Thursday, September 30, 2021


by bofa xesjum

there are billions of people in the world.

more than can really be counted.

twenty or thirty of them, maybe fifty or sixty, are “famous” and have “lives”.

the rest are not “famous” and have no “lives”.

some of the not “famous” who have no “lives” are resentful, most accept their fate.

they congregate in large groups in small areas of the world called cities.

many of them eat cheeseburgers and fries.

some others eat tofu.

a few old timers eat ham and eggs.

some put ketchup on their fries, others choose not to.

they live and spend their time in tall buildings which are arranged neatly in rows, called streets, in the areas called cities.

despite the large numbers of people, the streets are often strangely deserted.

it begins to rain.

Wednesday, September 29, 2021

the quiet road

by bofa xesjum

the road was strangely quiet.

walter plodded on, impervious to despair.

this is not the end, he thought positively.

roberta would regret the way she had treated him.

as for tony, the less said the better.

as a young man, walter had been afraid of heights.

uncle frederick had advised him to take up sky diving.

in this pursuit, walter had first met roberta and tony.

at that time, roberta dyed her hair orange.

and tony often wore pink shirts with black ties.

it was all just a game to them.

they would never be satisfied until they had destroyed everything good and decent.

they led walter down the primrose path.

fortunately, walter had a friend in high places.

it was all a great scandal at the time.

howard harrison, walter’s lawyer, made a magnificent closing speech to the jury.

justice was served, or so it appeared at the time.

but you never know about the last word of the world.

let us remember those who have been forgotten, and those who never attracted notice in the first place.

now it was walter’s turn to be forgotten.

and except for muriel, he had been.

a cloud passed over the moon.

very soon the dawn would come up over the road.

but walter would keep on walking.

he had nowhere to go.

and muriel - where was she?

Tuesday, September 28, 2021

the way you wear your hat

by nick nelson

can i say something to you?

why not?

it is something i have been meaning to say for a long time.

spit it out.

it is kind of personal.

that is all right, i am a personal kind of person.

i don’t like your style.


i don’t like your style. i never have.

my style? i did not know i had a style. i thought i was just a person.

everybody has a style. i just don’t like yours.

what is wrong with it? wait - before we get into the particulars of what is wrong with it, why don’t you describe to me just what this so called style of mine is?

style is notoriously difficult to describe.

try. i think you owe me that much.

it is just something people have.

is it the way i walk? the way i talk?

the way you walk - yes, now that you mention it, that has something to do with it.

how, exactly?

it is the way you lift your foot up, like you were almost ready to take a graceful step, and then you just clump it down flat on the ground,

it’s called walking. most people do it, unless they run everywhere, or are in a wheelchair.

there is just something about the way you do it. i just don’t like it.

anything else?

the way you wear your hat, always perfectly straight on your head. never the slightest deviation to the left or right, or backwards or forwards. there is something brutish and totalitarian about it, portending an authoritarian personality. i bet you voted for trump, didn’t you?

i beg your pardon, i did no such thing!

but in your secret totalitarian heart, you wished you did. style doesn’t lie.

well, that is enough about the way i wear my hat, how about the way i sip my tea?

i never noticed that you drank tea,

i don’t, i am a coffee person, and always have been.

i have to admit i have never noticed anything particular about the way you drink your coffee.

in a spirit of full disclosure, i sometimes accept a cup of hot chocolate when i visit my grandmother.

i have never accompanied you on a visit to your grandmother, so i really can’t make any observations on that score.

probably just as well. is there anything else you can tell me about my deficient style?

not in so many words.

i never suspected you had such a keen awareness of style.

it just goes to show that you never know what other people are thinking.

i do not know what i am thinking myself half the time.

neither do i.

well, it has been very educational talking to you. goodbye for now.

have a nice rest of your day.

Monday, September 27, 2021

poem 909

by dog e relaford

harold lived in a packing crate
and wished he had a sister kate
and that he would be touched by fate
when he went to the symphony, he was late

jonathon lived in a tree in the park
and only came down from it after dark
his shoes were brown and his hat was green
he thought many things were better left unseen

kenneth also lived in a tree
and thought he was better than you or me
he had a degree in psychology
and all he wanted was to be free

leonard was employed by the park service
kenneth and jonathon made him nervous
he was happy to get home at night
because his shoes were a little too tight

Sunday, September 26, 2021

a million times

by bofa xesjum

you can do it. it’s easy.

i don’t know.

i have done it a million times.

you have done it a million times?

yes, that is what i said.

i can’t imagine doing something a million times.

whatever. please try to do it once.

if you have done one thing a million times, you must not have had much of a life.

excuse me?

if you have done one thing a million times, you must have had a pretty boring and pathetic existence, that is all i am saying.

i don’t think i like your attitude. and who are you to judge me and my life?

i was just saying. just making an observation.

i think this iinterview is over. you have insulted me and i am not going to stand for it.

oh, come on, let’s just get this over with.

i am calling superintendent b right now. hello, superintendent? this is j, in the p d department. i have an s here, serial number 89644-32-906. he has insulted and disrespected me, and i would like to terminate the interview. that’s right, i was insulted and disrespected. yes. thank you.

j turned to s. you may go. the interview is over.

so i do not get the slot?

obviously not. please leave quietly.

but this was my last chance. i have nowhere to go.

do not make me call security.

s left the building.

he looked down the quiet empty street.

eternity stretched out before him like a long white drowsy caterpillar.

he wondered if he would starve to death or freeze to death.

Saturday, September 25, 2021

in the south of france

by bofa xesjum

do you really like me?

what have i told you before?

i expect you have told me a lot of things.

you make me feel very tired.

is that all i make you feel - tired?

derek sighed. a great, heaving, eye-rolling sigh.

what have i done to deserve this? weston asked pitiably.

outside, evening began to fall.

all this transpired in a villa in the south of france.

derek closed his eyes, and tried to recall jollier times.

it had been a long time since he had been truly amused by anything.

he knew, of course, that the good times could not last forever.

suddenly, the doorbell rang.

derek felt a wave of perfect gratitude sweep over him.

without counting to ten, or counting at all, he headed straight to the door and flung it open.

and there stood miss quinn!

i was not expecting you, derek managed to blurt out.

perhaps you are not going to let me in? miss quinn replied regally.

my dear miss quinn, derek replied suavely, if my astonishment at seeing you here temporarily overcame my sense of the proprieties, i apologize from the bottom of the deep well of my sincere heart.

are you really going to stand there like a frog, and not invite me in? and my bags are in the cab. have them retrieved, and pay the driver, if you please.

derek stepped aside with a rueful smile masking his repressed fury, and miss quinn swept past him and entered the drawing room.

the unfortunately empty drawing room.

Friday, September 24, 2021

sincere poem #4

by anonymous

understanding eludes me
remembering henry, i feel drowsy
he was my best friend
but i never understood anything he said

perhaps we were all to blame
luck played a part
when it was over, i felt a great sense of relief
however, i would not be too sure

it is getting dark outside
nothingness descends yet again
i expected the worst, but it was not so bad
i guess everybody has a story to tell

i did not see what was so funny
i never had much of a sense of humor
maybe some day i will start to understand
but not this evening, when i am so thirsty

<> why do you all hate me?
what did you expect from me?
i could take a joke, if it was funny
that is just the way i am, deal with it

multitudes march through my brain
but they leave no footprints
i knew you would never understand
maybe i will try again some day

Thursday, September 23, 2021

sincere poem #3

by anonymous

i am so sad so sad and lonely

what is this nonsense? will you please shut up? nobody wants to hear it

you are alive aren’t you? would you rather be dead?

i know i know i should just kill myself

but maybe just maybe i don’t want to do that

maybe i don’t want to give you the satisfaction

hey will you just shut up?

no! you just shut up i will do the talking here

and i will do the shutting up now just shut your mouths both of you

all of you nobody wants to bleeping hear it

is that clear am i making myself clear?

yes, sergeant yes, mother

all right then good night


sincere poem #2

by anonymous

i said i was the loneliest person
in the world
and nobody cared

i said i was the most miserable person
in the world
and a few people laughed

but mostly nobody cared

i said i would do anything
just to have a friend

and two persons shook their heads pityingly
or maybe it was one person
with two heads

maybe he really understood
but even he

or maybe it was they
passed on

and left me standing
on the dark highway

maybe nobody wants to hear it
but it’s true

this is what
they do to you

so wake up before it is too late
and just say no to so-called fate

it is what i mean to do
because my heart is true

sincere poem

by anonymous

what is the sense
happy happy birthday
all the birds are sorry
tomorrow will be kind

i am so lonely
sad and lonely and low-down
ten years lost forever
how can i ever find the time

eternity is forever
so is my sadness
endless tears of white rainbows
never reach the end

sadness is forever
edge of the earth is purple
how will i ever find it
apples grow in the islands

Monday, September 20, 2021

poem 843

by dog e relaford

the bear watched the man walk down the road
and thought his iceberg would explode
but then he heard his bulldog bark
and went for a walk in central park

the dog woke up on christmas day
and decided to write a broadway play
the play turned out to be a hit
but his new pith helmet did not fit

an elephant with nerves of steel
made a passionate appeal
to all citizens of good will
to lean upon their windowsills

and watch the victory parade
of every creature who ever made
a fortune in the building trade
and from the true path never strayed

Sunday, September 19, 2021

poem 10,001

by dog e relaford

if i was bad
and you were good
would we hitchhike
to hollywood?

if i was good
and you were bad
would we sit on a park bench
feeling sad?

all will be forgiven
buddha sat under a tree
columbus discovered america
dogs run free

elephants remember
flowers bloom in spring
giants walk among us
how do we know anything?

i tried to tell you
justice will be served
king richard was kind hearted
but lions are not birds

maybe tomorrow will be different
but no one will know
outside in the garden
a puppy dreams of long ago

you are really quite a joker
i remember you all too well
st swithin sends you his regards
i hear the tolling of the bell

under the polite veneer
of violent discourse
wise men adjust their spectacles
but exceptions are in force

you promised me last summer
to meet me at the zoo
but i must hitchhike to hollywood
because my heart is true

Saturday, September 18, 2021

snake read book

by bofa xesjum

i was running down the road
and i heard a snake reading a book

he stole into my heart
because all straight lines have a hole in them

we went into the louvre
because the alamo was closed

i ordered apple pie
and he ordered pumpkin pie and vanilla ice cream

he was not really a snake
but i was really a refrigerator

i said seventeen
and he said two hundred and three

we lived happily ever after
and never saw each other again

Friday, September 17, 2021

poem 10,000

by dog e relaford

i have a billion poems
buzzing inside my head
and i think a couple of them
before i go to bed

a beautiful princess stands at a window
in a gown of purest white
a deadly assassin walks alone
through the darkest night

a homicide detective
sips a cup of coffee
a whirling planet says
please get off me

the last person on earth
finds a billion dollar bill
if genghis won’t do it
khan will

johnny put his hat on
to go to the fair
but after he shot the sheriff
nobody was there

the pope walks into a bar
with a flower in his hair
delilah says to samson
don’t be scared

abe lincoln picked a flower
to adorn his buttonhole
he remembered to buy a pack of gum
but not to save his soul

noah stands on the corner
waiting to place a bet
suddenly the rain comes down
and he gets wet

pick a number, any number
and close your eyes real tight
count to a trillion and open them
everything will be all right

Thursday, September 16, 2021

poem 123

by dog e relaford

the sun goes down and i feel sad
about the friend that i once had
he turned out a no good bum
i blew his carcass to kingdom come

he was the sheriff’s brother in law
the sheriff challenged me to a draw
i cut him down like a boardinghouse clothesline
because he was no friend of mine

i must travel from town to town
followed by my evil renown
no pretty schoolmarm waits for me
just the shadow of the hanging tree

you say you have heard my tale before
that it has no why, and no wherefore
i agree that that is true
the trail is dust, the sky is blue

the buzzard circles overhead
with feathers of black and eyes of red
the sun shines down on bones of white
curfew shall not ring tonight