Compilation of Thought-Dilation: Poems

by Theo Henson — 2022-03-08

Existential Anecdotes

Disparate etymologies separate homophones.
Desperate mythologies progenerate DM-zones.
You flew the belated balloon,
Ruminated, rated, and mused
—Now what is there to do?

Competitive biologists seek unlabeled tree frogs.
Disillusioned ex-linguists speak non-prescribed word-wrongs.
He found what was never before,
Not once asked her why he wanted 
—Now who lies on the floor?

Writhing Reviewer Blues

With a punk-rock-but-not-pop-punk spunk
The objective music critic
Makes up for his taste
With his prose and his wit.
He tries not to sound base
With his pick of hits
Thinking no news are "A"s.
Just make his ears tick
Stroke of luck, not grace
Happened to pen it with BiC.

Objective Order

All of 'em always offered an advice:
Avoid alliteration.

"Something's simply serendipitous:
Sliding same-sounding syllables!"

Where to begin:
Why talk boringly?
Wasting tongues bickering which type's better?
—What? Totally benign.

"Can't you feel the urge to repeat?"
"Correct, yippee! Freeing, this yearning 'tis ripe."

As it stands, all is smooth;
Flowing thoughts, frighteningly thick.
How humorously have hindered we by them!
Grammar grotesquely gambits greatness. Whoa be this!
Moral of the story:
Make often things strangely.

Actual Information Auction

News clues you in on
Show tune goons three years
Old mold in the basement
Hasten it.

Brace pasted on construction
Paper maker of the plant
Green cleaner doesn't shine
Mine it.

Dine behind the dumpster
Truck bucks trash back to
Pile miles high going down
Drown it.

Brown gowns weaved on
Machines leavened with sour
Bread led to toast
Roast it.

Coast mostly downhill around
Easily breezy in your face
Ear pierced with gold
It sold.

East Bay, No Delay

I follow the path straight
I pedal through towns, past gates
Wheels roll me all the way
I'm taken to the final stretch
Where the Providence gets
Divided in two
Like a parted sea
I'm led as an escapee
Wheels roll me all the way
I pedal to the city—if my bike doesn't break
I follow the path straight

Exponential Misdirection

I prepped the night before the night before
The time vagrant vagabonds loaned Bohemian ragtime rags to
Unsung lads say "Rule Britannia", think: cruel Britannia?
I planted seeds that grow the more they grow
When an aggrandizing advertisement defies your self-best-interest.
The more I go the less I get anywhere—get it?
I can't move without moving off-topic—stop it.

A Neologic Poet Wrote It

Ampersandstone unites separate sediments
Handlebartool drives cyclists' screw
Notreasuretrove finds sparkle shimmers
Whateverwhom is silence silky
Dismemberclub invites Sunder Severs
But strangerisk rips van candy out of child's handy hand, man
You need a nonsequiturtestur

Usonian Clothing

Will you sell your drum set in pieces?
It's simple: I just need some cymbals.
Even nimble fingers sew with thimbles, though.
Whoa! I never knew you needed that to make hats.
Mercury's gone berserk, you see,
So every drop counts, fluid ounce.
"Pounce!" goes the cat to the mouse;
If only there were one for louse.
Get dressed, darling, protest: baseball's Spalding.
Lose your hair, hope it's not balding.
Help! I don't want to wear a glove.
Pigeons and doves are the same, love.
Do tennis menace pendants flow in the wind?
Or is that only for the flag thing.
Pledge allegiance every morning—boring.
Touring with the band's not the same as heart-placed hand.
Do you really love it? Or do they just shove it.
Boom! Drum fill.
Don't spill from the bucket on Jack-and-Jill hill.
Boom! Oil drum hit.
March around the ick or you'll get the bad end of the stick.
A yellow brick road, painted with gold, showed
No one to happiness ever,
Because we're still in Kansas.
Can't escape corn-filled ranches.
At least we won't starve,
Though we've got to wear some rather drab garb.

Montpelier Dentist

When talking to high-fructose-born syrup
Maple trees in Vermont blush a jealous green;
Grief strikes them as they see the turning tides.
How come your sugar's sweeter than mine?
Do I deserve it?
To be debased by something so turpid?
Lick the bricks by my roots;
Old-fashioned sucrose won't melt your tooth.

Anagrammatical: A Magna-Art Claim

One host he drone
soothed en on her
née hornet's hood,
so honed thereon.
Shoehorned note
enthrones doe—oh!

Son thee honored
hooted nor sheen
the horse on-node.
Three shoe don on
shed here to noon.
No others heed on.

Oh no! Sheered ton
neon-horde ethos.
Do the non-heroes
so need the honor?
—Or he not heeds no
sheeted rho on no
one throne he sod.

—Then Eden or shoo!
Honest hero done
none soothed her.
Need shoehorn to
do no nether shoe?
—Or he doth seen no
one horned theos?

Oh, ne'er do honest
horde net no shoe.
Heros need not—oh?
Theor' done shone
no horn do seethe.
Hoo! Señor, the end.

Theodore Henson