Poems inspired by the Oscar Meyer Weiner
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I am Atlas, feel me shrug
hide your children, roll up your rug
the second I'll burn, the first I'll eat
while I dance my dance that's hard to beat
Silly mortal, ask me to file
Inside I'm laughing all the while
Paper castles rarely stand
to rainshowers, much less shaking land
I walk the land, divided among heroes
Diligently pushing things forward
I watch the drones, bewitched by the throes
of passionate corporate cowards
I am not an opera singer, I have no aria to sing
But instead a steady hand and a purpose in me
Balanced on my shoulders the weight of history
and I can double your work just by pushing "copy"
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rome wasn't built in a day
but i wonder if it was built this way
invoices, tickets piled high
paper columns climbing to the sky
another Babel, a temple to Zeus
an obligation more than a thing of use
no one will touch it, despite its necessity
which is why they've hired me
I am the priest to this temple
the author of this memo
I am the one who keeps it up
policies sharp will cut your hand
but I am the Paper Sultan
I am the ice cubes for your cup
convenience is the thing emperors crave
it wasn't their sweat that made sure the roads were paved
it wasn't their blood that bought this city
it isn't their hand, mind, foot that remains ready
inch by inch, brick by brick
their authority fastened by a paperclip
it's a wonder all these things don't slip
their power relies on whether the column is steady
I am the Raj of Records
my fingers fast like feathers
I am like a bird who rises from the fire
I am Bilbo, my nemesis Golum
his greed tries to destroy my column
By giving me more to stack higher and higher
I am wondering, if I may
bring down Rome in a day
if I am the one with that kind of power
I work and the emperors get
they do not even know of me yet
but think quick, for nearer draws the hour
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who dare enter the presence
of the emanate imminence
the grand sultan, the ali haji sheik?
who dare the oasis of dates
the heart of my emirate
the very summit to my mountain peak?
in the wind swept pockets of the empty quarter
i am a rich man with the blue gold water
if you think that's something you should see my coffers
they're choking under the weight of jewels
if you like things shiny i can be your man
there is no shah like me in all this land
not a coffee ground riddle that i do not understand
i am the exception to your rule
i will not tire or wither
as long as i sing my dhikr
it is my special song everlasting
and have you seen my pad?
tented in colours quite mad?
my camel shaped doorbell goes ding-a-ling
there is a woman, a veiled muse
who uses her lips to give me clues
who uses her hips to give me hints
for a glimpse of her eyes i'd sell a mint
if you day is going quite mundane
all will change if you just hear her name
a mirage they say is where she'd been born
she'll strike the desert of your heart like a sandstorm
work it goes quite fast
living here in my house of glass
with my muse's memory inspiring me on all day
if i had the time
i'd drop another rhyme
but my swoon for her has kept my beat away
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The Queen of Ibiza
said her name was Liza
but I know it's really Pilar
and the Prince of Texas
said he didn't need glasses
but I know he can't see that far
you might pretend
to be some stranger's friend
but i know who you really are
I'm the filer, the compiler
the one who waits a while'r
I drink at my desk
with only the best
like a rhymin', two timin' liar
The Sultan of Sweden
claimed to be beaten
only so he could hustle
and the Raj of Levant
would make the women faint
with just a twitch of his muscle
i'm no liar but my pants are on fire
if you were to call me dial "d-e-s-i-r-e"
i often try to grasp
that poisonous asp
which is why i'm called the "de-Niler"
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my breakfast is subtle
my breakfast is tall
i like it cooked by russian women
who wear blue and grey shawls
the chicken is involved
the pig is committed
i'd swallow peaches whole
if they only came pitted
but russian women be damned
if my fruit comes from a can
because i'm not that kind of man
oh no, i'm not into cans
an omelet needs eggs
a walk requires legs
if you got a bottle
its best to drink it to the dregs
i like the organic
she digs the sarcastic
when we get together
it's very "oh!"
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he called a lion "tiger"
a stupid misnomer
from a lone afrikaaner
the kind you invite over
with a swagger to his step
a direct line to his rep
his favorite stooge was shep
he had this bright idea
it was born from where he came
destined for the movie frame
had a twin who spoke just the same
the greatest star from tanzania
she was a girl who fell in love
at her desk department.state.gov
her only quirk to remain gloved
with the star from tanzania
though the star had wanted to bang her
she had fallen for his doppelganger
the even division, no remainder
the one not addicted to the media
and so the star, who's name was ted
called up his brother, aptly named ed
and told him on the line "your dead"
and howled and hooted a "booya!"
but ed was also quite taken
with the gloved girl of washington
who liked to bring home the bacon
and would independently dance the cha-cha
but it can't all be told
what happened that cold
winter and summer and mold
has gotten to my brain again-a
in the end, the babe with gloves
settled out of court for love
and extracted a loving pension
from ed the man with inertia
the movie man ted
tied himself to his bed
and cried till his ideas fled
such is the end of meglomania
let this be a lesson to all
who try to be players with no ball
who try to be collect with no call
who say “goodbye” without “see ya”
one brother mad, the other one hitched
and the grand idea left unpitched
the honeymoon had the light unswitched
and they drank a whole lot of franzia
now I hope you like my meandering tale
as crazy as a symphonic whale
as incongruent as a four sided triangle
even my rhyming, I miss my own scale.
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and a love
gone away
like a bottle
in a bag