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April 23, 2007, 02:37:44 PM - ORIGINAL POST -

(Share any of your poems/lyrics here, serious or silly, happy or sad, free-verse or blank-verse, etc.! Smiley

Here's one of mine to jump-start this thread! This poem I wrote was inspired by how many of us cynically restrict wide consciousness of being environmentally conscious to one specific birthday per year, and that to claim only one day is "Earth Day" is truly apostasy; a desertion from our faith and principles to constantly care for all God has provided us with, and therefore I chose to post this poem the day after Earth Day to further the point that we must always make an effort to be ecologically-conscious.

Earth Day is truly everyday in my heart, and may we strive to make it so! Smiley )



Apostasy (Earth Day Is Everyday)
By: Noah Eaton

“In the beginning,
God created the heavens,
and the Earth.”,
the debate reels on,
how He did so,
how long it took Him,
whether or not He used a paintbrush,
and if He did,
did He paint with Van Dyke brown,
and did he use Phthalo or Prussian blue,
but the Bible makes clear,
that God is the Creator,
that “the earth is the Lord’s,
and everything in it,
the world,
and all who live in it;
for He founded it upon the seas,
and established it upon the waters.”…..

…that God owns the Earth,
by virtue of creating it…

…His involvement in this world’s Creation,
goes beyond the spiking horse itself,
for “he is before all things,
and by him all things consist.”
“upholding all things by the word of his power”,
“things in heaven and on earth,
visible and invisible,
whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities;
all things were created by Him,
and for Him.”

He went through all the trouble for a purpose,
so that “the heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.”,
letting “everything that has breath praise the Lord.”,
“for since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities,
his eternal power and divine nature,
have been clearly seen,
being understood from what has been made,
so that men are without excuse”…..

…..that’s where we come in,
that we are special being made in God’s image,
yet we are still intimately linked to His creation,
thus He has given us a mandate to be stewards,
stewards of this Earth,
offered the responsibility to care for His creation,
as He had placed Adam in the Garden of Eden,
“to dress it and to keep it.”,
you may also say,
the legacy of Noah’s flood,
may be the original Endangered Species Act…..

…..when God is involved,
anything is truly possible,
look at Elisha’s spring in Jericho,
where water used to be undrinkable,
useless in irrigating crops,
and added a sifting of salt into the water,
explaining "This is what the Lord says:
'I have healed this water.
Never again will it cause death,
or make the land unproductive'".
and to this day,
4,500 liters of fresh water bubble up,
from under the ground in Jericho,
every single minute,
proving resilient as a sparkling oasis,
of the desert,
proving that God is the same,
yesterday, today, and forever,
and that perhaps,
there are other Elishas among us…..

…..what happened to that covenant,
you can say it began with sin,
where sin began with Adam,
and because of this sin,
“the creation was subjected to frustration”,
by the one who has sinned,
“in hope that the creation itself,
will be liberated from its bondage to decay.”…..

…..where “there is no faithfulness,
no love,
no acknowledgement of God in the land,
there is only cursing,
and murder,
stealing and adultery.”,
reminding us we can’t be misled to believe,
He will not judge this dear world for its sin,
which only further encourages exploitation,
of His creation…..

…..makes you think about,
when God spoke to the children of Israel,
asking that they can grow and harvest crops,
for six years,
but “in the seventh year shall be a Sabbath,
of solemn rest for the land,
a sabbath unto the LORD;
thou shalt neither sow thy field,
nor prune thy vineyard.”
warning them not offering that land rest,
would result in the land not yielding crops,
that “all the time that it lies desolate,
the land will have the rest it did not have,
during the sabbaths you lived in it”…..

…..perhaps that’s why we’re experiencing,
global warming,
extinct and endangered species…..
…..because of our sins,
“a curse consumes the earth;
its people must bear their guilt.”…..

…..Mother Nature IS worried,
man CAN hurt her,
though we hold faith,
that God and Mother Nature work,
in benevolent, mysterious ways,
that her womb consists,
of all the sacred remedies,
and healing secrets of our living Earth,
this world isn’t like “Ferngully: The Last Rainforest”,
where sprites,
and a bat voiced by Robin Williams,
will somehow stop all the world’s deforestation,
convince all lumberjacks and timber companies,
that the clear-cutting of old growth forests,
ruins the native habitat of thousands of species,
leaving the area deficient of natural minerals…..

…..I’m an optimist,
but not in the sense,
of that 1988 Talking Heads single,
“(Nothing But) Flowers”,
where in some post-apocalyptic world,
all parking lots will become oases,
all Pizza Huts will become covered by daisies,
and discount stores will become cornfields,
but rather in the sense,
that when the question is asked,
“Will the individual choose to acknowledge his Creator,
and be reconciled to Him?”,
we will again practice the ministry of reconciliation,
as many of us righteously believe,
in the second greatest commandment,
that we must love our neighbors as ourselves,
and when we hear time and time again in the news,
about benzene levels causing increased asthma rates,
just because some factories ignored emissions caps,
or about hundreds of thousands dying of cancer in India,
just because of poor oversight and denial at Bhopal,
we express genuine emotions of alarm and grief…..

this earth has been through the wringer alright,
ice ages,
George W. Bush,
our Congress since 1976,
over the course,
of approximately 4,600,000,000 years…..

…..but the real test here,
is understanding our present time,
purifying our hearts before our Creator,
that though it is said we have the right,
to “fill the earth and subdue it”,
it doesn’t mean literally,
selling two sparrows for a halfpenny,
that He in fact set rules for bird protection,
telling the Israelites,
should they come across a bird’s nest,
with the mother sitting upon her young or eggs,
they were to let the mother go,
where Jesus said He’s aware of every small bird,
that falls to the ground,
of every young raven crying for food…..

…..we should care,
for to believe Earth Day only comes but once a year,
is apostasy;
to tend the Earth should be a perennial state of mind,
engineered by active faith,
rather than passive belief…



Noah Eaton[/i]
Read April 23, 2007, 02:57:11 PM #1

Read April 23, 2007, 06:12:03 PM #2

That's pretty cool! Kinda long, and not as politically correct as some would like; but oh well.

(Oh yeah... except for the auto forum post signature thingy at the bottom) :-P
Read April 23, 2007, 07:42:40 PM #3



lots of people eat meat
but Leo was an anti-vegetarian

I hated eating with him
he'd sit next to me
his pork belly protruding
his bearded face
stuffed with pork

after a while
he'd turn his bulbous
nose to me

"why aren't cha eatin' th' tenderloin?"
"don't eat pork."
"oh christ. you're not
one of those vegetarian faggots
are you?"
"no. I keep kosher."

that's respectable.
I respect kashrut.
but vegetarians?
fuck 'em
waste of air.
and don't get me started on vegans.
but you're respectable.
I respect you."

he finally swallowed his pork.

I couldn't tell
if I wished he was
my dad
or if I was glad
that he wasn't.

he died of a heart
attack about a year ago.

That Creepy Little Vietnamese Guy

I got on the bus at 39th
I didn't really need to go home
or want to, but I decided to just the same.

The first thing I do after
showing my pass or giving fare
is survey the crowd riding the bus.
If it's particularly crowded,
I look for someone to sit next to.

The bus wasn't particularly crowded,
so I sat wherever.
There was a woman with black,
ripped tights and too much makeup.
There was a guy behind her
with a goatee, eyeing her.
A fat man took up three seats
at the front, drinking a big gulp from 7-11.

And then, of course, there was
the creepy little old Vietnamese guy.
I only know this guy from the bus.
I don't know if he does anything else;
I either see him getting off or getting on.

He must live on Division
because this is probably the only bus he takes
he gets off at 22nd and walks to 24th.
I keep tabs on things like this.

I get off at 22nd too, so at 25th
I raise my hand to pull the ringer.
Just as I get my hand around the yellow line,
the bell dings. The creepy little guy's
beat me to the punch.

I stand behind him as we get ready to step down.
He's wearing a suit, not a nice one,
his hair is cropped like Duke Nukem's
and his teeth are all yellow, jagged.
On top of that he smells something foul,
not even like Vietnamese food,
which is actually kind of pleasant.

We get off. I turn to 22nd, get ready to cross.
Just then he stops me.

"Hey friend, do you have a dollar?"

His accent isn't as thick
as I thought it would be.

"No, I'm fresh out."
"Come on, friend, you just got on the bus.
You must have something."
"I have a pass, man. I
don't have to pay fare this month."

I really don't like the way he calls me "friend."
I'm not your friend, creepy little Vietnamese guy.

"Let me see your pass."
"Uh, look, I should really be going..."
"Let me see your pass."

Something commanding now in his voice.
I take out my wallet and show him my pass.
April. The April pass is pink, with a black "Y"
for youth.
Shouldn't the April pass be green?
I associate color with everything.
I see a dollar fall out of my wallet.
It's green, like April should be.

He gives me a scowl to give Satan
a shit in his pants.
He's the brown bull and I'm red as a tomato.

I don't know if I'll ever see that guy again,
but if I do,
I'm probably gonna have to fight him.

The Ugly Daughter

My wife's daughter is very ugly
I thank god that she's not mine
She's the breed of a previous marriage
To a man I've never met named Doug
I assume his genes were the sour ones
My wife is a gorgeous woman
But her daughter will never be

My son with my ex Lucinda
is not particularly handsome
but put him next to his step-sister
(Janey's her name, which doesn't help)
you'd think he could grace the cover
of magazines everywhere
she needs a bag for her head

I realize the double-standard here
even if my son were a truly ugly son
he wouldn't ever know it
but my step-daughter will know it
she's too young now, but put her in school
and it won't take long
for everyone to let her know

Her nose turns too far up
her ears are as big as an elf's
or at least one of them is
she's not really fat or skinny
somewhere in the middle I guess
not tall or short, either
even her hands are unimpressive

Every time I lie next to my wife
and think of my step-daughter
I have to wonder where her genes went wrong
I imagine them meeting Doug's chromosomes
and saying "hey, you know what'd be a gas?
let's make these people's daughter
the ugliest you've ever seen."

I'm worried that when she's older
I'll have to console her
she'll ask me, "Papa, I have to know
do you think I'm ugly?"
and of course I'll say, "no, dear
you're the prettiest girl
that I've ever laid my eyes on."

I can see it now. As I tuck her in,
she smiles and begins to drift off.
I walk out of her room, close the door,
and head downstairs for a beer.
I pop open the cap, sit down and ponder.
What's the point in lying to the kid?
I think about going back up.

every day (I wrote this one like a year ago)

i stood out in the open asphalt field
poppies growing from the patches of grass
systematically placed in the middle of every block
there were three cars piled in front of the streetcar
no one was injured, no one was dead
but i wondered if any of them were thinking
if they knew their mouths were nothing but extra horns
screaming soundless "blahs" into empty space

i was waiting for two people to say something
one to apologize, one to confess
i lied down on the bench and wondered
what the hell were you thinking?
did you mean anything you say?
i ended up running off with someone i love
i felt happier that way

the day before and every day before you called-
fill in the blank, it's on my back
wishing you would just pick up the phone
listening to music with lyrics i don't yet understand
funny how things unraveled backwards

mechanical love (I think this one will score well here)

initiate startup program: c:/foreplay.exe
jagged caress of steel, the flesh
of the souless, malcontent
subprogram invalidated: c:/erection.exe DENIED
female initiates viral program: c:/viagra.exe
preprogram startup
holy feelings denied
in this stratosphere obscene
the walls compounding
their blades surrounding the scene
main program initiated: c:/penetration.exe
no one programmed ecstasy
into these crude machines
the clumsy sound
the screeches abound the steel figurines
the rust has shaken off
clanking turns to the razor tone
the apocryphal screams
she lets out when she means to moan
postprogram: c:/cigarette.exe
was it as good for you as it was for me?

The rest of my stuff is here. (there's also some photography)

I liked your poem, Noah.
Read April 23, 2007, 09:55:46 PM #4

Here's some improv.
No going back, deleting my words.
I don't dig that.
Why can't people talk once and be done?
What's with the delete key?
A lion knows what he says when he roars.
A dog's bark doesn't hesitate.
So why do we humans
falter and mutate our words?

It's stupid.  
Here's some improv.  
I like it that way.
It's a kind of encouraging feeling.
And to type it
It gives me a beat
Feels good.

The constant tapping,
it's nice.
Not having to extend my pinky all the time
to that key
the delete key
some think it a savior
I think it's a curse.
It takes away the permanence
It takes away the art in art.
Revision kills the mind; weakens
Even now, I repair those words that
are error.

I don't know why
it's not going to go anywhere
but it's nice
to know that I'm writing
and moving forward, without stepping back.

Yeah, try some improv.

[that's improv, in case you couldn't tell]
Read April 23, 2007, 10:15:23 PM #5

Your stuff is awesome Ethan


For some reason I really got a kick out of
On top of that he smells something foul,
not even like Vietnamese food,
which is actually kind of pleasant.
Read April 23, 2007, 11:25:28 PM #6

I immensely enjoyed your poems here, Ethan, Mark and Soymilk Charlie! Smiley

Here are four more, two of which are silly epics, one more romantic, one more serious.


I Paid 25 Cents For My First Kiss At A Kissing Booth And All I Got Was This Bad Case Of Mono
By: Noah Eaton

I was a hopeless romantic,
untying giraffes from telephone poles in Vermont,
the Saint Johnsbury Caledonian,
knighted me the L’enfant of Croissants,
sugarcoating me with a pinch of nonchalance.
I hosted public baths every Saturday night,
in the pond down in Hubbard Park,
I went to Ben & Jerry’s,
created the flavor Contrary Canary,
served with maraschino cherries and cinnamon bark.

Yet something was missing,
something was missing from my life,
my lips were as dry as the Atacama,
chapped with a dust bowl’s strife,
and so I thought over this dilemma,
and then I knew just what to do,
I bought the local lemonade stand drive-through,
and turned it into a drive-through kissing booth.

And so I balmed my lips with vaseline,
olive oil, beeswax and peppermint,
I was prepared to break my kiss-less streak,
I was not about to squint,
a Buddhist monk came to visit,
he offered me peach blossoms for good luck,
I was shaking like a freshman in culinary school,
but I had as much pluck as a pastry truck.

Then suddenly I see cruising down Berlin Street,
in a green Stiletto built from a 1960’s Corvair,
some eager customer making a sharp turn toward me,
I swear I was in a castle in the air,
she said her name was Regina Toscanini,
a Latvian foreign exchange student,
a runner-up World Parcheesi champion,
with a face I could read as animated yet prudent.

So I paid her a quarter and then she leaned forward,
and I felt her lips make the sweet stinging caress,
and then by the time I opened my eyes,
she was gone before I could have the feeling assessed,
oh yeah, I was sure flying high that afternoon,
leaping as high as a kangaroo on Boxing Day,
I felt as though I was skipping down the Appian Way,
Or making the step of the cat in the corps de ballet.

But a month and a half later, I began feeling strange,
I could have sworn I caught the flu,
yet no one at work was under the weather,
and it was the last day of June,
but, oh, how my head was aching,
and my temperature peaked up to 103,
and my throat was all tied up in a knot,
Oh, dear Lord, have mercy on me!

Then I felt, “Malarkey, this is just one of those common colds,
I’m gonna chase it right down to Chinatown,
just a lil’ pomegranate juice and Echinacea milkshake,
will drop that hammer down,
then I headed to Cheung Wai Tak’s acupuncture clinic,
unleashing the qi through all twenty pathways of my body,
wore fourteen wreaths of nutmeg around my neck,
and summoned a witch doctor,
to chant the 109th and 119th psalms incessantly.

Yeah, I felt as though I was winning this cage match,
I felt I got that sickness tangled in a dusty finish,
but suddenly I swear the referee came in with a folding chair,
and threw quite an epidemic gimmick,
like Dracula, I became oversensitive to light,
and my spleen and liver became enlarged,
my tonsils were French-kissing each other in my mouth,
that’s when I knew that first match was merely a midcard.

So I began getting very desperate,
I bore three holes in the middle of a selected tree,
and walked three times around it,
shouting “Flee, you germy hooligan, flee!”
Then I consulted my witch doctor,
asked him if he had a personal rival,
he said, “Ooh eee ooh ah ah,
tic-tac-toe walla-walla no-no!”

I had never felt more tired in all my life,
giraffes and croissants had missed me for weeks,
I was bedridden, stuck playing electronic hand-held Yahtzee,
and marathons of The Lance Krall Show on Spike TV.
Jebediah Joplin’s litter of cats broke through my screen door hole,
strutting around like I conceded defeat and they owned the place,
I felt as though I’ve come to the end of the road,
when Paw-leeze kicked the catnip in my face.

I became death-defiant for resolve,
so I sprung out of my sheets like a coil spring,
hopped right into my low-rider school bus,
making like the cat and the canary down to Doctor Lowenstein,
he gave me a thorough examination,
stuck a butterfly needle in me to check my diagnosis,
and then wasting no time he proclaimed,
“You have what we call a bad case of mononucleosis!”

So he ordered me a prescription of Motrin,
and offered me a shot of Dexatrin,
he urged me to drink plenty of fluids,
and suck on plenty of Mighty Magic Minis and Swirlwinds,
he told me to get plenty of rest,
because exercise could rupture my spleen,
and told me not to take any aspirin,
and warned me, most of all, “No kissing for a few weeks!”

So eventually I healed completely,
and slowly I regained my focus and testosterone,
a hippie chimp covered me of my duties,
and I had my annual lost sock memorial pilgrimage postponed,
I ran down the full length of Theodore Roosevelt Highway,
in my Aunt Agnus’ burgundy angora sweater,
crying “Hallelujah, I can breathe again,
Lord, thank you for freeing me from these parasitic fetters!”

So learn this lesson and learn it well,
if you’re desperate to have your first kiss,
at all costs don’t rush it on some stranger,
especially if it’s a Latvian foreign exchange student...,
is it National Candied Orange Peel Day or what?



Last Call For Egg Nog
By: Noah Eaton

Way far back as I can remember,
there’s only one treat that nightcaps the holidays,
no, I’m not talking about plum pudding,
nor gingerbread with spiced crème anglaise,
pignalatta, I love you a whole lotta,
sweet noodle pineapple kugel gets me panting,
like an Eskimo dog,
yet still there’s nothing that rings in the new year,
like a tall cold glass of egg nog.

Yep, every morning I soak my French toast sticks in it,
and every night I bake it into a crème brulee,
I even soak a baseball in it during my lil’ boys game,
so he can run away each squeeze play,
it’s the only beverage where I disregard,
all its calorie-ridden, 6% butterfat guilty pleasures,
but alas, New Years Day has just drifted away,
so this will call for desperate measures.

So I put on my Kahlua Black Russian Pie hat,
and my dense globe artichoke overcoat,
slipped on my molasses mint salt water taffy scarf,
and rushed out toward the pier to my gravy boat,
motoring my way toward Jantzen Beach,
on urgent errand to Chin’s Import Grocer,
where I swear I could taste the nutmeg increasingly,
every centimeter that I drew closer.

And along the way a random thought filled my head,
that has plagued me since I was 3 7/8 years old,
the mother of all unsolved mysteries,
the impeccable conspiracy theory tenfold,
a question that’s long left me arsy-varsy,
blares between my ears like a tetchy French horn:
Why are boxes of Wheat Chex cereal,
smaller than their siblings Rice and Corn?

I mean, c’mon now, this is downright dippy,
they weigh five ounces less for crying out loud,
yet everyone knows wheat Chex squares taste best,
in every batch of Chex Mix hands down,
I mean the Worcestershire sauce is literally married,
to wheat Chex like Percy and Florence Arrowsmith,
whereas with both Corn & Rice,
they’re just sideshows from the pith.

Speaking of which, what’s all the fuss about Rice anyway,
that Chex is lacking of sapidity,
I mean, I can eat a bowl of both Wheat & Corn,
during the holiday off-season effortlessly,
but with Rice Chex & milk not even two lumps of sugar,
can atone for that imperial cereal’s unimaginative taste,
hey, that reminds me, whatever happened to Oat Chex,
they just came and bid good day in haste…

…um, hey, where was I again,
sorry, my mind tends to go wide distantly astray…
…um, well, anyway, seriously,
Wheat Chex is long overdue for a 21 ounce upgrade,
and Rice Chex is extraordinarily underrated,
they’re like the Rachael Ray of breakfast,
their size should be reduced from 21 to 16 ounces,
or just zhuzzh it up a little bit, I insist!

So, anyway, eventually I reached Hayden Island,
and ran straight down North Menzies Drive,
running through the Jantzen Beach RV Park,
where the Polar Bear Posse were taking five,
power diving toward Chin’s Import,
my mouth as dry as a bandicoot on a burnt ridge,
searching wildly for my egg, sugar and allspice interfusion,
to light up my humble fridge.

I stampeded through the front door,
like a rat scampering up a tail pipe,
straight down Aisle 17,
appearing Olympian but hardly the athletic type,
but once I got to the dairy corner,
oh, the horror, the horror,
the sight of no egg nog in any size, shape or form,
ate my spirits up like a corn borer.

The way I see it, only one option was remaining,
and that was to consult the manager,
perhaps they had some egg nog shipments in storage,
that they intend to have deferred,
so I went up and coaxed politely,
the manager named Vieng Lao,
and asked him, “Do you have any egg nog,
in your inventory right now?”

And then, get this, suddenly Vieng Lao,
uncontrollably began to chuckle,
cachinnating like a kookaburra on eucalyptus,
mercilessly so that his belt buckle ruckled,
then he yammered, “Hey, my child,
were you born on a Viking ship?
Firstly, no one sells egg nog after New Years Day,
and secondly, this is a Chinese grocer, Artichoke Dip!”

Then, as if I already was ridiculed enough,
Vieng Lao proclaims with deepest inflection,
“Hey everyone, this taffy-scarfed milquetoast,
is foraging for a carton of that egg nog confection!”
Then everyone started laughing with him,
pointing their fingers at me in schools and swarms,
it was then I knew I never felt so dissed,
and felt as dirty as a mud fence in a rainstorm.

Then my voice, subdued and quavering,
said, “Hey, I don’t want this to seem like a stunt,
I for one wish we could store some Christmas spirit,
in jars and open a jar of it every month.
For isn’t Christmas all about fulfilling,
the greatest hunger of humanity,
and to me there’s nothing more quintessential,
then hailing the spirit with soft-served vitality!

And you see, the only reason I came here,
was that this year is the Year of the Rooster,
so I thought I’d shake things up this time around,
and go with a Chinese egg nog morale booster,
in your culture don’t you serve it warm,
with streaks of ginseng and ashwaganda,
and mixed with wasabi and dry star anise,
to get me in sync with my inner panda?”

Then suddenly Vieng Lao got all dewy-eyed,
impressed by my pocket-sized soliloquy,
suddenly rattling with more emotions,
than a shaking pistachio tree,
and feelingly responded, “Young artichoke,
we’d all dream to be as warm and idealistic as you,
unfortunately to many the holidays are not a state of mind,
who celebrate them for a month and then they’re through.

I wish you great fortune on your pilgrimage quest,
but sadly, I doubt egg nog’s current availability,
like the holidays it’s something that comes but once a year,
between January and November there’s no feasibility,
however, you’ve offered us a brilliant idea,
on inventing an Eastern twist to this bonne bouche,
so I offer you this Nian Gao, fresh from the bakery,
and deluxe Mah-Jongg set, crafted from rich bamboo.

So I thanked Vieng Lao and left the store,
stuffing my face with their New Years Cake,
but as delicious as each mesmerizing morsel was,
I couldn’t wash it down with any given tea break,
so I pulled out a saucer sled from the RV Park,
and sped into downtown at breakneck speed,
determined to find one carton of egg nog,
even if it meant my knees would bleed.

I sped to every Whole Foods and New Seasons Market,
darted to and fro between various Trader Joes,
tobogganed into the African International Food Market,
and flew into Mock Crest Grocery like a carrion crow,
QFC, D&P, Lil’ Q, Circle K,
on all occasions my luck was DOA,
each Plaid Pantry was all cleared out,
and I was sleighed away with dismay at Safeway.

Then I realized, with my mind focused entirely on this task,
there were many chores I forgot to complete,
making sure the first footer was not red-haired,
filling up the cupboards with spinach beets and creamed wheat,
dancing in the open air, around each tree for thirty-seven blocks,
making sure no garbage is taken out till the second of this year,
tying a sprig of holly to each leg of my bedstead,
and eating black-eyed peas until they come out of my ears.

Anyway, though getting especially discouraged, I vowed,
I would get it if it meant buying it underground,
yet I was running low on options in the meantime,
and I was getting tired of all this milling around,
my throat was so parched I could begin to feel,
deep in my veins a dust bowl of cholesterol,
I felt as though I had been struck,
with nineteen shots of Pravachol.

Then all of a sudden a light bulb beamed in my head,
Clarity had finally come through all the sprawling,
putting together and hosting a Telethon,
on Portland Cable Access was my true calling
so I hopped aboard a landboat at Ross Island,
and coasted up Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard,
and made all my ambitious preparations,
and wrote out all of my cue cards.

After twelve minutes, the time had come,
to kick off this historic philanthropic enterprise,
ushering in a new generation of egg nog eggheads,
via this fundraiser which I devised,
So I said, “Ladies and gentlemen, today we’re gathered,
together for a very important cause…egg nog relief.
Imagine a world without this high cholesterol beverage,
for a whole forty-six consecutive weeks.

Thus we’re joined to have our voices heard,
to quench our livers and share the wealth,
whether as egg nog, rompope, coquito or Biersuppe,
we’re united as one, drinking to shorter health!
And now, without further to do,
we have prepared a night of great entertainment,
and we hope that you’ll each make a pledge,
supporting egg nog’s rightful permanent placement!”

Yep, the program was as full,
as a fairy’s phone book,
we had a family of chimps playing Twister,
and Silly Walk Idol spiced up with gobbledyguok,
an epic Dancing Hamster tournament,
a two-headed snake playing “Dueling Banjos” with their teeth,
we even talked Johnny Herlofsky,
into dropping in to brighten the children’s cheeks.

Oh, for a while all was going well,
I was skipping across the room in triumph,
but then all of a sudden the doors kicked open,
and my pride hit a rough speed bump,
then these party-crashers came and grabbed my arms,
saying, “Sir, please follow us,
we have a bunch of legal matters,
that are in urgent need to discuss”

So they took me to the backseat of a Radio Cab,
where sat the silhouette of a mysterious stranger,
I was soused in both cold sweats and hot sweats,
but somehow I didn’t feel I was in danger,
then a streetlight reflection gleamed across his face,
and it was just as I had thought,
and I said, “Holy Frances Oldham Helsey,
you’re Andrew von Eschenbach!”

“Indeed I am…”, Andrew replied to me,
“and I’ve devoted my life as you can see,
as a Clinical Research Distinguished Chair,
in Urologic Oncology.
That is why I am here, as I have concern,
regarding your yearly egg-nog martyrdom,
for as you’re well aware, the obesity endemic,
has been beating relentlessly like a snare drum!

You see, in every glass of egg nog,
there’s eleven grams of saturated fat,
that’s alone a whopping 60%,
of your recommended daily value as a matter of fact,
in addition, eight ounces of that beverage,
contains 320 calories,
more than a pina coloda,
it’s a diabetic shooting gallery!

That’s why at the FDA we understood the stakes,
and allow six weeks to this cacophonous consumption,
otherwise these rules shall never change,
as long as the office is under my assumption,
for all those coping with cardiovascular disease,
it is under my strict presumption,
that children of future generations,
will benefit from our gumption!

So what do you say you give up this silly game,
and consider some healthy alternative,
like hand-pressed apple cider,
or acai juice enriched with antioxidants?”
I said, “Nothing you make me say or do,
will discourage me of my egg nog swilling ways!
As an American I have the right,
to decide how I stuff my face!”

Then Andrew disappointingly shook his head,
and said, “I see you’ve made up your mind,
well all I can say is you’re setting a bad example,
for all young American lives,
and by the way, it was I as well,
who had your Wheat Chex re-sized,
now take this forsaken carton of globbety goop,
and get out of my sight!”

So with delight, I couldn’t believe my eyes,
gallivanting home in a Leg Lamp automobile,
now my will was unbreakable like Damascus steel,
flinging through my front door like a catherine wheel,
opening the flap and filling my glass,
with a smile no one could desecrate,
when suddenly I fainted in horror…
…the horror…
…the horror…
. the sight of the expiration date…



By: Noah Eaton

The dream was always running ahead of me,
you’ll feel less with every little bit more you see,
tonight I feel revirginated staring up into space,
feeling like I haven’t seen anything...

...your forehead was kissed by firefly sonata,
made you a precious day-glo tiara,
each blinking star between each young kiss,
challenging the Fermi paradox...

...I feel as though I’ve lost my legs,
but, baby, you make me brave enough to go ahead…

...up and away…

...up and away…
Ooohhh, it’s love at first sight,
every time I see you…

...gleaming in the glittering glare…

Chocolate daisies must have called your name,
tutored with mignonettes in the summer rain,
foo fighters flicker like opaline snow owls,
groping the world in a snowblink of involuntary praise...

...from the touch of your fingertips,
we’re sparkling amidst this total solar eclipse,
there’s polyphony between every heartbeat,
and in this moment there’s pure clairsentience...

...I feel as though I’ve lost my legs,
but, baby, you make me brave enough to go ahead...

...up and away...

...up and away...

Ooohhh, it’s love at first sight,
every time I see you...

...gleaming in the glittering glare...



ooooohhhh...’s when two look at each other
beyond three winks,
that it all becomes a miracle,
sweet darling...

Ooohhh, it’s love at first sight,
ooohhh, it’s love at first sight,
every time I see you…

...gleaming in the glittering glare...

Infinity’s in the palm of your hand,
but forever rests in the stardust of each eyelash,
each hot youthful tear I will collect,
lathering your face in glare with my heart’s content...



When My Memory Feels Like My Imagination
By: Noah Eaton

Glancing at the photos,
lined up and down the hallway,
pilot lights of emotion,
glare across my eyes and ricochet,
I’ve worn her breath like a rainbow,
I feel like tightening it like a noose,
braided with accidental wonders,
that I never want to lose.

All at once,
I feel the whole world leaning backward,
gravity diffusing fact,
when my memory feels like my imagination,
between the leaves,
of dozens of proven summers,
I’m moved by the faintest waft,
when my memory feels like my imagination.

Pacing across the front lawn,
seeing if roses have bloomed this December,
annotating the lasting perfume,
while mistaking the fireflies from the embers,
everything woven by your hands,
becomes priceless in sentimental value,
every page of your diary I never read,
somehow has a way of breezing through...

All at once,
I feel the whole world leaning backward,
gravity diffusing fact,
when my memory feels like my imagination,
between the leaves,
of dozens of proven summers,
I’m moved by the faintest waft,
when my memory feels like my imagination.

I’ve learned the hard way,
that there’s a torch-bearer in every cupboard,
summoned by the static,
of every unspoken word,
as the clouds keep filling your mind,
I can still feel your sunshine deep inside,
just by the touch of your hand,
I know feelings hold greater depth than names in life...

All at once,
I feel the whole world leaning backward,
gravity diffusing fact,
when my memory feels like my imagination,
between the leaves,
of dozens of proven summers,
I’m moved by the faintest waft,
when my memory feels like my imagination.

I’m moved by the faintest waft,
when my memory feels like my imagination.

I’m moved by the faintest waft,
when my memory feels like my imagination.



Noah Eaton
Read April 23, 2007, 11:45:39 PM #7

Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don't make sense
Read April 24, 2007, 12:43:14 AM #8


Sorry, I'm a phone number. (I think; can't blame a guy for trying ;P)
Read April 24, 2007, 09:14:05 AM #9

Goddam your poems are long, man. O_O

Glad you guys like mine.
Read April 24, 2007, 12:30:38 PM #10

Quote from: "BLueSS"
Haikus are easy
But sometimes they don't make sense

ah... I've seen that shirt before. on threadless I think.
Read April 24, 2007, 01:00:50 PM #11

Yep, I stole it from threadless. It's still awesome though.
Read April 24, 2007, 06:36:03 PM #12

Konami haikus
Have five syllables and then
seven and three more

Read April 24, 2007, 06:48:10 PM #13

Konami will sue.
Five-seven-five is too close
To five seven three.
- Tony Chick
Read April 24, 2007, 07:29:58 PM #14

haikus are quite gay
gay gay gay gay gay gay gay
gay gay gay gay gay
Read April 24, 2007, 07:45:11 PM #15

(a google ad for
We are
our tiny profit is lost.
haiku ads don't work.

Read April 24, 2007, 11:54:47 PM #16

This is a haiku
And it is apparently
Read April 24, 2007, 11:55:36 PM #17

Dancing tofu writes
haikus like everyone else:
fucking gay as hell

 :wink:  :wink:  :wink:  :wink:
Read April 24, 2007, 11:58:02 PM #18

This is not a haiku.
And I promise you that,
It's a satan poem

Read April 25, 2007, 12:57:38 PM #19

Three things are certain:
Death, taxes, and lost data.
Guess which has occurred.

(My computer hardware actually failed last week, and I lost a drive. Luckily I had a backup.)

Windows NT crashed.
I am the Blue Screen of Death.
No one hears your screams.
Read April 25, 2007, 02:21:12 PM #20

Here is a poem I wrote when I was in second grade. It is in my actual second grade handwriting. Somebody bothered to scan it and put it on the internet.

Read April 25, 2007, 03:53:59 PM #21

Quote from: "OneMoreLaurvely"
Here is a poem I wrote when I was in second grade. It is in my actual second grade handwriting. Somebody bothered to scan it and put it on the internet.

Awwwww, I'm soooooo glad you shared that! Smiley

I know as writers get older they tend to take their previous work more negatively, but you were speaking with utmost sincerity and heart in that and any work that holds those qualities is of great value in my mind. Smiley

I didn't really write poetry when I was that young, but actually focused on silly, random short stories and poorly-drawn comics. Smiley

Noah Eaton
Read April 25, 2007, 03:57:37 PM #22

Yeah, I'm actually an aspiring writer now (nonfiction books, though, not poetry), and I find that I have a lot of trouble reading stuff I've written over the years. All of my high school angst-ridden poetry is pretty difficult for me to read without kicking myself for writing it. I'll always giggle when I think of the turkey poem, though-- I think it's really, really cool that something I wrote when I was in second grade managed to make its way to the internet.
Read April 25, 2007, 09:25:54 PM #23

That poem wins the thread.

It has childlike innocence and stuff. :O
Read April 29, 2007, 07:08:03 PM #24

(Here's some lyrics I wrote last December that were inspired by the visuals of a DDR SuperNova song I played ("Heaven Is A Place On Earth") )


By: Noah Eaton

Avert your vision,
beyond assumptions of mediocrity,
envision the cosmic evolution,
a maximum overdrive feeling of identity,
ride a broomstick into an event horizon,
feel your heartbeat treble beyond the lithosphere,
we were born to be anointed in the moonlight,
more than once in a lunar year.

Open your eyes,
only you know what you can see,
in the dark nights of the brightest dreamers,
possibilities are scattered endlessly…

Witch doctors of the rising sun,
stylize their aurora circus in absolute magnitude,
glitter our bodies in remnants of the supernovas,
so we can see our spirits soar at limitless altitudes,
trampolining upon the eyelashes of the sun,
vaulting back across the fingertips of the galaxy,
exposing ourselves so all can see,
all that we are destined to be…

Open your eyes,
only you know what you can see,
in the dark nights of the brightest dreamers,
possibilities are scattered endlessly…

(Bend your mind,
into maximum overdrive,
at light’s velocity,
feed your curiosity,
happy hardcore galore,
come on up to the fore,
you’re on the Hayashi track,
now go and dance that chance!)

Open your eyes,
only you know what you can see,
in the dark nights of the brightest dreamers,
possibilities are scattered endlessly…


Noah Eaton
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