New Year's Resolution: The Heretic Hippo

So, my new year's resolution was to create something every day. I've been doing pretty well writing or drawing every day, but lord, it's not always good. When I want to write but am feeling uninspired, I go to a random word generator web site and force myself to use the words that it comes up with in either a story or a poem. Some are better than others. Here's todays:

The heretic hippo's thick neck
Held his heavy head up quite erect
Euphemism that's not,
But it's all that I've got,
Dinner's ready, I'm done, what the heck.

I don't think I'll be giving up my day job any time soon.

Poems Only The Truly Fat Will Understand

Recently a friend suggested that I try doing some live performing, a poetry reading. And, coincidentally, I've been feeling melancholy which tends to make me write poetry. It's been a while since I have shared my deepest innermost thoughts here, but I'm among friends, I think I can share. Here is the beginning of my latest work. It is is suite of poems. I call it:

Poems Only The Truly Fat Will Understand

I
I wish my head was the size
of a matchbox car
So I could lick the bottom
of the Nutella jar.

II
Nutella tastes good,
Worth the price that I paid
But the color makes it
A bad marital aid.

Unrequited

(Copyright 1995, 2012 Dee Fairbanks Simpson)

I could look at you

till my eyes melt

like Hiroshima

dissolve in their sockets

drip down my crimson cheeks

my black jacket splattered

I try to brush it off

but it doesn’t matter

because I can’t see you

not seeing me.

I could think of you

till my brain bursts

like Pulp Fiction

a clean up job

weighing down my heavy shoulders

my black jacket splattered

I try to brush it off

but it doesn’t matter

because I can’t think about

you not thinking of me.

Five Days in September

Copyright 1995, 2012 Dee Fairbanks Simpson - from unpublished manuscript "Confessions of a Fat Starving Artist"

There should be a tattoo on my forehead

Like a scarlet red letter and it should say,

“UNFIT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION

DON’T TOUCH, JUST GO AWAY!”

Like the green glow of a nuclear plant,

Like a rabid dog’s foamy while drool,

Like hospital refuse and toxic waste,

Like three day old left over gruel.

There should be matching tattoos on my inner thighs,

Written in gold glitter paint:

“What you see’s what you get, but don’t mess with it,

Because what you see’s what it aint.”

The Shaft

(Copyright 1995, 2012 Dee Fairbanks Simpson - From unpublished manuscript, "Confessions of a Fat Starving Artist")

Elevators

have two doors

to keep you

from falling

seventeen floors,

but if I fall

and crack my head

shattered body,

broken, dead,

bits and pieces

toffee bar

like the muskrat

‘neath my car

my body twisted,

a purple hue,

it couldn’t feel worse

than loving you.