, no doubt
Tweet on, viral your many lies
We’ll still know you
Look into my

Microwaves
They’re watching you
They see your every move
Microwaves
They’re watching you
Microwaves
They’re watching you
Watching you watching you watching you

 

Microwaves
They’re watching you
They see your every move
Microwaves
They’re watching you
Microwaves
They’re watching you
Watching you watching you watching you

 

Microwaves
They’re watching you
They see your every move
Microwaves
They’re watching you
Microwaves
They’re watching you
Watching you watching you watching you

 

 

© David Siller – 2017

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For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, this blog will feature a new poem of protest, by my own hand and by others. They will be polished gems, or rough cut drafts of rage, or in process pieces searching for peace. They may be haiku or tanka, limericks or lyrics, verses free or fettered. If you would like to submit to this endeavor, please send an email, with poem saved as a word document (.docx) to waxyandpoetic AT gmail DOT com. All rights remain with the author.

VISUAL ARTISTS ! Do you have something visually poetic that you’d like to submit? GO FOR IT!

Please address any formatting preferences in your email. I will post submissions time permitting, with at least one per day. Editing will be limited to obvious errors of spelling and the like.

Read, follow, share, re-tweet, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

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An Ode to Cognac and an Uncle

 

 

 

For Gerald

I was 12 when my uncle first introduced me to cognac

        a glass poured with enough ice cubes

                to make it look like two fingers

my palate, at that age, already advanced

        told me it tasted of burn, fire, burning fire

                and a hint of honey

this is the same uncle who introduced me

        to the Alabama Theatre Book Stop, the first hit, the gateway

                to my bookstore addiction (the start of shelves & stacks & piles)

and that store is long gone, having succumbed

        to the ravages of the Big C (no, not that one,

                the other one, Capitalism)

but back to cognac (always the impetus for digression)

        in that cozy little living room in that tiny cottage

                just south of downtown

                        I took the first sips of becoming an adult

(not counting grandpas’ beer sips or mom’s margarita sips, too soft

        and too little for initiation)

and my uncle waxed on about brandy,

        cigars (no we didn’t smoke) and after dinner

                conversations.

and initiated I was

        to late night post-rehearsal palaver

                on all things poetry & people & cinema

                        & plays & women & whatever else idly entered

                                young drunk minds

        to first attempts at steak au poivre

                (to impress a young female friend of course)

                        to my beginning steps to understand spirit (in all ways)

and that uncle has, too, been gone some time

        the irresistibility of the big A cowered to the ravages

                of the big C (yeah, that one)

and here I am at, well, a lot older

still going to bookstores

        (I’ve got the shelves & boxes & stacks

                & piles to prove it)

and still drinking cognac but this time

        I have developed the palate

                the notes of nutmeg reminding me of

                        my nana’s carrot cake

and the almond, of those fundraising candy bars

        with the cloying milk chocolate (so unlike the dark

                variety I adore now)

and the vanilla, fond memories of my first

        attempts at spicing up coffee after dinner

                (for friends or a girlfriend I can’t recall which)

and lychee the echo of that bottle of Soho

        consumed in Paris in that apartment near

                Marcadet-Poissonniers in the 18th

the apricot reminding me of

        the tagine at that little Moroccan place in Avignon

 and preserves, confiture slathered on croissants

        (just on top of some butter, overkill to be sure, as the French would never)

there is still the heat

        that kept me warm (too warm) after

                girlfriends & wives & uncles &

                grandmothers & grandfathers left too soon

there is still the little burn in throat

        as if clearing it for utterance or prayer

                or the poem or interruption

I was 12 when my uncle first introduced me to cognac

        and I don’t remember

                        if I ever told him thank you.

 

 

 

The Parody’s the thing, wherein I’ll employ humor to make them sing!

Inspired by the image of a coffee mug floating around the social media googlenets, there is great hope (and exciting plans) to make a recording and eventual music video for this little ditty. With both great thanks and apologies to Sir Mix-a-Lot, I bring you

Baby Got Books

Oh my god, Becky, look at her book, it is so big.

She looks like one of those smart guys’ girlfriends.

But you know, who understands those smart guys?

They only talk to her because she looks like a total erudite, ‘kay?

I mean that book is just so big, I can’t believe it’s leather-bound,

it’s like collectable, I mean, gross. Look, she’s just so smart…

I like big books and I cannot lie

You other brothers can’t deny

When a girl walks in with an itty-bitty waist

And a bound thing in your face

You get dumb, then I pull up tough

‘Cause I noticed that book was stuffed

Deep with the knowledge I’m seekin’,

I’m hooked and I can’t stop readin’.

Oh baby, I wanna get wit cha, and see a lecture!

My colleagues tried to warn me,

but that book you got makes me so horny!

Ooo, soft- or hard-back, you say you wanna meet in the stacks?

Well choose me, peruse me, ’cause you ain’t that average groupie.

I’ve seen them readin’, to hell with Netflix streamin’

She’s smart, off-chart, got it going in HeadStart.

I’m tired of magazines sayin’ dumb girls are the thing

Take the average scholar and ask him that,

She’s gotta read the stacks!

So fellahs? Yeah! X2

Has your girlfriend got a book? Hell yeah!

Tell her to read it! Read it! X2

Baby got books — “Librarian face with half-price hard-back”

Baby got books! etc

I like ’em bound and thick, and when you read an epic

I just can’t help myself, I’m actin’ like an animal,

Now here’s my scandal:

I want get you home and huh

read out loud huh huh

I’m not talkin’ ’bout Playboy, ’cause literary novels bring the joy

I want ’em real thick and juicy

So read that juicy novel, Reads-a-lot’s in trouble

Beggin’ for a piece of that novel

So I’m lookin’ at youtube videos, lame-brained bimbos, empty heads like O’s

You can have them bimbos, my women will read Calvino.

A word to the thick book readers I wanna get wit cha

I won’t cuss or hit ya

but I gotta be straight when I say I wanna read

Til the break of dawn, this book’s got it going on.

A lot of simps won’t like this song

‘Cause them punks like to skim it and Cliff it

And I’d rather stay and read

‘Cause it’s long and I’m strong and I’m down to get my fiction on

So ladies yeah X2

You wanna read some Bukowski? Yeah!

then turn around, pull it out

Even dumb boys got to shout “BABY GOT BOOKS!”

Yeah, when it comes to females, Cosmo ain’t got nothin’ to do with my selection. Novels, plays, poetry? Haha, yeah, especially from the library.

Baby got books…

So your girlfriend holds a Samsung

Playin’ bootleg tracks from Hanson

But Hanson ain’t got a Kindle in the mix on their Samsung

My smart phone apps don’t want none unless you got books hun!

You can watch TV or Netflix, but please don’t lose those books

Some morons wanna play that hard role

And tell you that the book can go,

so they toss it, and leave it, and I pull up quick to reread it!

So the TV you got is flat, but I ain’t down with that

‘Cause the font is small and the plot gets thickened

And I’m thinkin’ bout readin;

To the eyecandy things flippin through magazines,

You ain’t it miss thing.

Gimme a scholar make me hollah,

Tolstoy and Shakespeare she found ballah!

Some knucklehead tried to diss ’cause his girls read my booklist

He had books but he chose to skim ’em, so I pull up quick to read with ’em

So ladies if the book is bound, and you want a literary throw-down

Dial 1-900-Reads-a-lot and kick them bookish thoughts

Baby got books

“Classics on the Kindle and she got much books” X3