Bread and Circuses

Q. What is a meta phor, anyway?

A. Metaphors are bready things.

Good metaphors are the sacramental bread for our eucharists of meaning. (Not to be confused with the sermons of those eucharists, which are like similes.) Unpopular metaphors are fruitcakes. Over-extended metaphors are burnt toast. The current metaphor will be a little pile of smoking ashes by the time I am through with it.

From what I have said so far, it should be clear that anyone who would write, and publish, poetry without metaphors would eat peanut butter with a spoon, in public.

The True Poet does not use just any metaphor. Plain white bread will not do. The True Poet is, him- or her- self, a baker. If s/he is going to use stale bread, it will at least be his/her OWN stale bread, not store bought.

Nevertheless, there are one or two excellent off-the-shelf metaphors suitable for use by the Lazy Poet.

The Mother of All Metaphors

Grains barely need us to grow.

They are glorified grasses.

They are facts of life.

Facts that would fill fields forever

if we didn't bother to mow.

But from the field to the table

hands must intervene.

As from the fields to the poet

thoughts must intervene.

"Take this, and eat"

is not an abstract proposition,

it is an offer of humanity,

of hands AND thoughts.

Of course, as that poem illustrates so well by its deficiencies, poetry doth not live by bread alone. It also desires the meat of meaning itself, the cheese of rhyme, and the lettuce, tomato and onion of rhythm.

I will finish this month with a poetic cheeseburger:

A Brief Defense of Free Bread and Circuses

Many people have thought

free bread and circuses brought

the Roman Empire down so low.

And the same also say

that in a similar way

our own will collapse, you know.

They say it's a shame,

and the poor are to blame,

for demanding those shows and dough.

But I know it's a lie,

empires naturally die,

with or without the side-show,

And in dying ooze pus,

namely waste and surplus.

For me? - I`d like my share to go.

We're Listing

It's that time of year again: fall is falling, winter is wintering, a new year is yearing... Time to pause and reflect. So I'll do that right now...

There! I've paused and reflected. OK, what have we just learned? Nothing. No: we have actually learned that nothing can be learned from just pausing and reflecting.

This brings me to the subject of List Poems. List Poems are poems that are as easy as pausing and reflecting, provided you take the trouble to learn how to write them. We are about to take that trouble.

To write a List Poem you first need a List. Popular Lists to Use, Include: or Opus 99, Bastards to Line Up Against the Wall, Etc., & creatures that God should have recalled, cigarette brands, foreign lands, electronic devices, foods healthier than white rices, New Age jargon, dime-store bargains, people you've seen in People Magazine, skin diseases, genital diseases, gastro-intestinal diseases, cheeses, animals at the zoo, things on your list of things "to do", things you beat, cuts of meat, things that piss you off, guys with names like Nabakov, fictional places, imaginary races, Biblical names and phrases, musicals, novels, and playses, Papal Encyclicals, Democrats, rock stars, Republicans, words that rhyme with "rats", old shows on TV, Friends of Noam Chomsky, discredited ideologies, famous writers and/or their tomes, popular lists used to write pomes, and various kinds of pomes you can do, to name but a few.

To illustrate I will use my Christmas Wish List. This is a good choice because my actual Christmas list has only two entries, namely a place to live, and hot sex. Thus we are naturally led to the next step in writing a List Poem, which is stuffing it. We must pad the List with extra items which may or may not belong (but nobody really cares!) Ask yourself: "do I want this thing to rhyme? alliterate? scan? or do I want it to make sense?" If you have answered as I would you are ready to pad your creation. The trick is to make stuff up.

Finally rearrange the List so that it sounds better.

Now let's see where these steps can lead us.

My Christmas Wish List

Dear Santa - it would surely be more than enough

if you'd only bring me just some of this stuff:

A hygiene center on every block.

A real pillow, please, instead of a rock.

More Sidrans & Seligs to write poems about,

World Peace, an adequate cure for the gout.

More government cheese, less government slease,

less rain, less un-asked-for "feeling of pain".

A mayor who listens to my friends and me

& not just to people who wave mon-ey.

A bed and a roof above my head

(and a source of bread, I shouldn't dread).

A years supply of tolerable beer,

hot sex with someone I like to be near.

For at least one month not to hear anyone say

that the homeless should all just go away.

And while I'm at it Santa, for just one day,

having to hear "Jesus was homeless, too"

is another thing without which I could do

thank you.

Beer, Not Guns

At the recent Urban Rest Stop Panel Discussion, it was asked, "How may we bring the homeless ... spiritually into the general community?" Being homeless myself this is a little out of my jurisdiction. But if you ask "How may we bring the NON-homeless spiritually into the general human community (including the homeless community) ?" I would have an answer. I could call upon all the homeless to take part in the `ADOPT A NIMBY!' program.

The idea of `ADOPT A NIMBY!' is simple but effective. As wayward NIMBYs are identified each becomes eligible for `adoption' by a volunteer homeless sponsor. The sponsor only commits to writing `their' NIMBY at least once a month. Personal visits are encouraged but not required; we at `ADOPT A NIMBY!' understand that not every homeless sponsor can comfortably meet with NIMBYs. But it has been shown that as little as one letter a month from a homeless person enables most NIMBYs to identify spiritually with the homeless, and thus rejoin the human race as a whole.

Due to high demand, certain eligible NIMBYs on our list can not be exclusively adopted. For example, everyone wants a piece of Norm Rice these days.

Speaking of NIMBYism:

Mark Sidran, Seattle's City Attorney of No-Sitting Ordinance notoriety, reportedly now wants 40-ouncers of beer banned from the shelves of some city stores. One morning, as I drank my 1st coffee of the day at the Counter Culture Cafe in Belltown, they were playing a Johnny Cash CD. This is the result:

So You'll Ban My 40-Ouncers, Mark?

(Look for it on Johnny Cash's next album!)

NOTE: I do not personally drink 40-ouncers in public nor do I endorse such
behavior. Like most people I drink 40-ouncers indoors.

So you'll ban my 40-ouncers, Mark?

So I can't drink them in the park?

Then you oughta get this into your head -

I know what I'll be doin' instead:

I'll just get me two 22's Mark

and I'll name them each after you.

I'll just buy me two 22's

that's what I'll do.

Before I go on, let me clarify, that that's BEER not GUNS - I don't want to be your next Jason Sprinkle, thank you.

So then you'd ban my 22's, Mark?

So I can't drink them in the park?

Well there's something you need to hear, Mark -

I'm not as helpless as I appear

I'll just get me a 6-pack of beer, Mark

that's 6 twelves for 72.

I'll just buy me a 6-pack of beer

that's what I'll do.

So you'd ban my 6-packs of beer, Mark?

So I can't drink them in the park?

Well there's something you need to get straight

- and next election'll be too late -

When the homeowners can't buy beer, Mark

they're gonna blame it all on you.

And they'll cheer as they vote you out

that's what they'll do.

Bronze This!

Speaking of people bribing Real Change vendors to vote for Bob Dole -- did any of you out there know that I am a vendor? That's right! I don't just write this junk I PUSH IT ON THE STREETS! And, although my legal residence is an alley, I AM A REGISTERED VOTER!*

So make your bids today! Send cash, check or money order and a note telling me who to vote for, Bill Bob or whoever, to (c) Dr. Wes c/o this rag. The largest bid wins a beautiful framed certificate promising my vote to your candidate. All losing bids accompanied by SASE will be returned, and those not will be kept! I promise!

The Following Is An

Unpaid Poetic Advertisement

We're open daily from nine to six

For accepting all your electoral picks!

No candidate will be considered absurd -

We'll write him/her in! We give you our word!

Hurry! Don't delay! Send your checks in today!

Buy our vote NOW! It's the American Way!

(* I've been asked to explain how this can be. OK, the trick is to tell the truth. "Gasp, no!" Yes! E.g., when registering, if you live in a doorway tell the County which doorway. Then give them your mailing address.)

Recently the StreetLife Gallery was invited to set up a show at the park by the Darth Vader Building at 4th and Lenora. We got permission from the landlord, Martin Selig himself, famous big-time Seattle Developer. Ironically, many of the participating poor and homeless artists had been ejected from the same park in the past, and probably will be so in the future. This, and the knowledge that people who don't look poor are not generally run out of the park, and the consequently doubly offensive statues of poor people sitting on the park's benches, inspired a poem.

The Park by the Darth Vader Building at

4th & Lenora, or Opus 31 1/2, I Hate the Park by the Darth Vader Building, or

Opus 32 1/2, The Printable Version

Pretty park by a shiny glass building!

I WILL stay and eat my fries, why not?

The flies stay, THEY got no pass;

I set my ass down by the bronze bag lady.

Made artistically she tells the likes of me

"Feel free to stay, I'm welcome, you must be, too".

So I DO stay to eat my fries, why NOT?

Then the Man comes to say "This park's not yours,

You THINK you can sit ANYwhere outdoors?

You don't WORK here I don't know your FACE,

I'll tell the COPS to kick you OUTta this place".

Pretty park by a shiny glass building -

Pretty people with pretty power wanting -

To eat pretty lunches for a pretty hour -

OH YES -

I WILL stay and eat my fries - and THAT'S WHY.

Martin Selig's bronze poor people tell me Selig really loves the poor - speechless and immobile.

Chicago

Speaking of Hygiene Center slogans - this gem turned up at the first North American Street Newspaper Conference held in Chicago last month, attributed to activists in Atlanta. It was too precious to pass up:

Pee for free with dignity -

like Jesus did in Galilee!

Yours truly, even though still homeless, attended the conference as a guest of the Real Change and it's director, Timothy "Big Spender" Harris.

The conference was replete with Poetic Moments. Here's another, which shows that I was not the only one struck by the irony of our presence there.

This is a very close rendition of an actual conversation in a Chicago cab. Tim, myself and two other conference participants were present. Our Polish immigrant driver spoke first:

"So, what, you are with big homeless paper meeting?"

All: Yes, we are.

"But you have places to stay, you are going eating?"

Absolutely.

"You are not from here, you come from all around?"

The U.S. and Canada.

"What do you do? You take train? You take Greyhound?"

We came by plane.

"I am KNOWING IT! I am STUPID! I am IDIOT!"

"They all say go America, work hard, you will be making it!"

"I come America, I get taxi, I drive TWELVE HOURS a day"

"NO MONEY! I get off work I want taxi - I can't pay!"

"You - YOU - HOMELESS in AMERICA, you take plane, taxi, stay

hotel!"

"NOW I SEE! I SHOULD HAVE BEEN HOMELESS - I call back to Poland,

that's what I tell!"

Tim: Yes, homelessness been very, VERY good to me...

"But - HOW YOU PAY? YOU HAVE GRANTS? YOU GET WELFARE?"

Me: Well, we're paying YOU today with Food Stamps.

"Yes, YES, OF COURSE! Don't fear, it's OK, I tell no one

anywhere!"

PS: No need to report us - actually, Tim paid cash (and a tip for the entertainment).

Unfinished business regarding July's "Homeless Gourmet" article:

After talking to Mel Jackson, director of the Millionair Club, I now know that napkins are usually provided at meals. They just ran out the day I was there. Clearly, more donations from the public would prevent such shortfalls. Let's get on it, people!

Meanwhile, Anitra, fellow editor, who lets me sleep on her kitchen floor, wants her one dumpster rating retracted. Since the cornflakes,she has served omelettes, avocados with cottage cheese, and salmon ravioli, among other delights. Her food is REALLY QUITE GOOD and actually rates zero dumpsters.

That's ANITRA, who lets me sleep on her kitchen floor. I am not being extorted in any way.

Homeless, Again

Hallelujah! I'm a Bum!

It's official. As reported last month I am a lazy jobless penniless homeless bum, again. Send your donations c/o this rag - send mountains of money - and I will promise to spend it only on beer and cigarettes, while I sponge off the system and camp out nightly, 'cause that's the way I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh.

I have already received many sympathetic responses from well-wishers. For example Doug Hogsstutter, of Rat's Tail, WA, who writes:

"Dear Lazy SOB

I used to enjoy the high intellectual caliber of your monthly contribution to the Real Change, but since you were laid off last fall you do nothing but moan and whine. What you really need is a good swift kick to the stratosphere. But instead here's a poem that might `lift your spirits' -

Your intellectuality

Is disappearing constantly

Each day and night

Each word you write

And you already probably

couldn't end this poem for me."

You sure got that right, Doug - but thanks for that inspirational call to excellence. You have obviously been following my progress religiously!

Speaking of excellence, it's about time that I used this space to pay my respects to one of the great poets who inspired and influenced me during the malleable years of my youth. I am referring of course to Percival Dovetonsils, but as I don't have a poem to suitably honor Percy this month someone else will have to do. So let's see, who should it be? I want to be intellectual but I don't want to have to think too much - how about Dylan Thomas?

One flask of Scotch and a half hour alone later,

Camping Out on Fern Hill

An Homage to Dylan Thomas

Now as I am old and stiff upon the clover field

About the lilting dumpsite and happy as the grass is red

The Force that through the green fuse drives the flower

Also digs a root into my spine

And am I dumb to tell the dingle starry

And am I dumb to tell the synagogue of the ear of corn

When only the moon rages and the citizens lie abed

And have TVs at elbow and feet?

Yes, and how many times can a man turn his head,

And pretend a rock is a pillow?

Casual Sextrains

My First Sextrain

© Dr. Wes Browning

Must your legs be always in the way?

We only have the room for an hour!

Can't you do your reading another time?

What? Now you have to take a shower?

Well, while you do, I'll sit in grime

And write six more scenes of my play.

That was a little experiment of mine. Let's get scientific and experiment together!

Given a list of random words your brain will try to combine them into one idea. For instance, presented with the words onions, tobacco, umbrellas, five, and neon, my brain pictures five Englishmen with bad breath entering a Broadway theater. The cognitive psychologists have proved that this sort of thing happens all the time to college students of all ages who need the money badly enough to answer silly questions for hours. But they're certain it works for everyone else too, because they are psychologists, and that's how psychologists think. This is also a fact from cognitive psychology!

We can exploit this phenomenon to write poems without concentrating! We'll pick words at random from a dictionary, let them operate on our brains as above, and then use one word per line to describe our image poetically. Since I am into sextrains this month I'll pick 6 words for this illustration:

Poem Based on Random Words:

Letter, scratch, deluded, brain, rabbit, spin

or Opus 21, "Where's the Rabbit?"

Got your LETTER in the mail,

I'm reading it now as I SCRATCH.

DELUDED as always, beyond the pale -

Amazing, what your BRAIN can hatch.

You just STEW and seethe and steam and spit -

Here's my suggestion: "SPIN on it!"

It's just as easy as it looks! Here's another one at no additional cost to

you, the reader!:

Poem Based on Random Words:

Job, rent, food, bed, street, reeks

or Opus 22, My 3rd Sextrain

This sextrain is about a JOB not had;

With RENT to be paid - that's really bad:

It's not that it's hard to find any FOOD -

It's not that I'm going to miss my BED -

But the STREET always puts me in a foul mood,

It &#!$-ing REEKS, as I've always said.

Special thanks are due this month to fellow editor and community leader Anitra "alf" Freeman for reminding me of the usefulness of diffusion.