Some years  ago, there was a Mensa convention in San Francisco .  
Mensa, as you know, is a national organization for people who have an  IQ of 140 or higher.








Several of  the Mensa members went out for lunch at a local cafe.   When  they sat down, one of them discovered that their salt shaker contained  pepper, and their pepper shaker was full of salt.     How could they swap the contents of the two bottles woithout spilling  any, and using only the implements at hand?   Clearly   --  this was a job for Mensa minds.








The group  debated the problem and presented ideas and finally, came up with a  brilliant solution involving a napkin, a straw, and an empty  saucer.






They called  the waitress over, ready to dazzle here with their  solution.






"Ma'am," they  said, "we couldn't help but notice that the pepper shaker contains  salt and the salt shaker  --  "




But before  they could finish,..........

the waitress  interrupted.   "Oh  --  sorry about  that."


She leaned over the table, unscrewed the caps of  both bottles and switched them.








The was dead  silence at the Mensa table.

This emptiness i can't feed
through these people i too easily ****
i hope i'm wrong
but i know i'm not
here in the vessel
i rot
wasting my mind
wasting my time
waiting, no rhyme
everything i try
every time i die
nothing new
one didn't work
neither did two
both were perfect
but i'm insane
i try to hard
for them
i'd always be perfect
but no one wants that
i'm cold
calculated
doing what's smart
not what's caring
but i'll always share
my everything
i'm not happy
somewhere between
mensa and model
i look for a new her
if someone understood
that...would

You're as beautiful as Mensa
And i'm a young gun with Dementia
Forgetting things cause the thoughts are out of pace
But at least you're a magnificent preface
To the story about to unfold here

Black widow, waiting for a strike,
Crouching small, behind your mike.
You love to see contestants cringing,
This is a quiz; it’s not a lynching.

Face ******* up behind her glasses.
I’ve seen better bums on lasses.
Centre spot on stage she poses,
A jagged thorn on jet-black roses.

She’d like us to believe, I think.
She’d never be the weakest link.
Superior look upon her face,
Shame about the old boat race.

What’s this I see? You have a degree?
Still, you’ll never be as good as me.
Who chose that dress? Don’t like the shirt!
She loves to dig and throw the dirt.

Oh! And you belong to Mensa.
I’ve never met anyone who’s denser.
This is a quiz, I hope you know?
You’re the weakest link; you’ll have to go.

She earns more money than the Queen.
She’ll never be an old has been.
Was she born or just invented?
Let’s hope the moulds been lost or dented.

Where do you come from? No don’t know it.
Still you’re common and you show it.
I’m from Liverpool; I’m a Scouse,
You ought to see my big fine house.

It’s easy when you have the answers; see!
Too believe you are much cleverer than we.
But you’re not that clever, Ann we think.
Oh and one more thing, I Hate That Wink!

he was just that
a fetal pig
but not the kind you dissected
in high school biology

he was lazy of course
and how he loved his corn

in his darker moments
his snout....it would smolder
the professors postulated that
he must be off-gasing
but the more cynical ones
they would only mutter
“i bet he’s just doing that on purpose”

now the men in suits they were just
plain jealous

they’d posture and scheme
all the better
to be the one who’d get to
"hunker down" with him
(maybe mess with his *****)

so now they’re all reading dictionaries
and memorizing quadratic equations
never mind the smell

but the pig....he’s happy
just making puddings
and trying not to think

about how little time is left

poisoned well of the antichrist littered with ground cover
picking out ****** flecks of gravel
blacktop kneeskin
patience pieces of scattered space time
to go back to the future of continuity
lack of genius ingenuity
and the suckling of the pig entourage

riding in a flat top hatchback
cadillac of the daily grind
upperclassman japan onii-chan
brother in arms from anotha motha
hug from afar colliding with crackpot theory

terrible fantasia cooling bricks in soggy sun
swallowed his pride with a glass of self-worth
and these ***** don't cook like they used to
I don't look like I used to
warped veil of camouflage chameleon leather
with a ****** level of automobile salesman

tried to get closer to god
ground him up, picked out the stems
twisted him into thin paper
touched flame to his finger tip and a son of Adam was born

gum shoe gaze
or the emptiness felt at the end of reasonable doubt
correctional text messaging system
sent from hoarse corpses
tenderly poignant in their ****** coffins

will think for food
cries from an outdated MENSA
over ***** and under-appreciated
siting on hunched shoulders to get a better look
to be a martian in a plain port

wharf warehouse whaling boat
red tide in a Shanghai *******
floodgates made of bitter premise
that last bit of purple yam
**** Okonkwo
Things Fall Apart fell apart due to faded highschool ambitions and bloodshot eyes
cruel like the shade of off-cerulean

champagne fizz tickles at the soft meat of his tarnished throat
and silver tongue
as the matchstick framework
so fragile in comparison
fizzles out on drenched sidewalk
while cigarette ash floats by
like gray gnats

Le dicevano: - Bambina!
Che tu non lasci mai stesa,
dalla sera alla mattina,
ma porta dove l'hai presa,
la tovaglia bianca, appena
ch'è terminata la cena!
Bada, che vengono i morti!
I tristi, i pallidi morti!
Entrano, ansimano muti.
Ognuno è tanto mai stanco!
E si fermano seduti
la notte intorno a quel bianco.
Stanno lì sino al domani,
col capo tra le due mani,
senza che nulla si senta,
sotto la lampada spenta. -
È già grande la bambina:
la casa regge, e lavora:
fa il bucato e la cucina,
fa tutto al modo d'allora.
Pensa a tutto, ma non pensa
a sparecchiare la mensa.
Lascia che vengano i morti,
i buoni, i poveri morti.
Oh! la notte nera nera,
di vento, d'acqua, di neve,
lascia ch'entrino da sera,
col loro anelito lieve;
che alla mensa torno torno
riposino fino a giorno,
cercando fatti lontani
col capo tra le due mani.
Dalla sera alla mattina,
cercando cose lontane,
stanno fissi, a fronte china,
su qualche bricia di pane,
e volendo ricordare,
bevono lagrime amare.
Oh! non ricordano i morti,
i cari, i cari suoi morti!
- Pane, sì... pane si chiama,
che noi spezzammo concordi:
ricordate?... È tela, a dama:
ce n'era tanta: ricordi?...
Queste?... Queste sono due,
come le vostre e le tue,
due nostre lagrime amare
cadute nel ricordare! -.

La donzelletta vien dalla campagna,
In sul calar del sole,
Col suo fascio dell'erba; e reca in mano
Un mazzolin di rose e di viole,
Onde, siccome suole,
Ornare ella si appresta
Dimani, al dì di festa, il petto e il crine.
Siede con le vicine
Su la scala a filar la vecchierella,
Incontro là dove si perde il giorno;
E novellando vien del suo buon tempo,
Quando ai dì della festa ella si ornava,
Ed ancor sana e snella
Solea danzar la sera intra di quei
Ch'ebbe compagni dell'età più bella.
Già tutta l'aria imbruna,
Torna azzurro il sereno, e tornan l'ombre
Giù dà colli e dà tetti,
Al biancheggiar della recente luna.
Or la squilla dà segno
Della festa che viene;
Ed a quel suon diresti
Che il cor si riconforta.
I fanciulli gridando
Su la piazzuola in frotta,
E qua e là saltando,
Fanno un lieto romore:
E intanto riede alla sua parca mensa,
Fischiando, il zappatore,
E seco pensa al dì del suo riposo.
Poi quando intorno è spenta ogni altra face,
E tutto l'altro tace,
Odi il martel picchiare, odi la sega
Del legnaiuol, che veglia
Nella chiusa bottega alla lucerna,
E s'affretta, e s'adopra
Di fornir l'opra anzi il chiarir dell'alba.
Questo di sette è il più gradito giorno,
Pien di speme e di gioia:
Diman tristezza e noia
Recheran l'ore, ed al travaglio usato
Ciascuno in suo pensier farà ritorno.
Garzoncello scherzoso,
Cotesta età fiorita
È come un giorno d'allegrezza pieno,
Giorno chiaro, sereno,
Che precorre alla festa di tua vita.
Godi, fanciullo mio; stato soave,
Stagion lieta è cotesta.
Altro dirti non vò; ma la tua festa
Ch'anco tardi a venir non ti sia grave.

Le dicevano: - Bambina!
Che tu non lasci mai stesa,
dalla sera alla mattina,
ma porta dove l'hai presa,
la tovaglia bianca, appena
ch'è terminata la cena!
Bada, che vengono i morti!
I tristi, i pallidi morti!
Entrano, ansimano muti.
Ognuno è tanto mai stanco!
E si fermano seduti
la notte intorno a quel bianco.
Stanno lì sino al domani,
col capo tra le due mani,
senza che nulla si senta,
sotto la lampada spenta. -
È già grande la bambina:
la casa regge, e lavora:
fa il bucato e la cucina,
fa tutto al modo d'allora.
Pensa a tutto, ma non pensa
a sparecchiare la mensa.
Lascia che vengano i morti,
i buoni, i poveri morti.
Oh! la notte nera nera,
di vento, d'acqua, di neve,
lascia ch'entrino da sera,
col loro anelito lieve;
che alla mensa torno torno
riposino fino a giorno,
cercando fatti lontani
col capo tra le due mani.
Dalla sera alla mattina,
cercando cose lontane,
stanno fissi, a fronte china,
su qualche bricia di pane,
e volendo ricordare,
bevono lagrime amare.
Oh! non ricordano i morti,
i cari, i cari suoi morti!
- Pane, sì... pane si chiama,
che noi spezzammo concordi:
ricordate?... È tela, a dama:
ce n'era tanta: ricordi?...
Queste?... Queste sono due,
come le vostre e le tue,
due nostre lagrime amare
cadute nel ricordare! -.

A man of Mensa fell from grace,
Along with the world's population bound for space.
The ship was constructed from metal of a new source.
The inventor for which was known to be hoarse.

Warnings had been shared.
Reserves were being prepared.
Rumours ran amuck.
Confidence became unstuck.

A limitless arc of man's own invention.
Its potential impacts go without mention.
A crew selected.
No aspect neglected.

Few men chose to stay behind.
To the Christian faith they were all aligned.
Fearful of the concept of a new life,
One void of the perils held within religious strife.

The day man left earth,
Christians chose to stay in the waters of their baptismal birth.
They stared in awe as the shuttle soared,
The throttle for which was completely floored.

The man at the helm possessed an incredible mind.
A duplicate the centuries have made hard to find.
Cogs in the ship became incorrectly tangled,
And soon the thrusters were completely mangled.

The ship plummeted towards the ground
Screams of agony the only audible sound
The whole thing crashed and burned.
All were dead, no lesson to be learned.

The world was left without reason.
A word against Christ deemed to be high treason.
Now, these void of thought own the land
Sacrificial place holders for those who took a truly righteous stand.

(in honor of 16shots by Vic Mensa)

humans :  dec. 10, 2023.
                         subject X
                         wavy hair, African descent.
                         command issued: bow down
                         return: subject X fails to conform
                         return: subject X fails to bow down.

subject X: Resist
                  Resist
                  Resist

humans : Subject X seems to have rejected        
                         our psych training.
                         return: conversion to slave failed.
                         inference: indomitable spirit 
                         advise: imprison subject X          immediately.
                       new orders: We have a rebel.  
                       I repeat: we have a REBEL!

Kick a dead man
He don't bleed
rubber face
never breaks
has no need

Why stab the thing
it doesn't live
wrapped in bags
buried in the sea

feed the fish

Dumpster dive deliveries
snails and worms
and pretty things
fingernails pony tails

and teeth

A thousand million
maybe more
trinkets
and a broken *****
washed up on a
greasy shore

get your needles free

with running shoes and feet

treasures on the beach

dig the earth and reach
search for more

muggings of my sanity
I can't go out
I'm never free
all the eyes are watching me
dollars down the drain

such a shame

***** names and ***** stains
I've seen it all
It's all the same
demoralized beaten
left for dead

Dig a grave
for someone else
staring back
behind the glass
whiskey poems
the Mensa test
and death

Diseased

Pick Your poison
cups of tea...
forget

there's simply nothin' left

No one Loves
no one tries
kick the bodies all aside
and deal your truth
where it seems to fit

I spit

I'm used to it

I think it's time to go to sleep
digging up a darker deep
Killing pigs
with gloves of kid
I slit the neck
bleeding out in reams

it streams

anything that floats your boat
Is likely just a dream

and one more lifeless body
slips into the drink

Roosty

Le dicevano: - Bambina!
Che tu non lasci mai stesa,
dalla sera alla mattina,
ma porta dove l'hai presa,
la tovaglia bianca, appena
ch'è terminata la cena!
Bada, che vengono i morti!
I tristi, i pallidi morti!
Entrano, ansimano muti.
Ognuno è tanto mai stanco!
E si fermano seduti
la notte intorno a quel bianco.
Stanno lì sino al domani,
col capo tra le due mani,
senza che nulla si senta,
sotto la lampada spenta. -
È già grande la bambina:
la casa regge, e lavora:
fa il bucato e la cucina,
fa tutto al modo d'allora.
Pensa a tutto, ma non pensa
a sparecchiare la mensa.
Lascia che vengano i morti,
i buoni, i poveri morti.
Oh! la notte nera nera,
di vento, d'acqua, di neve,
lascia ch'entrino da sera,
col loro anelito lieve;
che alla mensa torno torno
riposino fino a giorno,
cercando fatti lontani
col capo tra le due mani.
Dalla sera alla mattina,
cercando cose lontane,
stanno fissi, a fronte china,
su qualche bricia di pane,
e volendo ricordare,
bevono lagrime amare.
Oh! non ricordano i morti,
i cari, i cari suoi morti!
- Pane, sì... pane si chiama,
che noi spezzammo concordi:
ricordate?... È tela, a dama:
ce n'era tanta: ricordi?...
Queste?... Queste sono due,
come le vostre e le tue,
due nostre lagrime amare
cadute nel ricordare! -.

Science and Religion
never best of friends
like a cat and a pigeon
a bond that quickly ends

yet to heavens they both look
in search of inspiration
and they're reading some fat book
for an explanation

and they're filled with so much hope
that there is an answer
looking for it in the pope
or when they join Mensa

could it be their destination
always same has been
and it's there in an equation
hidden in john 3:16

La donzelletta vien dalla campagna,
In sul calar del sole,
Col suo fascio dell'erba; e reca in mano
Un mazzolin di rose e di viole,
Onde, siccome suole,
Ornare ella si appresta
Dimani, al dì di festa, il petto e il crine.
Siede con le vicine
Su la scala a filar la vecchierella,
Incontro là dove si perde il giorno;
E novellando vien del suo buon tempo,
Quando ai dì della festa ella si ornava,
Ed ancor sana e snella
Solea danzar la sera intra di quei
Ch'ebbe compagni dell'età più bella.
Già tutta l'aria imbruna,
Torna azzurro il sereno, e tornan l'ombre
Giù dà colli e dà tetti,
Al biancheggiar della recente luna.
Or la squilla dà segno
Della festa che viene;
Ed a quel suon diresti
Che il cor si riconforta.
I fanciulli gridando
Su la piazzuola in frotta,
E qua e là saltando,
Fanno un lieto romore:
E intanto riede alla sua parca mensa,
Fischiando, il zappatore,
E seco pensa al dì del suo riposo.
Poi quando intorno è spenta ogni altra face,
E tutto l'altro tace,
Odi il martel picchiare, odi la sega
Del legnaiuol, che veglia
Nella chiusa bottega alla lucerna,
E s'affretta, e s'adopra
Di fornir l'opra anzi il chiarir dell'alba.
Questo di sette è il più gradito giorno,
Pien di speme e di gioia:
Diman tristezza e noia
Recheran l'ore, ed al travaglio usato
Ciascuno in suo pensier farà ritorno.
Garzoncello scherzoso,
Cotesta età fiorita
È come un giorno d'allegrezza pieno,
Giorno chiaro, sereno,
Che precorre alla festa di tua vita.
Godi, fanciullo mio; stato soave,
Stagion lieta è cotesta.
Altro dirti non vò; ma la tua festa
Ch'anco tardi a venir non ti sia grave.

La donzelletta vien dalla campagna,
In sul calar del sole,
Col suo fascio dell'erba; e reca in mano
Un mazzolin di rose e di viole,
Onde, siccome suole,
Ornare ella si appresta
Dimani, al dì di festa, il petto e il crine.
Siede con le vicine
Su la scala a filar la vecchierella,
Incontro là dove si perde il giorno;
E novellando vien del suo buon tempo,
Quando ai dì della festa ella si ornava,
Ed ancor sana e snella
Solea danzar la sera intra di quei
Ch'ebbe compagni dell'età più bella.
Già tutta l'aria imbruna,
Torna azzurro il sereno, e tornan l'ombre
Giù dà colli e dà tetti,
Al biancheggiar della recente luna.
Or la squilla dà segno
Della festa che viene;
Ed a quel suon diresti
Che il cor si riconforta.
I fanciulli gridando
Su la piazzuola in frotta,
E qua e là saltando,
Fanno un lieto romore:
E intanto riede alla sua parca mensa,
Fischiando, il zappatore,
E seco pensa al dì del suo riposo.
Poi quando intorno è spenta ogni altra face,
E tutto l'altro tace,
Odi il martel picchiare, odi la sega
Del legnaiuol, che veglia
Nella chiusa bottega alla lucerna,
E s'affretta, e s'adopra
Di fornir l'opra anzi il chiarir dell'alba.
Questo di sette è il più gradito giorno,
Pien di speme e di gioia:
Diman tristezza e noia
Recheran l'ore, ed al travaglio usato
Ciascuno in suo pensier farà ritorno.
Garzoncello scherzoso,
Cotesta età fiorita
È come un giorno d'allegrezza pieno,
Giorno chiaro, sereno,
Che precorre alla festa di tua vita.
Godi, fanciullo mio; stato soave,
Stagion lieta è cotesta.
Altro dirti non vò; ma la tua festa
Ch'anco tardi a venir non ti sia grave.

We all undo and ***** into a pool or some kind of meaningless puddle
Where our thought escape, linger and dwell
When sometimes all we needed was a good cuddle
Starting at the end of a ready burst bubble
It shatters, it explodes into small catch-less pieces
Just what did it hold to make it suffer
That made it implode into a time with no buffer
And disapper like the Central Park guy, Gunther
We all have our thoughts of what comes next
All these Instagrams to share and get off our chests
Before they become non-fashioned in a time of manifest
Thinking of a money spinner to make our dreams come true
What could, what would and the Ikea enigma of mahogany or tained blue
Life throws us under a bus whether MENSA or just plaim dumb
Whatever way you look at it its always the same
Life is a conundrum

JJB

Alternately titled: Last of the fluff
belonging to a Mohican
Norwegian bachelor farmer wannabe.

Any resemblance between said unnamed individual
and living persons purely coincidental

Scads of decades back in the day,
not since this sexagenarian baby boomer
happened to be approximately
three and a half decades deep,
into his freshman year at college,
the word haircut
just re:entered his vocabulary
at the expense of unfairly
subjecting innocent bystanders
slipping and sliding along oil slicks

dripping off the bedraggled
locks of mein haar
(veritable strangers in a strange land -
plus medical practitioners such as:
optometrist, otolaryngologists, internists, et cetera)
wore latex gloves when their hands
forced to make contact
with living and breathing biohazard
namely videre licet
greasy critter infested hair

(essentially a near microscopic ecosystem -)
thriving amidst primordial ooze property of one
long haired pencil necked geek,
who rode into the quaint town
(that time forgot
and the years could not improve)
******* his trusty horse
at Salon Nova LLC
377 W Ridge Pike A, Limerick, PA 19468.

Upon entering aforementioned
beautician promoting being pampered establishment
out there on the prairie
immediately spelled home companion,
yours truly (me) received
a warm welcome
from Jessamine McKeown.

I unhesitatingly, gingerly, and excitedly
sat in the comfortable barber chair,
and let the technician
affix the plastic drape
after which she brushed
my somewhat tangled hair,
(vowing not to wince),
cuz I bristled with some discomfort
since straggly, ratty,
nippy, nap, noopy,
drippy, drap droopy,

limp locks of time
rarely saw the teeth of a comb
cuz yours truly became
negligent regarding grooming,
which absent attention to self
fell by the wayside
around middle school age
after my mother
forced me to take a bath
no matter the time

fast approaching bewitching hour,
and yours truly (me) vowed
on a stack of Revised English Version
of the Bible translated
from a biblical Unitarian perspective
to neglect hygiene - think
passive aggressive behaviour,
which did stand me in good stead,
when in the midst of fellow Neanderthals
within the realm of the twilight zone
signaling the outer limits

of proto **** sapiens civilizations
where dark shadows linkedin
to the allegory of the caves
far from the madding crowd
unsuspecting tribal simians
guffawing at a photograph
taken early/mid July of ninety ninety six,
which did recaptcha
for an ephemeral timeless moment,
a youthful shirtless young man

a proud grown boy
revealing his hairless washboard stomach
smiling without a care in the world
and counting himself
the luckiest guy in the webbed wide world,
cuz a beautiful babe would become
the mother of his firstborn
about five months thence
unknowingly imposing the impetus
of impending selfless responsibilities
necessary to quell unhappy infant.

Offtimes our bundle of joy inconsolable
and presented an impossible mission to pacify,
exhausting both of us birth parents
and interestingly enough
an unexpected turn of events
can be iterated in retrospect
of my life and hard times,
whereby the author of these words
(and proud papa of either daughter,
one youngest offspring

necessitated receiving modified
Individualized Education Program (IEP),
attributed to developmental (cognitive) delays,
whereas the eldest gifted
as exceptionally intelligent progeny
and a potential candidate for Mensa
so different from yours truly (me),
who foundered at various crossroads of his life,
ever since day one
and felt like veritable pariah,

not necessarily being called enfant terrible
nor ragamuffin to his face
but transition from boyhood to puberty
triggered quiet protestations
to comply with established standards
mainly concerning cleanliness
once riot of hormones unleashed
an emotional tsunami
attendant with secretion of body odor
atavistic characteristics to attract a mate.