Posts of Christmas Past December 24, 2011Posted by Matt in Christmas.
Tags: bad poetry, Christmas, Communism, fiction, Nativity myth, Santa Claus, zombies
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Here at Words of Wisdom, I’ve been writing about Christmas for years. Some posts have been funny, some have been serious, some have turned controversial, some have caused involuntary eye-rolling, but whatever your reaction might be, the posts have long been a mainstay on the blog. Today I thought we could revisit a few of those posts of past times.
Given the recent undead craze, you may have heard all you ever wanted to about zombies. If not, check out “Twas the Night Before Christmas…with Zombies.”
Or, if zombies aren’t your style, here’s a poem from 2009 entitled “The Day After Christmas.”
If you want to know how to really stir things up in your conservative church, I’ll give you hint: make a case for the nativity story being a mythical account. Yeah, that won’t get you invited to Christmas dinner.
Back in 2008 I wrote a Christmas short story entitled “A Finger Between Friends.” At least I thought it was pretty funny.
Did you ever think there was something strange about Santa Claus, that maybe, perhaps, he wasn’t who we were always led to be believe? I did and back in 2007 I wrote Get Behind Me Santa!, an expose that showed his ties to the evils of Communism.
And there have been several more that weren’t quite as interesting. Merry Christmas, y’all!
Ode to the Number Eleven November 11, 2011Posted by Matt in poetry.
Tags: bad poetry, eleven
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Eleven often stands alone
Looking jealously up at the throne
Of a perfect ten and a whole dozen
It’s almost like a no-good cousin
Eleven fingers won’t fit in
There’s no top eleven on Letterman
No one buys eleven eggs
Two insects don’t have eleven legs
No eleven days of Christmas cheer
Nor eleven months in one whole year
No eleven commandments in stone hewn
And eleven angry men won’t do.
Will eleven find a place to fit?
A spot in the cosmos to be writ?
Will it find its voice, be distinct,
Or will it simply become extinct?
Well, if you like your music loud, so loud it will hurt
And the volume of your amp no longer will work
Turn it past ten, to eleven with a snap
And save it for the sake of Spinal Tap.
Ode To The Guy in the Next Cubicle May 9, 2011Posted by Matt in poetry.
Tags: bad poetry, cubicle life, work
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The guy in the next cube keeps talking to himself
And I’m not sure what he’s saying.
He’ll mutter along, occasionally curse
I can’t tell if he’s angry or playing.
“What!” he will shout for all to hear
Then commence with indecipherable grumbling
So deep and so loud the temporary walls start to shake
With the force of his low voiced rumbling
Is he insane? Is he disturbed?
Or maybe perhaps schizophrenic?
Should I be at all worried, should I alert my boss?
Or remain just a bystanding cynic?
He stands up, he sits down as his voice ebbs and flows
An auditory tide in an ocean of sound
I look for a weapon, just in case the man snaps
And I’m forced to take the lunatic down.
Then I notice something that was hidden before
Jutting out on the side of his head.
A wireless earpiece for his work phone
And nothing that should cause me this dread.
So the mystery’s solved, the case it is closed
With nothing worthy of a beating
Now it’s time to end the bad poetry
And get to the next boring old meeting…