Review: I Came Upon My Beverly, Clearly

I Came Upon My Beverly, Clearly, is an anonymous epic poem written in a style utterly unlike anything by Edmund Sears, which tells the story of a man, named Nomens, who reads Ramona The Brave as a child, falls in love with the character, and as he grows, so does she, in his mind and in his fantasies about her: 

Run Ramona, run from your
Childhood through menses through my
Age-appropriate dreams, you, now, my
Collegiate coquette. 

In his dotage he struggles with Alzheimers, confusing the character with her misspelled author, and relives the terror of his middle-aged years when he was diagnosed with a low sperm count, which rendered his ejaculate less cloudy: 

As clear as weak tea, unsweetened,
For 'tis sugars, yea, that giveth
The impregnating potable its ironic
Briny breath.

In order to hide this infertility he chooses to “finish” any sexual episode onto the heaving bosoms of his imaginary beloved, giving the impression that it is this modus interuptus that leaves them childless, and not the failings of his swimmers: 

I came upon my Beverly
Clearly, splashed my alibi for
Making no new Nomens on her
Moisty mamms.

Nomes tries to provide solace to his imaginary child-now-grown-wife-bride as she silently cries and wipes his inadequacies from her perkies: 

Come, Beverly, for I have,
Let me pat thy ample rump
As an inadequate means of
Soggy succor.

Saddened, Nomens seeks his own solace in a three-volume set: Normal Sized Nutz: One Man’s Journey Toward Humility, Normal Size Ass Nuts: The Return of Donkey Balls Edwards, and Ass Balls 3: This Time It’s Personal. The vast majority of the poem concerns Nomens’ meditations on this trilogy of tomes, specifically: did the author believe, before he found that his nuts were normal sized, that they were large, with gnashing teeth, or did he think they were diminutive and peering?

Shark or titmouse, again I say
How hath this Edwards seen
His erstwhile mansack, bedanglin,'
Vainly viewed.

In mirror, window front, or the crayoned
Imaginearings of his own scribblin'?
A self-portrait on the page in
Pauper's pink?

Toward the end of the poem, Nomens has a revelation while being interviewed for a taxidermy periodical called Boner Magazine, shouting:

Dead be the cloud that kept me clear!
For now I see without Alzheimer's haze 
Mine own unhaze was hazarded by but
Balding balls! 

Nomens rushes home, creates a makeshift-merkin out of donkey-hide, dons is, and ejaculates into his now menopausal imaginary mate. He then describes the result of the creampie, saying:

Judging from the drops like pearls
That drop from her now-laughing lips, 
White shine on wrinkled rose, a
Jocose juxtaposition, 

I have busted a legion of angels to fall
From labial heaven to hoary underworld,
The carpeting 'tween our bed and that
Bubbling bidet.

He dies, and is buried with the books, offering them to St. Peter as payment for admittance to heaven.

The Baby Weighs a Ton Today.

The baby weighs a ton today.

I don’t mean literally, of course.

The heaviest person of all time,

Jon Minnoch, was 1400 pounds,

And 35 years old, not 6 months.

Still, if it would have been my job to

Pick up Jon Minnoch, console him,

Cool his feverish brow, pat his back,

Wipe away the drool, coo in his ear,

I probably would have had assistance.

Lazarus in the Nazareth Ghetto

Poetry by Jason Edwards

Random access Wichita memories:

Bethany’s songs, death of virginity,

So much fun and Aqua-Tomfoolery.

Lucifer and the cherubim, legions

Baptized by fires set on seraphim,

Make holes in the sky. They fall when I fly

Broken wings, and that succor from sirens.

Murder in the birth degree, Nephilim

Turgid words in my head, alive I’m dead

Resurrected, sacrifice common sense,

Nourished by delicious flesh turned rotten,

Word-proof lazaretto, sneak in, shadows

Write them down so they can be forgotten.

A Hint of Fall on the Wind

poetry by Jason Edwards

Stepped outside last night in a pair of summer shorts

And a shirt with a reference to something Hawaiian on it

That was a size too small in June, 300 miles ago.

I’ve had a busy summer. I’ve enjoyed the weather.

Say Seattle, and people think rain, but

Seattle hasn’t been Seattle for a while now,

Like it always is from the end of July until

September. There was a hint of fall on the wind,

A taste of red leaves and that purple the sky gets

When the days are more orange than yellow,

Night time pines bathed in TV blues from windows

Where football’s on and so are the new sit-coms.

My toes curled up inside my flip flops.

A spider’s web dismantled itself on the breeze,

Since all the spiders are coming inside now.

But we don’t have enough flies. Or time, because

Things are going to slow down for a bit, last for

A few rounds of forever before next summer comes.

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