The Death of Snow Hitler

I met my best friend Chris when we were in high school. We therefore have a lot of
"in jokes" that no one will ever get (like, 'Heh-heh- HI! My name is Tranio!'). These jokes are funny to us and not to you because you weren't there and you don't get it.

But then there's a whole other class of jokes that are funny to us and not to you because we have a weird sense of humor. There's really no one who makes me laugh as hard as Chris does. And while Chris doesn't laugh at all my jokes, at least he gets them and knows why I thought they would be funny.

Case in point... in the 90's it was hip to make these hand made greeting cards. It seemed like everyone was making these things. I would sometimes go over to my then-girlfriend Kerry's house and we would make some of these things. And I made the one below for Chris while he was a traveling Karate photo salesman.

When Chris found the card he wrote the celebratory poem below:

THE DEATH OF SNOW-HITLER
face down in a puddle
of third-reich red blood
Snow-Hitler's x'ed out coal eyes
are spared the sight
of subhuman 'sno-men smiling at his corpse
the scum of snowmankind
have inherited the Earth
dancing for joy up to their snowballs in
each other's crystal white feces.

AND, for those of you who think I am making Chris up and are saying to yourself, "I know for a fact that Matt doesn't have any friends, let alone one who gets his sense of humor" then I invite you to print a copy of this greeting card, go to Island Framery and get it framed while Chris tells you stories and jokes.

Now we're on the National Review website

Here's the link.

For those of you stopping by for the first time... well, we're not really a poetry website. And Michelle won the contest to become Poet Laureate, but it wasn't via voting. I gave her the unofficial title because the people of Arizona don't have an official poet laureate, so I took the authority upon myself.

Fox News Covers the Burning Hearts Revolution

Fox News wrote an article referencing BHR this morning.

Apparently someone in Tennessee asked John McCain if he could name the Poet Laureate of Arizona. But, as Fox News rightly points out, the only Poet Laureate of Arizona is the one that we crowned here at BHR during the First Annual Poet Laureate contest. You may remember Michelle Lawrence. And you may remember the contest, where we "unofficially" awarded poets laureate to each state of the union which lacked laureates.

Which just goes to show you that reading BHR prepares you to be a better presidential candidate.

I'll send a note to the McCain Campaign to see if they would like to make a comment.

In the meantime, here's a reminder of the winners of the contest, and links to their poems and bios:

Arizona: Michelle Lawrence Down Reflection
Massachusetts: Eva Ting Open Casket
Missouri: Rob E You Must Be Misstaken
New Jersey: Jill James Puberty
New Mexico: Kasey Martin Spun
Ohio: T.M. Baird The Flock
Pennsylvania: Adam Struble What Crazed Eyes Have Already Seen
Washington: Alexis Youngs I Used to Love My State of Origin But Now I Have My Doubts

UPDATE: I forgot to mention that Washington now has an official poet laureate. Sorry, Alexis. But I suppose you can still be the unofficial one. You may recall the time that I sent Governor Gregoire an email telling her about our silly little contest. She never responded to my email. I guess she was too busy getting an official laureate. Hee hee heeeeee!

Ode To Sleep

Jet lag creates an insatiable desire for sleep. Tonight, as Krista and I made our bed, I found myself thinking inwardly, "Ahhhh, it will be nice to curl up beneath these sheets and sleep tonight." A basic thankfulness for sleep comes upon you.

It would be, I think, an appropriate time to write odes to sleep, to sing songs about one's pillow, to recite stirring speeches about the glories of a well-earned rest at the end of an inevitably too-long day.

So, I have written you all a poem entitled,

"A Limmerick Ode To Sleep, Written Upon My Return from Thailand, and Which I Find Both Clever and Immensely Funny Due At Least Partially to The Length of the Limmerick's Title, and Partially, No Doubt, To My Lack of Sleep."

When I get back into town
from flying the world all around
I prop up my eyes
and of sleep fantasize
on a bed, or a couch or the ground!