Sunday, June 17, 2012

National Poetry Month - Update

Hi Folks,

Here's a poem that knocked my socks off during our Poem-a-Day poetry challenge. This poem was in response to the "Ode" prompt from Day 14. And some fun WordParty trivia: Fred Schneider from the B-52s actually attended a WordParty when we were at Club Deluxe many moons ago. 

Bouncing Off The Satellites
By Bear Toffoli

Bouffants Kate red and Cindy yellow pump
beneath strobe light and lava lamp, party out of
bounds and work that skirt like space ladies, shake that
butterbean Keith, shake that that cosmic thing Ricky,
blow the building in a Fred topaz hot pants explosion, my
B-52’s tell it like it T-I is, nip it in the bud, throw that
beat in the can and shake your good stuff out on a dirty
back road flaunt your queen of Las Vegas, flaunt your big
bird, your deviant ingredient, your junebug and juicy jungle
back to loevland cause I’m on a detour thru your mind,
blasting by way of UFO to the wild planet – planet Claire where I
bebop-frug in hero worship to a song for a future generation
bebop-frug to a theme for a nude beach, me and 52 guys and  52 girls
bikini here in Mesopotamia, 53 miles west Venus where
bodies electro whammy! in an ultraviolet whammy kiss
basking where they say there’s a moon in the sky (called the moon)
basking in the deep sleep trism of a dreamland,
bites of cake, rock lobster, and quiche Lorraine
barking spaced out synth boogie runnin’ around and
breezin’ a revolution earth 6060-842 miles per groovy wig
baby so dance this mess around, cause we he, she
breaks for rainbows while hallucinating Pluto and you can
bet this boy-girl from Ipanema goes to Greenland to escape the
bad influence of the devil in my car flashing legal tender like a
bribe and trying to communicate his crazy channel z scheme a
bad idea that is too much to think about, to close to a party pooper
broken a vision of kiss in a dead dry county hanging out with some dead-
beat cronies sucking away all the world’s green laughter in one
boiled breath of too much housework, ain’t it a shame… well give me
back my man Fred, my Kate, my Cindy, my Keith and the late
boy wonder, Ricky cause I’m leaving my private Idaho and shagging on down to the
bohemian funplex, the intergalactic-interdimensional set way
back in the middle of a field Love Shack a giant future cosmic thing of
badass funhouse funplex summer of love good stuff cause I want to
beach party and make love in the year 3000, Juliet of the spirits
blonde Debbie and every wig-adelic riff created by the original party
band, I want to stand in a hot corner and roam with my eyes wide open to
brunette, blonde, red-headed bouffant bliss baby… Hey is that you Mo’ Dean well
brother get dancing now to the quantum cosmos keyboards and keep this party going.