Archive for the ‘Poetry Stuff’ Category

Poetry Fun!

Wednesday, March 25th, 2009

So I’ve worked out a thing with Steve Wright over at Shock Therapy TV.

He has a long series called ‘Hand Puppet Theater’. That usually consists of a hand puppet performing stand up jokes. However, in one case I saw he had the hand puppet performing some slam style poetry!

Well, that happens to be right in my wheelhouse type area!

So I sent him a bunch of my old, short poems from my poetry slam days. (Many of whom can be read on this very site) He is working on making internet videos of these specifically for use with my sketch comedy show Pop Co!

So anyways, I look greatly forward to seeing what he comes up with, and will for sure post the results on this site when they become available!

SCORE!

-Ray

ps. Today I also shot Swimkata: Episode 3. In it I shoot a ninja. This is the awesome. if you have not seen Swimkata 1 & 2 what the heck is wrong with you? Here they are;



Little Sculptor Friend

Tuesday, December 18th, 2007

Here’s a nice short poem I found while digging around my hard drive, dig it!!!

Little sculptor friend.

Aloha my little sculptor friend.
Your bare scowls have no amends.
Like when romulous turned to remus and said;
Look at the tits on that one.
May we sit here and listen to moody blues records?
Aloof aloof, aloof is on fire.
Your one charm comes from the blow pop you suck on.

Silly little sculptor friend,
You may be good with your hands.
But you cannot turn lead to gold
Bullet points bullet points where are my bullet points?
I left them in the void.
What a hobo I am.

Tuna Can Parody #1

Monday, September 24th, 2007

Ok, so this is a poem I wrote from a few years ago. It is a parody piece of a fellow Ann Arbor Poet name Matt Ernst. Let me just say that i love the stuff that he writes, and I wrote this parody as a way to honor him. Best part about it was that he honored me by reading it at the last Ann Arbor Poetry Slam I went to before I moved out here to LA. It is called Tuna Can Parody #1 cause i was intending to write one for each member of the Ann Arbor Poetry Slam, who were named the ‘Tuna Cans’. I never got around to writing the other ones…yet.

Seriously, if you don’t know the work of Matt Ernst, you should click HERE and listen TO THIS

OK, for real, did you do it? Then now maybe you are ready for what I wrote in homage!

TUNA CAN PARODY #1

I was awoken from my uneventful slumber by the monotonous staccato of rain on my forehead. It was Tuesday, and my head was still pounding from the night before. Had I been out on a bender again? No, I remembered, I was hit by a Mack Truck in the parking lot at my local Dairy Queen.
The truck was yellow with black stripes that seemed to get bigger as it approached me, enveloping me in it’s bright halogen glow. Damn it my head is causing me pain. Deep Pain. Seering pain. And all of this reminded me of…..her.
She was a traveling trapeze artist from the touring midget carnival and every time she shifted her weight her perfume leaked sweet scents that transfixed me. She used to leave me surprise gifts around the house to discover when she was gone. Things like panties and sandwiches. Ham Sandwiches. Ham sandwiches with mayo. Ham sandwiches with mayo and no ham. It was then that my phone rang, which is odd because I don’t have a phone. I answered it, it was the Mack truck from the night before, calling me to wish me well on the powerball drawing tonight.
I had bought 5 tickets for the drawing with all the proceeds from my last book, thus making my chances of winning soar from 0 to 0.00001, or roughly the same odds that my left arm will spontaneously combust over lunch today.
That sounds pretty good right now actually, so I left my home for a splendid little Swedish bakery on the corner of 5th street and wheredidtheloveofmyliferunoffto boulevard. I bought 3 bags of Turkish waffles and sat down on an available saxophone to begin the eating process. 30 seconds of amazing pleasure later my thoughts drifted once again to…..her.
We used to sit on brass instruments and eat turkish waffles while parades of war heroes would march by and merry songs would play and Santa would end the procession by waving to the kids and throwing party favors at the crowd. Meanwhile we would plan deviant activities like desecrating the Joe Louis fist, or peeing on my neighbor’s garden gnome.
It was at this moment that my right arm spontaneously combusted so I bought another 5 powerball tickets.

Dance For Me

Sunday, January 14th, 2007

This is a poem I wrote right after they captured Saddam Hussein and publically humiliated him on international TV. Since they just murdered him, I figure I may as well post it here now…

Dance For Me:

Dance for me little monkey boy
To the victors go the spoils
Lay there soiled in defeat
All the mighty need their foils
Now parade around all dirty and meek
We’ll poke and prod and laugh
Put your treatment on TV
Worldwide approval will be cut in half
But we don’t care, it won’t disrupt
Our glorious empire
Now kneel down and praise the cross
Throw your birka on the pyre
Sing our song and raise our flag
For we are always right
We will now supplant your culture
We have the power and the might
Throw down your arms and give up now
Uncle Sam’s got the best erection
We’ll exploit Hussein with no shame
Just to help W. win the next election

Chuck Woolery Poem

Wednesday, October 4th, 2006

This is my semi-popular Chuck Woolery Poem…..

The day started as any other, I woke from my drunken dreams of midget orgies to find that my cat had scratched a tic tac toe board into my arm. Little did I know that this would be the day of a personal awakening, one which would alter my perceptions and realities forever.

This would be the day that I met Chuck Woolery.

I was waiting tables, acting too busy to talk whenever management would find me. Alas, find me they did, they informed me that my table had been sat.

And there he sat, his majestic orange skin glistened in the lamp light like an Oompa Loompa in a tanning booth. As I approached his face elegantly creaked into the same plastic smile he had spent 50 years perfecting. I was struck speechless, here was one of the 5 greatest Americans in the history of the universe gracing me with his rapt attention. Me, a loathsome and undeserving serf who was not worthy to lick the Bubbelicious from the bottom of his heel. Yet I ventured forth, and dutifully requested a drink order.

Iced Tea.

His words resonated as if they had been fired from a cannon. Our eyes met for but a moment, but I quickly turned and bowed my head with shame, for I am but a man, and Chuck Woolery is…a…God.

The meal was now completed, and everything was “Great” in the words of He whose name I am not worthy to speak. He stood up and asked me where the restroom was. My trembling hand could merely point in the general direction. He elegantly waltzed to the lavatory as Michael Flatley would Riverdance.

Upon returning from his messy voyage he pulled me aside, away from the rest of his table.

Was he about to admit that he was actually my father, and that my whole life up to this point was a test to make sure I was worthy of his name, and his love?

Or…Was he about to ritually murder me in a satanic ceremony and wash his face in my blood, a sacrifice I would gladly make if it pleased him might I add?

(More ‘Or’ statements can be added here to taste)

No, nothing I could have possibly imagined could have prepared me for what he was about to say, the words sparkled from his lips like diamond dust.

“I just wanted to tell you that you’re out of toilet paper in the mens bathroom.”

Each sylable struck me with a tsunami force. He left me to gather my thoughts, but it didn’t take long, because I had one overwhelming thought that I couldn’t shake from my head.

“Chuck Woolery was walking around with a poopy asshole.”

But you would never had known it to see him, talking and laughing and enjoying his meal, carrying on as if nothing was wrong. A whole new world opened up to me, how many beneath the surface details have I not been privy to in my lifetime? I tried to close the Pandoras Box of internal uncertainty, but it was too late.

So with an 18% tip, a smile, and a poopy handshake he was gone, leaving my mental balance the same way we left the Berlin Wall, in pieces.

And so now here I am, my world continues but nothing seems the same it was before Chuck Woolery told me that the mens room was out of toilet paper.

A Good Day

Thursday, April 27th, 2006

by request:

This has been a good day.
I wake up at 3am and you are there, then I go back to sleep.
Ahhhhh a good day
So I wake up at the crack of noon, for real this time, and feed the cats, and eat something gross, and watch tv.
I take time ou to talk to you, never thinking it was cutting into my day, only that it was a natural, exciting part of it.
I go to work and talk about you, all of it positive.
Then I come home and wait for you.
Sure enough you show up and hang out and comfort, all before going back to sleep again.
Then I wake up at 3am, and you are there.
Then I go back to sleep.
Ahhhhh a good day.

Nothing Wrong

Wednesday, December 28th, 2005

This is a new poem I just wrote, it might be a song though…..

Nothing Wrong

I have been a fool
Trusting all your lies
you have turned me into
someone I despise

I have never felt so low
I’m just trying to get along
yet you sit there in your ivory tower
pretend that you did nothing wrong

use me and bruise me and throw me away
was this your plan the whole time?
my heart has just been locked away
yet it’s commited no crime

Lies are when you don’t tell the whole truth
deceit is when you mislead
you take and take and never give
unpunished will go no good deeds

I have never felt so low
I’m just trying to get along
yet you sit there in your ivory tower
pretend that you did nothing wrong

Why couldn’t you ever turn away
the attention that came your way?
was I not good enough for you
or did you never plan to stay

I offered everything I could
to your needy little heart
only to find out after all
your love was false from the start

how can you profess to care
about anything I do
I loved with passion eternally
yet now feel I never met you

I have never felt so low
I’m just trying to get along
yet you sit there in your ivory tower
pretend that you did nothing wrong

I have cursed and I have fought
just to taste my own bile
your words and deeds have flattened me
yet you offer up denial

Why did I ever fight so hard
just to get another night
I thought you were a worthy prize
you’ve shown I wasn’t right

tried so hard to make me run
your favorite sabatogue
there is no truth there is no right
just layers of camouflage

there would have been no you and me
If I’d known your heart was sharing
I must be the biggest sap
because I can’t stop caring

I have never felt so low
I’m just trying to get along
yet you sit there in your ivory tower
pretend that you did nothing wrong

Rap song

Saturday, December 17th, 2005

I’ve discovered who I really am. At first I thought I was a nerdy white suburbanite trapped in a nerdy white suburbanite’s body. Now I realise that I’ve been wrong this whole time, that there has been a voice hiding inside me this whole time. Yes, I am no longer Almighty Ray, modernistic crappy poet, I have evolved into a Ray Almizzy, Gangsta Rapper.

All rap has a set of rules that you must follow to be successful…

Rap about how much money/power you have.
Objectify all women
Sprinkle in some profanity
And finally add old song choruses.

Today’s topic will be Dungeons and Dragons, so I present to you…..Touch my Magic Missile bitch.

I got a +2 Shield and a +5 Mace
I’m the baddest motherfucker up in your face.
I fought in Castles, Dungeons, the underworld hey
I been known to kill about 100 orcs a day.
I carry 9000 gold wherever I go
Wear a diamond studded breatplate just for show
Don’t hate on a brother with intense machisma
Shit, Can’t help it I got a 19 Charisma.
Charisma Charisma Charisma Charisma

At the Copa Copa Copa, Copacabana
The hottest spot north of Havanna.

Yeah, it’s hot alright, right where I stand
All bitches know I’m the king of the land
I boned this Elf chick named Montalaygo
Kicked her to the curb like an empty Faygo
Got wicked crome on my drop top wagon
Rollin into town with a baby dragon
You wish you could be a pimp like me
With my dagger and my hoes and my bling jewelry
My Wisdom is high and my agility’s a blur
Shit, I ain’t scared of a random encounter
Encounter encounter encounter encounter

It’s raining men, hallelujah
It’s raining Men, Amen
It’s raining men, hallelujah
It’s raining Men, Amen

Yeah it’s raining men alright, bodies are flyin
As I fight through the crowd, all my enemies are dyin
Face off with a wizard for his Sorceror’s Stone
Tell that bitch Harry Potter to stay at home
Throw some fire at my body, my crew and my home
I’ll still be comin down with my mace on your dome
I’ll maul you and kill you, and put you in a ditch
Then raise you from the dead and make you my bitch
Your game is weak and your character is soft
So back out the way of the King of Ravenloft!

glass window

Saturday, December 17th, 2005

Through a glass window.

Through a glass window
I see you
Can’t touch, I can only breathe.
Watch as you live your life
Living it without me.

Through a glass window
I am the one that is shattered
Shards of glass pierce my skin
I writhe around in agony
Rolling on the floor screaming for support
Yet the 911 call is never made.

Through a glass window
I envision you
Sharing smiles,
Holding hands,
Enjoying the company of another,
That company is all encompassing
Enveloping you in a shroud of passion.
A Passion which you accept with an easy smile.

Through a glass window
My struggles continue.
The one way glass masks me.
I am allowed to endure greatest discomfort,
But am not allowed to express my distress.
Silence is my ally,
Darkness is my friend.

Through a glass window
I try to get around it.
It extends further than I can,
I tire well before I can surpass,
Its size is immeasurable,
It’s distance vast.
I can see the finish line,
Way off in the distance
To reach it is immortality
I just question if I can.

Apocalypse

Saturday, December 17th, 2005

Apocalypse

Swallowing my lump, I finally exhaled the words,
“Would you be mine?”
Or something mumbled and vomited to that same effect.
I wait in what seems like an eternal coma for your
response.
Listening, understanding, forming a thought, forming a
smile,
Expunging a laugh.
I’m not sure which hit the ground first, my jaw or my
heart.
But wait, there’s more.
No, the sack beating continues,
I Wouldn’t be yours if we were the last 2 people on
earth.
Well, we’ll see about that.
I went home that scornful night and began to formulate
my plan.
If that’s what it will take to have you, then I must
do what the heart mandates,
No matter the cost.
She spent 15 seconds demasculating,
I spent 15 years formulating
My plan for world dominance,
World destruction,
World fucking.
It went flawlessly, the bombs fell, the chemicals
sprayed,
The world was changed forever.
Most people are disfigured and dead
But I won’t let it go to my head.
She asked me, How could you, how could you, you are a
monster.
I said, wait a minute, this is for you, I did
everything for you,
I’ve lived my life in pursuit of you.
I killed everyone to gain your attention, your
affection, your love.
What did I do wrong?
We are the last 2 people left, just like you wanted,
You are the Eve to my Adam.
It turned out that she would be the Abel to my Cain.
Now I am the only one left.
I realise that all my deeds shall go unheralded.
I will be forgotten, I am as worthless as love,
But that is only because I am love.
After her, my world has no meaning, no value.
I wanted her to be my Queen,
Yet it was not meant to be, now life is eternally
Knight.
So, for future life that may read these, my final
words, know only this……

I did it for love.