Alright, so I did a few. Maybe it’s because I’m a cheaty ****, but I wrote them out and couldn’t choose between them. I’m not really a poet first, I’m more of a novelist, but I gave it my best go. I thought I’d try and emulate a few classic poets first, to get a feel for what to do. After that, I wrote some in a few random ones, more original styles. I ended up doing eleven, but I cut down to six for the sake of brevity.
All works presented are original, and were written today, beginning around 8 PM Eastern time, with a stop for dinner.
At the bottom of this post, you will find a video recording of me reading out all the poems aloud. As a matter of personal taste and duty to the reader, I believe that the best way to enjoy a work is to have it read to you. Since I cannot be in each of your rooms personally, this will have to suffice. Unfortunately, I am still recovering from recent illness, but hopefully the point still gets across. I put on my best poet outfit for this, but I admit I shaved my moustache a week ago, and that would have been perfect for this. I also wanted to get my bass guitar out and do some true word jazz, but I’d need an extra day for that. So it goes.
My recommendation to you, reader, is that you listen to the recording and follow along while looking at the words. However, should you choose to only enjoy only the words or only the recording, this is also entirely valid.
Without further ado, please enjoy.
-P
~
EMULATIONSBorgesian Ketchup (“Tlön-mato Caveat, Orbus Emptor”)“The same chemicals were used in cooking as were used in the composition of her own being: only those which caused the most violent reaction, contradiction, and teasing, the refusal to answer questions but the love of [asking] them, and all the strong spices of human relationship which bore a relation to black pepper, paprika, soybean sauce, ketchup and red peppers.” -Anais Nin
-2019
****insonian Ketchup (“Solitary Enjoyment”)I looked upon the bottle red
Upon a table alone in the room
Inside, a fine tomato spread
Just for me.
The octagon of glass enclosed it
Keeping the contents hidden away.
I so dearly longed to taste
And throw my head back in ecstasy.
A passing crow inspects the crumbs
Brown, white, stained with vinegar
The remnants of the fine bun
That I so deeply enjoyed.
-2019
Whitmanian Ketchup (“Ballad of the Ketchup Commander”)Still here I carry my delicious burden,
That of the ketchup commander.
With my health and my bottles,
I go forth into the aether of day,
I go forth into the murk of night,
To bring the delicious scent
Of fine tomato condiment
to the masses.
To bring this lovely taste to the entire Earth,
Would be insufficient in my quest.
To bring this lovely taste to the entire solar system,
Would be insufficient in my quest.
Nay, I must cover the universe
In ketchup.
-2019
EMANATIONSBallpark FrankThe crack of the bat, a scream
Somewhere, a few rows behind me, a child had cried out
Is it despair, or joy?
I turn to look
He has dropped his hot dog
On the ground in the aisle
A pale sausage lies, bloody, no
Smothered in a splatter of ketchup and sauerkraut.
The child is on his knees,
Weeping at the loss of his treasure.
-2019
Ketch’s BluesKetchup is the Take Five of condiments
It can be found in any smoky bar
Or alone in the fridge of a divorced father after a drunken night.
It is a member of the free jazz quartet of condiments,
Found at the center of a barbecue,
Where Sarah shares the sex of her new baby with her friends,
Where Mark announces his engagement to Anne,
Where Rebecca and Tony casually mention to a close friend that they are looking for
something to do later—perhaps?
Where Arnold watches his daughter take her first steps.
Ketchup, Mustard, Mayonnaise, and Relish are all there,
Watching, listening, playing
On hot dogs, on brisket
The songs of lunch and dinner
-2019
Family MattersIt was his first apartment, and he had to stock the fridge
He put the groceries away listening to Corcovado
And thought of his girlfriend as he put away the ketchup.
She was getting ready to move in with him
The two of them would make memories together
She thought of him as she put ketchup on her eggs.
They danced in the living room,
a turntable played My Foolish Heart
And they thought of what their family might one day become.
She wanted two girls
He wanted two boys
They met halfway.
Twin white plates,
Each with six chicken nuggets and a handful of french fries,
And a healthy serving of ketchup.
Ketchup bound together brother and sister,
Like oil and eggs in Mayonnaise
Like their parents:
Inseparable.
-2019
i forgot to wear my glasses for max poet effect, but i am a normal tortoiseshell glasses wearing hipster
