Just for fun...my so-called creative side.

I have been up all night grading the first set of essays of the semester. Not only am I tired from lack of sleep, but my brain is tired from having to process information in 40 essays. Whew! I don't think that I can come up with anything remotely interesting to talk about right now, so I thought I would share a poem that I wrote. Now I don't even come close to calling myself a creative writer or poet, but I can sure write one hell of a piece of literary criticism!

Anyway, this poem I wrote in my "Bible as Literature" class a few years ago (1999?). We had to wrote a love poem per the Song of Solomon. But as everyone else was writing some serious love poetry, I had to go against the grain (as usual) and write something not so serious. So here it is...let's point out all the cliches, shall we?


An "X-Files" Kind of Love: A Parody
by me (Sandy)

Your eyes--
blue as the deepest, clearest oceans.
I see your thoughts swim
through those oceans
like dolphins--
I always know
what you are thinking:
"Hey Baby, let's get it on."

I close my eyes
and I can still smell you--
sweet, like mocha-flavored coffee
and some shampoo
that I don't remember the name of.
I imagine you standing there
in your brightly colored
Fruit-of-the-Loom butthuggers
and your Edmonton Oilers hockey jersey,
which I so lovingly picked out for you
from a mail-order catalog.

Oh, how I long to have you with me.

Later, you come to me in a dream.
I feel your skin and
run my hands over your body
and through your chest hair--
so luxurious
so soft
so much,
so stuck in my teeth
and the once-virginal bar of Dial soap
that sits on the edge of the tub.
My walking, talking,
breathing, living
proof of Darwin's theory.

I sweetly kiss your lips.
A spark of excitement
runs through my body
and my toes curl when our tongues meet.
After a lifetime, we separate
and I softly whisper,
"Less spit next time."

My love--
so practical
so sensible
so predictable:

and garlic toast.

My heart
was a fragile, gelatinous eyeball
squitting across the dirty floor of love.
You picked it up,
carefully plucked off the lint,
and kept it for your own
before it could be squished beneath
the dirty, dog-shit covered
sneakers of life.

My love--
You are the cheese sauce on my broccoli,
the caramel in my Milky Way,
the corn on my cob,
the whipped cream in my hot chocolate.
You will forever be
the slayer of the lima beans
that are always in my soup,
even when the waitress says,
"No Ma'am, no lima beans in OUR soup."

My love, my darling,
my protector, my savior,
my friend,
my hunka hunka burnin' love--
My love for you never fades,
but grows stronger each day.
Every day with you is like
an "X-Files" season-premiere day,
and when you are gone
I will die a thousand deaths because
Baby, you rock my world.

*Bow* Thank you, thank you...

Sarcasm will get you everywhere, Baby.

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