Hallmark Cards and Serial Killers

One of my favorite creative writing activities back in the day, (although I'm not sure if it was a favorite of my students), was composing poems that featured specific types of people or things or events in a rather nonsensical way.  I got the idea from a poet, whose name I have lost, who wrote one that featured famous people from American history.  It had images like a "Walt Whitman rocking chair" and a "Teddy Roosevelt mustache cup."  Those aren't exactly right, but you get the idea.

Anyway, I was digging through some boxes again.  Consigning some items to my closet, some to my filing cabinet, and a lot to the basement, when I came upon the two examples of those type/nonsense poems that I had written along with my classes.  The first is about Christmas, and the theme of sorts is the commercial orientation of that holiday.  But the theme isn't important.  It's just kind sweet of sweet, I hope.  The second is told by some very twisted narrator, but remember I'm a fan of DEXTER.  I thought I would share them.

Hallmark Card Christmas

For Christmas, father bought us boys

"Preparation H" t-shirts

and for the girls

"Gravy Train" barrettes to wear in their hair.

We always went to Grandma's for Christmas dinner.

I remember the "Dinty Moore" warmth of her kitchen,

And how we'd ride in

Grandpa's sleigh with the picture

of the "Campbell Soup Kids" on the side

and cross the bridge over the "Franco-American Spaghetti" River

where children were skating,

spinning around like little "Pillsbury Doughboys."

When we got home

all "Eskimo Pie" cold,

Grandma would have hung the stockings

from the mantel that Grandpa,

in an "Air-Wyck" mood

had carved to look like the "Maytag Repairman."

On each toe of each stocking

Grandma embroidered our names and,

in tiny letters, "Patent pending."

And we knew that, in the morning, when

we stuck our little "Lemon Joy" hands 

in our stockings

we would find presents

and tiny pieces of paper saying,

"Inspected by #38."

31 Serial Flavors

Today, Susie and I went for ice cream.

We went to the Son of Sam Ice Cream Shoppe

and Book Depository.

She ordered two scoops of 

Charlie Manson Crunch, and 

I ordered a Jeffrey Dahmer Surprise Sundae

with raspberry sauce and

sprinkles shaped like tiny body parts.

The man in line behind us was

smoking a Juan Corona Cigar.

The smoke got in our eyes and made

us squint like Ted Bundy did

when he was electrocuted.

As we walked away, I heard

a man say, "I'll have a lone scoop of

Lee Harvey Oswald Brickle

and my wife will have

the Mark David Chapman Split

with low-fat hot fudge.

Susie whined, "we should have gone inside

and sat in a John Wilkes Booth Booth."

So, I killed her and all the other whiners, too.

Now, I'm the 32nd flavor.

You might try writing one of these bits of verse.  They're fun to write, even the twisted ones.