Mess

My good friend Gsat suggested I put up some of my poems on my blog (well, not that she's read any other than those I put here :-) ). Considering that this blog is entirely made up of odds and ends, and also a pretty good place to fullfill narcissistic needs, I decided to post here, one of, what I believe, were my "literally" most witty poems written when I was living in an efficiency, in a not very effcient manner.....

14 – 15, March 2003

Mess

It needs a certain degree of finesse
To create the veritable perfect mess
Very few the talent possess
To create a complete havoc, no less.

Yours truly, is a master of the art
Of a cleaned place being the immediate start
For a premeditated pandemonium, as part
Of an inane effort to appear extra smart.

The smartness is evident in the reasons that abound
First, the mess helps in muffling outside sound
(No matter if the physics has basis or ground)
The abundant absorbents cause sound waves to be drowned.

My personal favorite, is the second reason,
This is ongoing cleaning for the end of the season
Or the beginning, or middle, as would please’em.
Cleaning process implies that mess will be some.

The most effective is the one of utter business.
One look is sufficient for you to guess
I am most importantly busy, yes?
No time to reorganize the mess.

Having looked at the purported cause
Let us examine the contents of chaos
Which vary from the elegant to the gross
With money-back warrantee for dropping jaws.

An acrobatic act of book and bundle
Positioned tactically to trip and stumble.
Cultivating colorful clothes to generate a jungle,
Adds a telling touch to the general jumble

Through clothes and papers, navigating your feet,
Is not really considered all that neat.
Better still would be for your derriere to meet
Miscellaneous poking objects on the seat.

It certainly provides vocal variation
Appropriate to the apportioned aggravation
As a bonus, it also creates quite a sensation,
For you and those around your station.


Print and pajamas and poky pins
Are still rather mundane things,
What really makes a mess is hidden beings
Like pet mice or snakes with molting skins

Creative chaos needs an element of surprise
This is where these hidden pets take the prize.
Guaranteed to raise people and cries.
For smaller the animal, greater the shriek size.

A distinguished looking mess is rather implausible
Without electronic storage media that is impossible
To identify or trace or give up as loss-ible.
Many orphaned disks and tapes make this possible.

A hearty havoc is beyond compare
If you add empty bottles of beer
Strewn with abandoned care,
In the path of the mess-see-er.

For the subtle hint of gory and gross
So that there is no doubt that you are the boss
You may want some mustard to tactfully toss
Or add a dash of ketchup and sauce.

The making of a monstrous mess depends
Entirely on the accumulation of odds and ends
That the seasoned mess maker with her life defends
Any rent in which she dutifully a-mends.

Thus enlightened on chaotic component
With due justice to reptile and rodent,
The art of good mess is a power potent
To manipulate alike any foe or a friend.

Should anyone complain a bit
See the scene, and throw a fit
Tell you how much they abhor it
Tell’em This is My Mess, I Adore it.