Howard Camner
Howard Camner Poems
It looks like something a stegosaurus might drop
but the truth is, nobody knows what it is
Wilma calls it 'banana bread'
She makes it herself
...
She sits on her throne of mah jongg tiles
and passes judgment on you and me
She's got 13 orphans on a rack
...
He always wants to know how you are
then he wants to know how you're not
His wallet is thick
but his skin is thin
...
I wiggle my fingers like they're people
only smarter
and she laughs to clear the clouds
...
Mama Chung wags her tongue
with strings strung when spring's sprung
That Mama Chung with hands wrung
...
I watch him through the glass
because I'm not allowed in
He runs and jumps and tumbles with the others
and never acknowledges me
...
No one's sure how she got the job
Some say it was a train wreck
Others claim Old Scratch lost his queen
Either way, she keeps the place immaculately clean
...
They make you remember what used to be;
a time when time meant nothing
When love was as pure as Lily's eggs are imperfect
...
She is very possessive over things that aren't hers
chinchillas and minks kill themselves
so she can wear them on her back
...
I am the mouthpiece for my muse
a sycophantic land shark who chews the scenery
and spits it out
...
Love and War intersect here
where Death is a frequent hitchhiker
where stop signs are dictators, yield signs are cowards,
...
Come on, remember my name
Know that I was here
That I did what I could and not enough
Know that I wrote it all down and tore it up
...
With her frillies from Frederick's
and her vacant stare
she raises Ned
and proves time and again
...
I found a photograph of you
that could make my life better
and yours worse
Because now I can look into your eyes
...
There's a lot to say
about Dr. Jackassolow
but I'll just get to the point
...
Mostly I remember your farm
It was a weird place
where the animals were words
and that old wooden fence surrounding the property
...
The Best Poem Of Howard Camner
Wilma's Banana Bread Boutade
It looks like something a stegosaurus might drop
but the truth is, nobody knows what it is
Wilma calls it 'banana bread'
She makes it herself
but I've seen banana bread, and that's not banana bread
I think it's a small nuclear weapon of some kind
or maybe a yam gone wrong
There's something sinister about it
I know that much
Wilma brags about her banana bread all the time
She even stops people on the street
and drunk-dials strangers late at night
to tell them how great her banana bread is
Somebody has to stop her
Somebody has to reel her in and put her in her place
Somebody has to tell her
that when you eat her banana bread
you forget who you are
your conscience takes a leave of absence
and you become incoherent
you contort and twitch
your words come out backwards and you foam at the mouth
If you eat Wilma's banana bread you separate from yourself
The part of you that ate the banana bread
despises the part of you that didn't
and vice versa
you become shorter
your life becomes severe
It's a combination of elements that only Henry Jekyll
would understand
Your appetite for sin goes through the roof
and you face an inner turmoil like you've never known
Somebody has to tell Wilma
that her banana bread causes all that
But it won't be me
I won't say a word
because when she forces her banana bread on me,
I take it with a smile
I thank her profusely
and then I sell it
as a cure for sanity
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4/17/2024 7:43:29 PM # 1.0.0.1119
i've just stumbled upon Carmen The Oyster Shucker by this poet. i would like to recommend it to lovers of humor and (maybe) sexual innuendo. oops! did i give it away? unfortunately, perhaps, from the dates on his poems, i'm not sure if howard is still with us. i shall now comment (to him) on his poem and see if he responds.