Scarlett Pumpernickel

“We are as free as we please!!!”
Sayest thou of the world we stand within bold;
Though in practice of it much lends to editorial prune
To which the eye glances focus to pasted oui
Regulated to the smother of the security of societal attune
For in the give rather than take an isolative scold –
Uniqueness is mottled stead of a tease

Scarlett,
Pump her nickel-
Within the want to the side out bulges
Upon edged chosen hast been a design handsomely unfickle
Just as one negates to savour the brine of a pickle
For the trace of trail to favour the indluges
Scarlett,
Pump her nickel

Opportune is meant to be one’s with a seize
Transpose ye not daze of olde
In delights pursued in afts of noon
Awashed white preened acts
That nature’s fear far the soon
Dissemble to angelic whispers in the retold
This day a moral is but trade to the sold
Freedom of thought is constrained to the link chained appease

Scarlett,
Pump her nickel
Tis of banal glory in used unsate
For fate selfed hast but a trickle
Lest be tantalized within mind trickle
To set unpromise nigh to resolve such coagulate
Scarlett,
Pump her nickel

It is but a dark satire that to be as one we secretly design our me’s
To collect a high percent of return of selfish boon
Where, why, what – a concocted sequence
As the whom expressed akins two dimensional cartoon
That mask the yearn with vocalized cold
As if individuality is but a disease

 

I’d like to thank the Poetry Palace for being chosen for this award, it is very rewarding when anything I do is noticed in a positive light!  I will nominate someone when I start perusing the talent in this round’s rally!

Advertisements

14 thoughts on “Scarlett Pumpernickel

    1. Glad you liked it! I wasn’t too sure about this one at all; it turned out entirely different than what I had intended to write – the only thing that didn’t change from the initial thought was “Scarlett, pump her nickel”. Last week I was walking through the shop and noticed that the two women, who since they started working for the company have kept their composure more to the masculine concept (these two can lift, curse, and work as hard as any guy we’ve had – so much to the point that some of the guys have forgotten at times they are women, calling them “dude” or commenting on some woman that is in the office), and I assume thought that the rest of the crew were to busy to notice them, were giggling like school girls. When I got into my office (or as I prefer to call it, “the crypt” – when the higher ups decided to revamp the space my office went from 13 x 15 down to a 13’ x 7’ rectangle, while the other offices have doors, they felt that a door on mine was not necessary even though when the equipment is running the noise makes hearing anyone on the telephone impossible) I wrote those words on the white board in hopes that the sliver of inspiration I had about what I had seen would break the walls of the writing block that I have been experiencing. I knew what I wanted to write – something a little playfully perverse. In Canada, our five cent coin, the nickel, has the queen on one side and the image of a beaver engraved on the other.
      I haven’t heard the word that my mind had gotten stuck on used outside of North America, however, “beaver” is not just the name of a buck-toothed furred quadruped that likes to build dams – it is also a guttural nickname for an area located upon lower part of a woman’s body which is primarily seen in the medical community as the fleshy topographic entrance to the reproductive organs. That particular word usage created some confusion for me as a youngster, depending on where I was. In the city when someone would suggest that we go “beaver huntin’”, we would end up in some hole in the wall looking for some women who had given up on the nobility of men to such a point that their standards in what defines their notions of what a man was lowered that knaves like me had a shot at “gettin’ them thar beavers to gnaw on mah wood”. Now up north, and someone would suggest that we go “beaver huntin’”, I would end up in the woods knee high in ice cold water – which after being in the city for a while and realigning my definition of beaver to where what I was expecting to do was entirely different, the water was almost as effective as a cold shower. Because our administration has sort of ordered me to “play nice” –I love to hear and tell dirty jokes but because of our more sensitive society, these kind of jokes could be taken as derogatory and offense, which is what makes them so damn funny in the first place –having a notion of what I wanted to write but without any else that would be worth writing in my notebook and considering I couldn’t just write on the board “think of something about two naked chicks giving it to each other” without someone potentially being offended (or confusing a client who happened to wander into my crypt) I wrote “Scarlett, pump her nickel” to allow me to look at it every once in a while to see what sort of perversity I could envision and jot down. Unfortunately, I got really busy and promptly forgot to let the phrase simmer in the back of my mind.
      This week rolls around and production comes to almost a dead halt because a supplier hadn’t delivered the metal coils that we needed for the orders the production crew were doing. I get out my notebook, sit down at the desk in the crypt and in the middle of the page write:
      “Scarlett,
      Pump her nickel-
      Within the want to the side out bulges
      Upon edged chosen hast been a design handsomely unfickle
      Just as one negates to savour the brine of a pickle
      For the trace of trail to favour the indluges
      Scarlett,
      Pump her nickel”
      With the thought that I would come up with some idea about the settings and these lines being like the Devil whispering in the ear to some woman to seduce another. I was starting to think of the set up when one of the guys comes in needing someone to help him with a task I assigned him. I tell him to grab what’s-her-name and his face blanches. I inquired what his issue was, which earned the response of “I can’t get her – she’s a girl!”
      I was stunned; on the line both women did exactly the same things the guys in production did, the lifting, the cutting, everything – yet when the work conditions were a bit slower, there suddenly became a delineation of sexes and a curtaining of what tasks were acceptable according to gender rather than ability. Truthfully, I had more confidence in the woman’s ability than the guy’s, which was the reason I had told him to take her with him, so after straightening him out on negation of limiting a person’s capabilities based on gender stereotypes (I do believe I may have snarled out “for crying out loud – she’s a friggin’ caveman with tits compared to your scrawny ass”) and sent him on his way, I returned to the notebook and began writing what had begun popping up in my mind, which turned:
      “Scarlett,
      Pump her nickel-
      Within the want to the side out bulges
      Upon edged chosen hast been a design handsomely unfickle
      Just as one negates to savour the brine of a pickle
      For the trace of trail to favour the indluges
      Scarlett,
      Pump her nickel”
      From a concept of sexual seduction to more of a psychological dissertation of how people tend to treat others as preconceived archetypes when there is the luxury of imposing them. Of course, I have no idea how others will see what I written as, but that is how I ended up seeing “Scarlett Pumpernickel” as being a voice of.

      Like

  1. Your language and mocking humor remind me of Shakespeare, giving rise to the thought that you emulate the bard, though you do it with your own style and come across extremely well. Not only a great poem, but I love the long explanation. Your description of work scenes and characters made me laugh out loud.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s