It’s the Bee’s Knees

On the box of Midwest Butter,
in the verdant dairy pastures,
sat the smiling Indian maiden,
daughter of her tribe, the maiden.
Holding forth a golden offering;
from the box her yellow treasure
for the yet unbuttered buyer.
Gently her sweet knees protruded
from her humble beaded buckskin,
from her beaded buckskin garment
each supported by a letter;
full twin globes upon an altar.
As mammalians, when they’re nursing
seek the rounded gifts of nature
while their hands, abreast and lifted
grasping, find the source of plenty,
swallow fast that milky manna
swallow down that flowing liquid
with a smile upon their features,
so my soul rejoiced to meet her
in the grasslands of a daydream
in the pastures of my daydream,
holding forth divine recurrence:
gift within a gift forever
churning, and imploding inwards
infinite, receding backwards
into endless Indian maidens
spreading myth upon my table
on my toast upon my table
till her tribe returns in glory . . .

(etc, etc, with apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

butter-indian

MORE cool stuff about the Land O Lakes maiden HERE
(but THIS GUY is peeved)

Still want MORE ?

PROMPT 23:

write a poem that responds, in some way, to another.
This could be as simple as using a line or image from another poem as a jumping-off point, or it could be a more formal poetic response to the argument or ideas raised in another poem.

Owed to a Caulk Gun

 

STICK’EM UP with Liquid Nails

DANGER !  EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE

See Other Caution on Back Panel:

 

I'm hot for you Cowgirl.

You’re so flammable my glue-gun starts to melt; my screwdriver starts twisting when you loosen that low-slung belt. You make me feel like laying re-bar in a freshly-poured foundation. Shoot me up with that caulk gun baby—I need you like salvation. Ten and one-half fluid ounces; pull off your top, pop a love-cap in me. Fingerin’ your trigger while the job is gettin’ bigger so take me for a ride to the hardware store, honey, cause I’m seeing red and feeling white on your golden background’s sheer delight.  Hammer me a heart-full, spike me on a cross of blonde, I’m hanging ten, surfing the tube of your magic wand. I’ve been in love ever since I first waterproofed my seamy undersides with you . . . stand over me in those red, red boots, you Liquid Nails Girl, and from your pure white Stetson let righteousness unfurl. You won the shoot-out long before you even drew, my dear. Lost hope of the Wild West, Final Frontal Feminine Frontier; there’s only one side of you: the good side.

Just one look and your fearless gaze silences the foes, my blooming prairie rose. YEE-HAW !  Be my angel, be my dream, my valentine rodeo queen, be my bodyguard, my therapist, long & tall & hard & wet—be my Liquid Nails Girl forever and I’ll ride right into your sunset…

 

PROMPT #18 an ode to life’s small pleasures

Ode to a Caulk Gun

NaPoWriMo prompt: a poem that takes the form of a warning label

STICK’EM UP
with LIQUID NAILS

DANGER ! EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE
See Other Caution on Back Panel:

I’m hot for you Cowgirl. You’re so flammable my glue-gun starts to melt; my screwdriver starts twisting when you loosen that low-slung belt. You make me feel like laying re-bar in a freshly-poured foundation. Shoot me up with that caulk gun baby—I need you like salvation. Ten and one-half fluid ounces—pull off your top, pop a love-cap in me. Fingerin’ your trigger while the job is gettin’ bigger so take me for a ride to the hardware store, honey, cause I’m seeing red and feeling white on your golden background’s sheer delight.  Hammer me a heart-full, spike me on a cross of blonde, I’m hanging ten, surfing the tube of your magic wand. I’ve been in love ever since I first waterproofed my seamy undersides with you . . . stand over me in those red, red boots, you Liquid Nails Girl—and from your pure white Stetson let righteousness unfurl. You won the shoot-out long before you even drew, my dear. Lost hope of the Wild West, Final Frontal Feminine Frontier—there’s only one side of you . . . your GOOD side.  Just one look and your fearless gaze silences the foes, my blooming prairie rose.
YEE-HAW !  Be my angel, be my dream, my valentine rodeo queen, be my bodyguard, my therapist, long & tall & hard & wet—be my Liquid Nails Girl forever and I’ll ride right into your sunset . . .

NEXT IDEA: the Land O’ Lakes Squaw . . .

IMAGE CREDIT:  radargeek @ flickriver.com

Hoofbeats, Hoofbeats, Hoofbeats !

I wonder, at times, how I got caught up in this useless obsession called Poetry.
Along with nursery rhymes, ad jingles, and pop music, it must have been immortal lines such as the Rex Trailer’s Boomtown show theme which cursed me with this love of rhythmic language and imagery. Listening to it today I am struck by the primal force of this TV cowboy poetry:

♪♫♪ Covered wagons were a-rollin’ out along the trail
on the way to the golden West…  ♫♪♫♪