The Brash Editor (Poem)

[Note: This poem originally ran in the literary journal Parody Poetry on Oct. 31, 2016]

(by Daniel R. Jones)

With apologies to William Carlos Williams.

so much depends
upon

a brash, portly
editor

and whether he’s
eaten

before he reads my
poem.

The Salesman Passover

(by Daniel R. Jones)

Behind drawn lace curtains
they wait with bated-breath
blood-red “NO SOLICITING”
signs hung across the door.

They watch me pass
like I’m the Angel of Death.
Muscles relax.
They can breathe once more.

Thinking it Over, Overthinking it

Thinking it Over, Overthinking It

(by Daniel R. Jones)

Five percent of the people think; ten percent of the people think they think; and the other eighty-five percent would rather die than think. -Thomas Edison

I’d like to think I think,
(I think.)

For Edison ought
to have thought
he thought.
Else it’s for naught,
the lines he wrought
to gather his thoughts.

I’d like to think I think,
(I think.)

But isn’t to think
“I’d die ere I think,”
in itself a thought?
I think, therefore, I am, they say.
Not
I think, therefore, I’m not.

I’d like to think I think,
(I think.)

For not to think, means death,
methinks,
‘twixt thinking and dying,
the latter stinks,
so

I’d like to think I think,
(I think.)

But I haven’t bought
what Edison thought.

’cause
surely the five percent who think
must think they think
and they think right, I’d think.

So, fifteen percent
think they think,
but only five
actually think,
and

I’d like to think I think,
(I think.)

Well, I don’t know if I think,
from cognoscenti stock so pure.
But I’d rather think than die, (I think?)
No! This much I know for sure!