Enlarge Your Penis
I would have no idea how to go about enlarging
your penis, or mine, or anyone else’s, yet the subject
is quite popular these days, among e-mail spammers,
along with abandoned lock-boxes in Nigeria, the keys
to which you can obtain by replying to this message.
I plan to submit this poem to an online poetry journal,
in a world where keywords rule, and so am (as they say
in the biz) “front-loading” these lines with irresistible
and/or salacious terms likely to obtain to a high ranking
with Google: breast, Paris, Brittney, cash, overweight,
Viagra, Cialis, Oprah, Condi, Hillary, Obama, Scooter,
Wolfowitz, and of course the irrepressible “penis.”
Occasionally I think of that word and my grandmother,
who was born in 1878, and who could remember
the first administration of Grover Cleveland. She liked
to read to us aloud, and among her favorite poems
was Oliver Wendell Holmes’s poem about the shay
or buggy that lasted for a hundred years and fell apart
on the hundredth anniversary of the great earthquake
that leveled Lisbon in 1755. Eventually when I grew up
I managed to visit Lisbon, and it is true. That was
one hell of an earthquake, and they still haven’t managed
to put everything back together again. In Lisbon, also,
they are not concerned with the size of anyone’s penis.
My grandmother never used that word in my presence.
I am not sure that she ever heard it pronounced
in her own presence. Which makes you wonder
how she and my grandfather were able “to get it on.”
Or what terms they employed. Yet I am living proof
that they managed. Quite handily. As did my own parents.
They were simple people. They built barns, moved houses,
poured piers for bridges. They kept gardens and wrote down
everything in their daybooks: amounts paid for materials,
number of hours worked, wages due to the hired hands.
I can still remember my grandfather. During the War
he served as a block warden, with a tin hat, and a flashlight.
He helped to enforce the curfew. Every evening at ten o’clock
he would go out and make sure the neighbors had turned off
their electric lights. It was rumored that if everyone obeyed,
Hitler’s bombers would have difficulty pinpointing our town.
My grandfather undoubtedly knew that it was done simply
to conserve energy, and that no airplane could travel that far.
Sometimes I went with him, along the sidewalks, carrying
the flashlight. Sometimes he would let me wear the tin hat.
It was exciting to be out in the dark, now and then calling
to a neighbor, noticing the flicker of candles in the windows.
Soon the houses would be quiet, with people going to bed,
and managing quite nicely without the need of words at all.
There is nothing wrong with that, although in looking back
it seems rather quaint, as though these people were somehow
deprived because they had not yet learned about Oxycontin
or American Idol, or how to spread democracy by waging war
in far-off places. I leave it to you to decide. If you would
still like to enlarge your penis, go immediately to your in-box.
I would have no idea how to go about enlarging
your penis, or mine, or anyone else’s, yet the subject
is quite popular these days, among e-mail spammers,
along with abandoned lock-boxes in Nigeria, the keys
to which you can obtain by replying to this message.
I plan to submit this poem to an online poetry journal,
in a world where keywords rule, and so am (as they say
in the biz) “front-loading” these lines with irresistible
and/or salacious terms likely to obtain to a high ranking
with Google: breast, Paris, Brittney, cash, overweight,
Viagra, Cialis, Oprah, Condi, Hillary, Obama, Scooter,
Wolfowitz, and of course the irrepressible “penis.”
Occasionally I think of that word and my grandmother,
who was born in 1878, and who could remember
the first administration of Grover Cleveland. She liked
to read to us aloud, and among her favorite poems
was Oliver Wendell Holmes’s poem about the shay
or buggy that lasted for a hundred years and fell apart
on the hundredth anniversary of the great earthquake
that leveled Lisbon in 1755. Eventually when I grew up
I managed to visit Lisbon, and it is true. That was
one hell of an earthquake, and they still haven’t managed
to put everything back together again. In Lisbon, also,
they are not concerned with the size of anyone’s penis.
My grandmother never used that word in my presence.
I am not sure that she ever heard it pronounced
in her own presence. Which makes you wonder
how she and my grandfather were able “to get it on.”
Or what terms they employed. Yet I am living proof
that they managed. Quite handily. As did my own parents.
They were simple people. They built barns, moved houses,
poured piers for bridges. They kept gardens and wrote down
everything in their daybooks: amounts paid for materials,
number of hours worked, wages due to the hired hands.
I can still remember my grandfather. During the War
he served as a block warden, with a tin hat, and a flashlight.
He helped to enforce the curfew. Every evening at ten o’clock
he would go out and make sure the neighbors had turned off
their electric lights. It was rumored that if everyone obeyed,
Hitler’s bombers would have difficulty pinpointing our town.
My grandfather undoubtedly knew that it was done simply
to conserve energy, and that no airplane could travel that far.
Sometimes I went with him, along the sidewalks, carrying
the flashlight. Sometimes he would let me wear the tin hat.
It was exciting to be out in the dark, now and then calling
to a neighbor, noticing the flicker of candles in the windows.
Soon the houses would be quiet, with people going to bed,
and managing quite nicely without the need of words at all.
There is nothing wrong with that, although in looking back
it seems rather quaint, as though these people were somehow
deprived because they had not yet learned about Oxycontin
or American Idol, or how to spread democracy by waging war
in far-off places. I leave it to you to decide. If you would
still like to enlarge your penis, go immediately to your in-box.
| Jared Carter |
Jared Carter's fourth book of poems, Cross this Bridge at a
Walk, was published in 2006 by Wind Publications in Kentucky.
A Midwesterner from Indiana, he has published in such journals
as Iowa Review, Kenyon Review, Poetry, TriQuarterly, and a
number of online ‘zines.
His web site, http://www.jaredcarter.com , offers poems, stories,
and photographs. Reviews and information about his latest
book may be found at http://windpub.com/books/bridgewalk.htm
Walk, was published in 2006 by Wind Publications in Kentucky.
A Midwesterner from Indiana, he has published in such journals
as Iowa Review, Kenyon Review, Poetry, TriQuarterly, and a
number of online ‘zines.
His web site, http://www.jaredcarter.com , offers poems, stories,
and photographs. Reviews and information about his latest
book may be found at http://windpub.com/books/bridgewalk.htm
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Sunday 29 July 2007 – POETRY UPDATE from Jared Carter
Dear friend,
It’s a privilege for me to report that my book, CROSS THIS BRIDGE AT A WALK, was the
winner in the poetry category for “Best Books of Indiana 2007,” a competition sponsored
by the Indiana Center for the Book.
Winning books in four categories of books published during 2006 were recognized at an
awards ceremony on Thursday 19 July at the State Library in Indianapolis. Approximately
100 guests attended the afternoon program, reception, and book sale. For additional
information, please see http://www.in.gov/newsroom.htm?detailContent=222_9791.htm
Among those attending were Charlie and LaVece Hughes, of Nicholasville, Kentucky. Mr.
Hughes’s press, Wind Publications, published Cross this Bridge at a Walk in 2006. Wind
Publications’ web page for the book may be found at http://windpub.
com/books/bridgewalk.htm
The poetry award was presented by last year’s poetry winner, Karen Kovacik, of Indiana
University-Purdue University at Indianapolis. This year’s judges for poetry were Edward
Byrne, Valparaiso University; Cornelius Eady, University of Notre Dame; and Michele
Fenton, Indiana State Library.
Coordinator of the event was Dawn Lipp of the Indiana State Library. Indiana’s “Best
Books” competition is now entering its fourth year. More background concerning winning
titles, authors, and finalists in 2006 and previous years is available at http://www.statelib.
lib.in.us/www/isl/newsroom/bbiwinners.htm
Jared and Diane Carter wish to thank all those who attended – all those who gave the
awards a boost online or in the print media – and all those who sent greetings and
congratulations!
Cordially,
Jared Carter
Dear friend,
It’s a privilege for me to report that my book, CROSS THIS BRIDGE AT A WALK, was the
winner in the poetry category for “Best Books of Indiana 2007,” a competition sponsored
by the Indiana Center for the Book.
Winning books in four categories of books published during 2006 were recognized at an
awards ceremony on Thursday 19 July at the State Library in Indianapolis. Approximately
100 guests attended the afternoon program, reception, and book sale. For additional
information, please see http://www.in.gov/newsroom.htm?detailContent=222_9791.htm
Among those attending were Charlie and LaVece Hughes, of Nicholasville, Kentucky. Mr.
Hughes’s press, Wind Publications, published Cross this Bridge at a Walk in 2006. Wind
Publications’ web page for the book may be found at http://windpub.
com/books/bridgewalk.htm
The poetry award was presented by last year’s poetry winner, Karen Kovacik, of Indiana
University-Purdue University at Indianapolis. This year’s judges for poetry were Edward
Byrne, Valparaiso University; Cornelius Eady, University of Notre Dame; and Michele
Fenton, Indiana State Library.
Coordinator of the event was Dawn Lipp of the Indiana State Library. Indiana’s “Best
Books” competition is now entering its fourth year. More background concerning winning
titles, authors, and finalists in 2006 and previous years is available at http://www.statelib.
lib.in.us/www/isl/newsroom/bbiwinners.htm
Jared and Diane Carter wish to thank all those who attended – all those who gave the
awards a boost online or in the print media – and all those who sent greetings and
congratulations!
Cordially,
Jared Carter