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Edmund Conti



Edmund Conti has had over 500 poems published but who's counting? He would like you to forget the obscure publications and remember The Wall Street Journal, The New York Sunday Times (OK, it was just the Jersey edition), Light and Gordon Lish's The Quarterly. His book of light verse, The Ed C. Scrolls, was published by The Runaway Spoon Press. Conti won the Willard R. Espy Literary Award for 2002 and has been the featured poet in Light. He is also the inventor of Bananagrams, an anagram game in couplets, which have been published in Word Ways and Games Magazine. He used to write a weekly column for the Summit (NJ) Herald, which was nice because that's where he lives. Unfortunately, everyone else who lived there didn't seem to read that paper, so he stopped writing the column, only to discover that people actually did read it. Such are the perils of modern communication (or should we say miscommunication?). He has also managed to make himself a persona non grata at two poetry forums, so far.



Button, Button

When one subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation),—sleep, eating, and swilling—buttoning and unbuttoning—how much remains of downright existence? The summer of a dormouse. —from Byron’s Journals

Just ask the poet, life’s a dumb thing.
Button, button, eating, swilling.
Life isn’t much but, still, it’s something.

Existence is a rule-of-thumb thing.
Buying now with later billing.
Just ask the poet, life’s a dumb thing.

To dream, to sleep, a ho-and-hum thing.
Boring, boring, mulling, milling.
Life isn’t much but, still, it’s something.

Mum’s the word, the word’s a mum thing.
Button lips and no bean spilling.
Just ask the poet, life’s a dumb thing.

Life, of course—the known-outcome thing.
Death and taxes.  God is willing.
Life isn’t much but, still, it’s something.

Life is short, a bit-of-crumb thing.
Dormouse summer, daddies grilling.
Just ask the poet, life’s a dumb thing.
Life isn’t much but, still, it’s something.

Previously published in Light.



The Road to Hell Is Paved with Good Intentions

Tried.
Fried.

Previously published in The Lyric.



Pragmatist

Apocalypse soon
Coming our way
Ground zero at noon
Halve a nice day.

Previously published in Light Year, The Bedford Introduction to Literature and various illegal (the poet thinks) places on the Internet.



In the Beginning Was the F-Word

And God said
Be fruitful
and multiply
but don't
talk about it.

From Ed C. Scrolls, published by The Runaway Spoon Press.



Being God Is No Picnic

His eye is on the sparrow
His ear to the praying mantis
But He just put His foot down
Where that poor little ant is.

From Ed C. Scrolls, published by The Runaway Spoon Press.



Felicific Calculus

I figured out
This happy fact:
I'm not devout
But still intact.

From Ed C. Scrolls, published by The Runaway Spoon Press.



Ah, Woes By Any Other Name

I wondered who Woe was
But now I see.
With more problems than Noah's
Woe is me!

From Ed C. Scrolls, published by The Runaway Spoon Press.



Flowering

Not for me the rose so red
And not the pink carnation.
No flowers, please, send cash instead
To my next incarnation.

From Ed C. Scrolls, published by The Runaway Spoon Press.



Next Question

They're in the back yard,
Esther dear,
Behind the shed
In the shade
Where the ground is hard—
The snows of yesteryear.

From Ed C. Scrolls, published by The Runaway Spoon Press.


Memory

It's full of lots of little bits
Structured so that each one fits
Which are recalled, retrieved or gotten.
(Unless, of course, they're just forgotten,)
Stored up in an oubliette
For getting what you should forget.

Previously published in Stone Drum.



Roman Virtues

Life was peaceful
on the Tiber.
No one feared
asbestos fiber.

Romans built the
Appian Way
without advice
from E. P. A.

No Ralph Nader
going on a
crusade for safety.
Pax Romana.

Caligula
was quite a pain
but didn't have
an acid reign.

No immigrants,
advised the omens,
and no hyphen-
ated Romans.

Terrorists in
distant regions—
dealt with swiftly
by the Legions.

Rome eternal.
Why so great?
Was no welfare
city-state.

Roman women
caused no strife.
Knew their place
like Caesar's wife

Let Nero fiddle,
Cicero strum.
as Romans dump in
Mare Nostrum.

Goths and Vandals
made their grim pact
without environ-
mental impact.

Previously published in The Orphic Lute.

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