Late Entry for National Poetry Month

April was National Poetry Month, a fact that was trumpeted loudly by my friend Brady, who issued a challenge to write poetry and post it, a challenge that a surprising number of my friends accepted. I'm not normally a poetry-writing kind of guy and I wasn't planning on posting anything, but then I remembered this strange little writing project I did when I was in high school. I was writing a paper on a notable historical figure (at that time the logical figure for me to choose was Bob Dylan) and as I worked on the paper, from time to time I would use the thesaurus tool in Word. As I played with the thesaurus a little bit, I found it fascinating that if you ran a word through it enough times, you would end up with something completely different and random.

So just for fun I went through entire sections of my Bob Dylan report and ran every word through the thesaurus several dozen times, adding some auxiliary words and punctuation so it would be a little bit more readable. I then divided it into three increasingly brief volumes (the third volume has but one sentence), and then attributed the whole thing to my newly minted pen name, "Jeremiah Trumeau." [The Jeremiah Trumeau is a sculpture depicting the prophet Jeremiah carved into a trumeau (central doorway column) at the medieval Cloisters of the Abbaye St-Pierre de Moissac, a popular pilgrimage site in Southern France. I had just studied the sculpture in my AP Art History Class.]

I hadn't read through this in about ten years because the only copy I had was on a 3-1/2" floppy disk back at my parents' house. Now that I am back I dug it out and read through it. Man, this is some pretty trippy stuff. It reminds me of sentences generated in the word game Exquisite Corpse, invented by the Surrealists in the 1920s. This may or may not qualify as poetry, but I thought I would use the occasion of National Poetry Month to unleash it on the world. I hope we can still be friends after you read it ;)

[Note: To keep this post from being too unwieldy, I've cut out about half of the original text.]

Surreal Poetry Volumes I - III
by Jeremiah Trumeau

I. The Rage of Imperfect Barley
Rebellious generators of electric mist must end progress toward counterfeit geometry. Superfluous penguins and misleading toadstool endurance rank as substandard dressing. Meanwhile, the finest sanctuary tournament, suffering from barbecue disjunction, briskly replicates over the limitless void of syntax within the chapter’s extent of influence. Regularly, due to the Unsavory-Cheese-Destroying-Backpack (which is enclosed in the university publication), at least. Ignorant tin whistles and rusty gunfire liberty remain in the hillside, understandably. Behold, the vast Lather Ailment Hoax Proposal, adorned by powerful hooks and curious thickening!

Crippled atoms conceal distant icebox cheers in spite of Egyptian philosophy, foremost in broken pine gauge styling. During the juvenile banjo epidemic, savage omissions puzzled the brass flowers when the innocent insects corroded. Hypothetical occupants approach, unyielding yet venturesome, in traditional retail solitude; various perilous alternatives include: Vile yeast! Generous hamburgers! Extreme tapping! A reference book! Mysterious cyclists!

The harsh dwelling, full of remorse, is a suitably publicized formula noted for tangible hatchets and soothing swirls. Subsequently, industrialization is unhindered as it descends into the primeval box cycle. Badges, suffering from an extent of severe dexterity, keep cursed honeycakes distant from homely vermin and their sunlight orb’s glory. Misunderstanding the broom, artistic rituals risk the rage of imperfect barley. Hospitalize residue, rejoice in cotton, overrule seals, and praise the alleged ice, which is disguised as a towering hat.

Counteract Castaway Literature Disease with balmy zebra vapor. Seeds, hailed as wacky, testify during the sponsor’s disturbed peach soliloquy. Pivoting the fabric, the mandolin aches, which may dictate if possible. The virtuous uniform wonders why smooth brain music plays. Ogres offer no more spinal restrictions for doomed beetles.

II. Endless Laundry Fiction

Bags of mayonnaise seem charming, yet are corrupt with disappointment. Mild peninsulas and the wasteful truffle rivalry are rotten, yet fortunate for their fatigue. Arise during the attic bankruptcy trial, first detected in the superior crypt frontier. Q: Who is blurred and aged? A: The watery baker!

Obscure Buttermilk Anxiety beckons the Fantastic-Button-Spiders! “Yes,” said the King of Hidden Shovels, “as delicately as endless laundry fiction flows." When that recognizable philosopher returns, tell him of the gelatin meadows again. While the spice hazard arranged dazed pastries, the Wallpaper Fraud Mystery continued. To dislodge complicated loam, try moistening mirrors.

A summary of the Easy Bucket Shower Doctrine, Article 11A: ...ban bricks..., ...assault the pamphlet pilgrimage..., ...categorize herbs as exotic..., ...introduce Polish meditation.

“Time for slick cabbage tension,” replied the Necklace Harvest Lieutenant. Sophisticated gargoyles illustrate no use for baggy needles; however, empty monasteries are prejudiced and are equivalent to the muddled cesspools. Coincidentally, the Ultimate Salsa Brawl (U.S.B.) victimizes, overlaps, and hastens the stained marrow.

III. The Epic Luncheon

The Epic Luncheon: heirloom of the fictitious, or merely vulgar debris?