Jan/Feb 2018 Humor/Satire

Two (Humorous) Poems

by Timothy Clutter

Textile Photo Art by Jeffrey Trespel

Textile Photo Art by Jeffrey Trespel

Port Man Toe

He took to making up the words
          —creatoria, rapunzeline

and stringing them like garlands,
          —monikernels of lexicorn, meanderloads of glossipedes

felt cool frisson in warring sounds,
          —teutongitude meets latin-tude in maledictionary

withstood bleeding guardian serpents of spell-check,
          —syllabamanders, reptilographs

knowing language likes to sleep around
but may not stay for breakfast.
          —impolite friction, despairachute

So [sic] at heart was he,
he took his vorpal pistol and
lewiscarrolled himself to
          —beelzebublivion, hyperboleternity.



Thinking is hard work
which is why the position
goes often unfilled.

Inside a coffin
soft pads and velvet pillows
provide comfort—why?

Be yourself, they say,
but phoniness and pretense
might be the real you.

No man's an island
but the coast is long if you're
a peninsula.

A house collects joy—
some bring joy by entering,
some just by leaving.


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