The Journal of Ephemeral Inspiration

The Journal of Ephemeral Inspiration promises a neverending spew of pointless minutae, brilliant yet useless ideas, troublingly cruel commentary and emphatic musings on whatever shiny object happens to catch our collective eye. Always remember, hate the game, not the playa.

Friday, April 15, 2005

Poetry: Remember, George, No Man Is A Failure Who Has Friends...

Launching a periodical that will likely be viewed by history as the catalyst for the Age of Ephemerata (post-internet pre-jetpack 21st century) is a daunting task, to be sure-- we've still got boxes to unpack, dartboards to hang and furniture to wrestle into perfect feng shui harmony. But our duty to our readers waits for no credenza, and despite disconcerting state of transition, publish we must. So let's pump up this jam with our strength: cruel mockery.

In 1981, Jimmy Stewart visited The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson to read his poems. Nary a dry eye was left in the studio after he warbled his way through "Beau," an ode to his dead pooch. Here at the J.E.I., we're so touched, in fact, that we've prepared our own special tribute to ol' George Bailey himself. Hee Haw!

My Dog Beau, by Jimmy Stewart

As I lie on the warm quilted bed
My feeble hand clutching my chest
My thoughts turn to Beau, my faithful old dog
Who wakes from a long-needed rest

His eyes dart around and with nary a sound
He leaps on the creaky old bed
He sniffs at my nose and with a pensive dog pose
Reminds me he has not been fed

His mouth is a-droolin' and spittle is poolin'
Betwixt my slight-parted eyes
With no aprehension and sufficient tooth-tension
He begins his banquet surprise

Now don't be alarmed at my doggie's death-feast
'Cause for Beau I feel no shame
If was he decomposin' and was me I'm supposin'
That I probably would do the same

Lemonade, by Jimmy Stewart

I sat upon a quilted rug
and ate salt water taffy
It tickled my tongue and slid down my throat
and made me all silly and laughy
But lo' the treat I tried to eat
Got caught on my partial upper
So I sat on my rug, my eyes watered shut
and threw up my sugary supper.

OK, we're off to take a karma-cleansing shower (apologies to Marie Prevost). Want to read Jimmy's real poetry? You can buy it here. Help a brother out.