"POEMS"
by Bob Folder


Index
Bemoan The Boner
The Quilting Bee Went Haywire
Columbus Discovered The New World
I'm On The Moon For Love
Poem About "Leprechaun Slim"
The Bacon Critters
A Salchichon In The Haghia Sofia
Narrow Roads To The North
Kulturnation
Babar The Applesauce



Bemoan The Boner

Felt me under the udder an adder dancing
Elton Parrish, the lonesome lady necromancing
began a weird hi-jinx, shenanigans of jawbones
art fags, tyrant hags, Land-O-Lakes a-prancing.
Like a lake of lolly-pops the old sawbones
peeled the flea-bag daintily from the wrong clones
Then, allergic to their home-spun grimace
craftily, like Pharaoh, left the claws alone.
Trap me in a projected completion date
Brave the Bantu's miser plate
Then gulp me down a barnyard pope
Be the best at what you are, you dope.

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The Quilting Bee Went Haywire

If a scalp might tingle like a lotion jockey
roughly, pale like a lantern maw,
then how will foreigners learn to play hockey
or assemble the fuzzy proctologist's jaw?

Cream corn in caves is quilted now
Honey like toothpaste brimming stew
is like electric ham somehow
or the coolant delicious hominy brew.

Come, my epileptic kneecaps, come
for all we can rummage, cantaloupe knob,
for though the pretty girl's heinie leaks and runs
we sing petaled cornflakes to sneaker-face Bob

And sing, my martian pillows, sing the urine
Put on your make-up, this tightrope is turnin'

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Columbus Discovered The New World

Columbus discover the new world and
he put his diaper on.  Laxative comfort
in dark, forbidden jollies holding
hands with the jelly-filled donut
of apprehension.  Latex gumbo rant
in a dirty ditch and a stairwell
choked with bathtubs hums with flies.
Pop, pop, plunk!  The dirty angel exits
spinning wings in poop ballet.  Oh!
Melon god!  Oh!  You glass of pee
disguised as lemonade,
rinky-dink certainty glade:
polish Tammy's cork.

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I'm On The Moon For Love

Dippity Dippity Doo!
Little Weedy frightened the berry-wad
into a likeness of the civil war.
Quatro!  Noodleroni!  Spengler!
Look,
the little Russian is in his foot!
Advocate the blind end of a backwards bat.
Station Wagon!  Apertif!
Worms are god's little wigglies, utterly buttressed
(something about swelling).

Rain is they master's pitchfork
u'bent and in a butt.
What is fishing anyway
but a spacesuit
made randomly 
of satchels?

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Poem About "Leprechaun Slim"

Bah Bah Bah bellbottom procreation tactics mom
double dee bone, it's the music of zippers 
and the howling of rubber things
that wiggle in time to the sound of cement.
This is what I hear when I am meeting Juan's lovely rubber lawn
all humming lip-lash, a tonguing of bleeding evil.
This is the ceramic frog that is my life
sitting in the garden of Hell where the Devil picnics.

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The Bacon Critters

Fill'er up you squeaking feeb
snot-nosed Baxter barked at the cardboard Bob
Mewling sphincter, butt-diddy-do-bop
Send your Bishop-splash piddles through breathing storms
Scallop-foot leaping to Patagonian hordes
Liver monger trace in my Paradise.

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A Salchichon In The Haghia Sofia

I have been accused of 
hydroponics in the night
a wimpled tart in stained glass
to the naked anvil and the bitter ripe
lentils of the neutered paired to last
rank on my squishy and I'll launch goulash
chalk up the old piano, blistered and rum
rocketships are a bitter herb
granted, there are some rings
that creak appalachian stairs modestly
my love is like a bathtub in a rodent crew
a smell you've never smelled,
severed, released, the bus fare is crying
let down your stained sky blue pants
dimpled, squash, tang.  I am alive.

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Narrow Roads To The North

I have no choice but to invent you
a blanket for the bindlestiff alone
rye-crisp with a hint of the flu
singing in the mess-kit of my bone
spin off the transducer, Pietro,
crank up the metallurgical day
and remind me why it snows
when the large sound comes my way
the tiny rumble and squeak off the dry chair
is no surprise when you drive there.

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Kulturnation

What did you mean by that, I mean the wrenching beet
your culture is a backyard tinkling soon
so know the meathead out from sparrows
customary caution, important Rolaids
Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod crumpled my feet like beer cans
So this is what it's like in the ferryslip shoelaceu'
unlock that quotation mark, it's buckling my mice
like an automatic pine cone: click, click, click
the ludicrous, licorice potty gagged up a candy cone
Kiss my pimple-free behind
I was sitting in my little-boy suit in the limestone bird bath
I can't believe the geneology of my shirtsleeves
cram it in my butt
How can the frontal lobe dichotomy?
Quit sulking and unleash your face
I can't believe my own barstool.

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Babar The Applesauce

Capitulate why don't you?  Dos figuratives
met in the garden of my villa at Caesarea.
Speak softly to the applesauce in my lumberjack boots.
She dealt her dark sticky card on the white
table of the sheet:  Van Sant traps, she thinks.
Wo doggies!  My buttcheeks are twitchin' like
3 sheep in a rain stormu'
Bellbottoms are my mom.
The ocean broke loose from its sockets and
bent us like coathangers.  Phonecians.
Fetch me my monk frog, Donate my liver,
the potted meat plant rang me like a 
windchime.  Guatemalan lunch bucket
Snip the erasers off of 500 #2 pencils
and put them in a milk crate.  Now
spill them onto your bed.  That is how
this poems will sound.  Milk grater.
Self-referential.  Dumb as all get out.
Hi Mom, sign that says "send money It's 
a college football item.  Say something stupid
for the camera.  Fuck nuts.  Look, hi, 
I'm in a poem.  Neat.  Well, jeez.  I don't
know what to say.  What?

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Mail to Bob Folder (c/o Curt Hopkins)