Jalapenoman Told To "Stop Writing Poetry!"

Written by Monkey Woods

Saturday, 29 November 2008

image for Jalapenoman Told To "Stop Writing Poetry!"
McCarthy reels in disbelief

Leading US writer and poet, Jalapenoman, has been told by friends to desist from writing, what he calls, 'poetry', or face exclusion from his favourite waste of time, TheSpoof.com.

Man, who usually writes news stories, but recently took it upon himself to pen some poetic prose, posted his poem in the site's forum, leading to thousands of complaints from other angry timewasters who had nothing better to do.

Site administrator Sir Mark Lowton moved immediately to 'head-off at the pass' any more poems, and threatened banishment, and even legal action should the New Mexico scribbler persist.

The offending verse, Always The Butter, prompted one unsuspecting viewer, Fergus McCarthy to describe it as an:

"assembled mob of words", and ask:

"what the hell is he doing in the bed with the mammy?"

Poetry expert, Alejandro Juan-Abdullah, however, spoke fondly of the offering, saying:

"It's all right."

For poetrists, and other masochists, the poem is reproduced here without the kind permission of Jalapenoman:

Always the Butter

Sometimes, I lie in bed in the early morning light
and just look at you:
The once mischievous grin on your face
now framed by "laugh lines,"
The crows feet pointing to the
cute little twinkle still in your eyes.

I think of the words at our wedding ,
remembering that we were promised our richer, our poorer,
our better and our worse,
and our sickness and health.
When they all came, your's was the strength I needed
to help me bear life's burdens
and to rejoice with me in the triumphs.

Fifty years ago, my palms got sweaty
and I was nervous and excited to receive one of your letters.
Today, my old and weakened heart still races
when you walk into the room.
My cheeks still flush like a giddy teenager's
when you reach out and take my hand.

I was sure that I loved you those many years ago,
but today I know my childish naiveté didn't understand the depths
of love that we could share together.
In the winter of our lives,
I think the Bard was wrong again,
for the contentment that we have knows no bounds.
Looking back, I'm glad you were there beside me
for the poorer, for the sickness, and for the worse,
because together we turned them all into the Butter.


Readers are asked to bear in mind that the poet is not a professional poetrist, but should any complaints be necessary, they should be addressed, in the first instance, to:

Sir Mark Lowton
Poetry International
Belch Lane

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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