30 Poets/Day 4 - X.J. Kennedy and Calef Brown

For the first Poetry Friday (you can find the roundup of posts here at Amy Ludwig VanDerwater's The Poem Farm) of Poetry Month, feast on some X. J. Kennedy and Calef Brown, I say!

Ladder to the Moon
by
X. J. Kennedy

If I had a ladder that reached to the moon
Up its trillions of rungs I'd go,
Higher than ever the clouds can fly
Till the earth was a ball below.

I'd put on my warm wool winter coat
And my long scarlet scarf in case
While I climbed my ladder straight up to the moon
It started to snow in space.

I'd sidestep a couple of shooting stars
And stand on the steepest hill
At the top of my ladder to the moon
If only the moon stood still.

©2009 X. J. Kennedy. All rights reserved.
To see the original post, please click here.

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Re: Me
by
Calef Brown

My behavior is, I admit,
a bit strange.
Some examples:
I like to show crayfish crochet samples.
I sometimes sell sandpaper to sandpipers,
and I just invented plant stand diapers
for people who over-water.
My beloved alma mater
is The College at Endover.
There on my own
I was mainly known
for falling head over teakettle.
I would pause, let the debris settle,
then sing a song about the space shuttle
and my days as an astronaut.
Mostly I just gasped a lot.
First, from the incredible view,
then from the taste of that inedible goo –
the tubes full of food, pre-chewed.
I got in a feud
with another astronaut
but at least I got
the best elastic cot
for sleeping.
I’m such a cheapskate
my keepsakes
are barely worth keeping:
My spats.
My slide rule.
My toad-shaped commode stool.
I’m totally old school.
Nouveau riche.
Stuck in the drive-thru.
I can’t find my car quiche.
My new niche,
since my jam band disbanded,
is teaching tennis, two handed
(a racquet in each)
to a guy named Dennis
from Venice Beach
who loves to preach
but never practices.
I was once attacked by cactuses
so I’m careful to a fault.
My fishing pole
is stored in a pole vault.
I never fold felt
or spill salt,
and I don’t often don a caftan
or a shawl.
Very seldom,
if at all.
The same goes for a cape
or a cloak.
Just a regular bloke,
I’m not too macho.
Not much of a honcho.
I will, in a pinch, though,
wear a poncho
with a couple bandoleros.
I load ‘em with breadsticks
to feed the sparrows.
I’m a fly in the kitchen
at home on the range.
My behavior is, I admit,
a bit strange.

© 2010 Calef Brown. All rights reserved.
To see the original post, please click here.

Day 3 gave us poems by Charles Ghigna and Laura Purdie Salas. Tomorrow... Ann Whitford Paul and Carole Boston Weatherford.

Click here for more information on this year's 30 Poets/30 Days, including ways to follow along.