by Yonah Lemonik CC '08
A Psalm of David:
1: O LORD, the firmament sheweth thine handiwork, and the heavens thine wisdom.
2: Your might exceeds the depth of the seas, O LORD, yea, your righteousness the vaults of the skies.
3: O LORD, have you ever considered the advantages of owning a really fine set of encyclopedias?
4: I mean this is a truly gorgeous set of twenty four volumes here, am I right?
5: For verily, O LORD, the wallpaper showeth thine good taste, and the bookcase thine worldiness.
6: And should the chicks see a really handsome leather-bound set like this one they shall surely dwell in the house of the LORD for the length of days... or at least the nights!
7: Eh? Eh? Eh?
8: No, no wait don't close the door, O Awesome LORD, do not cast me aside in this my hour of need.
8a: For Thou art a merciful LORD, and loving.
9: Yea thou art a support to orphans and thou lifteth up the weak.
10: O LORD, thou giveth comfort and sustenance to the poor.
11: Please, O LORD, be merciful, as you ride this subway to a warm home and loving family; remember there are those out on the streets less fortunate than you.
12: We can feed a family of four for only 79 cents, but tonight were going to have to turn people away. So please give generously, O Just LORD, do not turn thine countenance from us.
13: Well? What, nothing? You can't give even a penny, O Tremendous G-d?
14: Oh that's great, O LORD, you're just great. Thou art super fucking awesome.
15: O Mighty And Awesome LORD, thine voice convulseth the deserts and blabbity blah blah.
16: Even thine oh so holy angels tremble in thine August and Awesome presence, the pussies.
17: O Master of the Universe, I am sooooo scared of you.
19: No wait, O LORD, I didn't mean to be nasty; you're a great guy.
20: And I like you, I just don't like you like you, y'know.
21: No, you're really a great guy, O Lord Of Jacob; thou judgeth the righteous with goodness and hateth the wicked.
22: Until a man's dying day thou waiteth for him to return.
23: And you're a really funny guy! Yes, yes, you are G-d.
You created flamingos
brilliant touch with the pink there;
and the Black Death
The human condition is
pure comic genius.
25: C'mon, how bad can you be, O LORD? You do have complete dominion over the heavens and earth.
26: Yea, thou art ruler of the seas and king of the mountains.
27: Thou causeth the wind to blow and the sun to shine.
28: O LORD thou openeth the gates of dawn and ordereth the stars in their places.
29: Verily O LORD thou art powerful - you have thousands of workers reporting to you, CEO of a multibillion dollar multinational corporation, yes sir!
30: Yes sir, Yes sir, O LORD you're the most powerful man in America, yes sir.
30.5: Why that's a brilliant idea it is yes sir, yes sir!
31: No sir, O LORD, I'm not just being a yes man, yes sir!
32: Genius sir! If we sack the entire company we'll have no costs. Our profits will go through the roof yes sir! Genius, O LORD, yes sir!
33: Yes sir, Thou art truly a wondrous LORD!
34: Thou splitteth the sea before thine children, and feedeth them in the wilderness.
35: O LORD, Thou bringeth up beautiful flowers from the firmament and showeth the rainbow as a sign for the generations.
36: Yes, O Mighty and Awesome LORD, your hair is truly beautiful. And your eyes are like two stars shining out on a moonless night.
37: Your movements, O LORD, are like grace encapsulated, your voice is like a pure clarion call.
38: Thou hast a great rack, and voluptuous thighs.
39: And my ears are cold.
40: So why don't head back to my place, O LORD. I have a fine set of encyclopedia's to sell you. Rawr.
And let us say. Amen.
--------------------------------------------------------1st Runner UpLeftovers
by Jonah Bloch-Johnson CC '08 (as "Phillip Hutchinson") and Phyllis Ma CC '09
I like leftovers
Like my soul
which is the leftovers of your love
It could have been the pullover of your love
Soft, and cuddly
But instead you had to wear the button of hate and misery.
My heart is dribbling down my face
That you reheat and reheat
Shall I compare thee – to the best minds of my generation?
Do I dare-to contradict myself?
To eat or not to eat now but maybe to take it home and stick it in the fridge – of history next to the gasket of time by the magnet of monogamy, under the freezer – of infinity.
[high pitched noises]
[high pitched noises and snapping]
[high pitched noises and snapping]
--------------------------------------------------------2nd Runner Up
Put your Pudding Where your Mouth Is
by Rob Frawley CC ‘10
Have you ever eaten pudding
I mean really Eaten it.
Not a nibble, not a munch, not a chew or a crunch.
Have you ever let it envelope your mouth in cold gooey delight.
Have you ever moaned for your pudding.
Has your pudding ever moaned for you.
I dare you – eat your pudding
Become your pudding
Let the pudding flow from your every orifice and scream “I AM PUDDING”
And then, gently recede into your puddingness,
And let the pudding be.
--------------------------------------------------------3rd Runner UpMeditations from the Bottom of a Wells
by Maggie Lane CC '09 and Sasha Stewart CC '09
i. From the Well a Voice Cometh
Perhaps this well is my spiral
To a kinder hell
Except wells are cylinders
Dante was wrong.
Time trickles on like raindrops falling… into a well.
In this well
I will dwell
My heart doth swell
My thoughts, pell mell
My voice, a treble
My sense, of smell
My boyish form, so sup-pel
Around my neck, a lapel
Untold stories, I yearn to tell
I slipped on a banana pe-el
And into this abyss, I fell
This world of mine, a prison cell
Like a prisoner of war, named Marcel
Or Irish savior, lost Parnell
My soul I would sell
Or beg or plead or ped-del
Nails scratch and break and bleed and swell
Lessons are hard to learn
In the bottom of a well
ii. By the Well a Man Cometh
Is this my body?
No it’s a well
Is this my metaphor?
No it’s a well
Is this God?
No, it’s my voice from a well
Is this the Media Age?
I wish Lassie were here
Too bad my name’s Tom
Should I throw pennies?
Food would be better.
Will you grant my wishes?
Only if your wish is to hear a voice from the well.
My wish! Granted! The well is magic! I must tell the others!
Oh go to hell.
iii. From the Well the Well Cometh
Stone, mortar, water, moles
Chipped nails, chipped souls
Of little forgotten boyos
Trapped in arroyos
Trapped in the chasm
Of my bosom
Forever singing their tales of woe
But do I listen? No
For I am a well
Powerful to beheld.
… Oh, Well.--------------------------------------------------------
Honorable Mentions: Too Good for Kilmer Category
When the Economist met the New Yorker
by Eric LeSueur CC '06
When the Economist met the New Yorker, love was in the air.
They brushed shoulders by the Grand Central news stand
And after a few perfectly timed witticisms, the Economist took an unusually bold move and asked her to drinks at the St. Regis, because that is what a gentleman does.
When they met again, the Economist could not help but smile as the New Yorker looked down at her glass of Chardonnay, nervously rubbing the stem begin her fingers, and told him of her love of short fiction and her hobby of drawing single panel cartoons, which her friends nevertheless thought profound.
When she asked him about his own pursuits, he remarked that in his present career he performed forensic economic analysis, but that his true passion lay in the implementation of monetary policy. And he knew he had found someone special when the New Yorker thought that was interesting and amidst the candlelight placed her hand atop his, and asked him to tell her more.
Soon they could be seen holding hands as they walked down the Guggenheim, and kissing as the autumn leaves fell upon them in Central Park. And when they finally did spend the night together, the Economist saw the New Yorker as she laid in her languid prose, and smiled at the adorable way she marked repeating vowels and failed to italicize book titles.
One day, as they were watching “Terms of Endearment”, the New Yorker began to cry. Not because of Debra Winger’s performance, but because at long last, she was happy. “Things were never so good when I was dating the Popular Mechanic,” she said. And the Economist is not afraid to admit that even he shed a few tears, also not because of the film…
Indeed, it was the first time he had wept since Thatcher left office.
Sadly, my friends, the relationship, much like this poem, ran out of steam. This prospective merger, which had begun with such promise, concluded slowly and ignobly, as the Economist reached a conclusion that the marginal benefits were no longer meeting marginal costs. It was only afterward that the Economist finally realized, too late in fact, that some things in life, particularly love, could not be so coldly calculated. Though he is with Harper now, and she with some New Republican, the Economist often thinks fondly of the days of this youth, and the promise they held when he brushed shoulders with the New Yorker.
The only way to do this poem justice is by video, which should be coming soon! But for now the 'Libretto' with 'translation:'
Selfone, ¿puedes oirme ahora?
Il’fierno es tant’oscuro
Siento tu dolore.
Espería que nos ’contraremos
Pero l’entrada de la tierra muerta
Tiene un señale
Qu’explica sencillamente que tengo
Que ’bandonar mi ’speranza.
Ay, mortal con tu Selfone, yakking!
¿Porque necesitas hablar constante?
Est’es il’fierno, yo soy Verizone
Opero un red pa’ los damnados.
Tú, quien huele com’los vivos
Piensas que’stas tan importante
Que to’los muertos tienen q’oirte
Y tu conversazion’arrogante
¡Como te odio!
Cuyas palabras vienen desde l’India
Todos necesitan tu red incredible
Para comunicar con alguien.
Quiero extender la mano
Y tocar a mi querida Selfone.
Tu voz es muy bello, pero tengo
Q’ablar con mi supervizore
Il reino del’fierno, Plutone
¿Tu nombre completo?
Orfeo me llaman
Lo voy a deletrear.
Ay dio’sta ’jueputa no dej’ablarme.
Me siento más cansado cad’ minuto
Yo debería ser’l aburridoso
¡Ay me! Él duerme.
¡Selfone, ya vengo!
Selfone, can you hear me now?
Hell is so dark
I feel your pain.
I would hope that we will find each other
But the entrance of the Dead Land
Has a sign
That says clearly that I
Have to abandon my hope.
Oh, mortal with your Selfone, yakking!
Why do you need to talk constantly?
This is Hell, I am Verizone
I run a network for the damned.
You, who smells like the living
Think you’re so important
That all the dead have to hear you
And your arrogant conversation
How I hate you!
Whose words come from India
Everyone needs your incredible network
To communicate with anyone.
I want to reach out
And touch my dear Selfone.
Your voice is very beautiful, but I have to
Speak with my supervisor
The King of Hell, Plutone
What’s your full name?
They call me Orfeo
I’m gonna spell that
Oh, God, this sonofabitch won’t stop talking
I feel more tired with every minute
I ought to the boring one
Oh my! He’s asleep.
Selfone, I’m coming!