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From Ryan Iverson, who brought us a few similar readings, comes the Clement C. Moore classic “A Visit from St. Nicholas” as interpreted by his impression of Werner Herzog. -Thanks, Ryan!
In 1993, when he was 58 years old, John Basinger (JB) decided he would memorize the 10,565 line poem Paradise Lost by John Milton. By age 74, he could recite books one and two from memory. After seeing JB perform, psychologist John Seamon was fascinated and arranged to test the man’s memory.
Seamon and his team asked JB to take part in tests regarding the epic work where they cued him with two lines selected from anywhere in the poem and asked him to recall the following 10 lines. In one part they picked out lines as they went through the books in order, in another they just chose books at random.
He seemed to stumble on a couple of books when they were tackled sequentially, but generally his verbatim recall was generally above 90% and seemed more consistent when the books were picked out randomly. The team also video-taped one of his live performances and found his average accuracy was between 97% and 98%.
JB is no savant; his accomplishments apparently came from hard work and dedication to the task. Link -via Nag on the Lake
Psst … need to break up with someone? Just because it’s emotionally gut-wrenching it doesnt’ mean that you can’t be creative.
Here’s a funny video clip about how to break up with someone … with poetry! Link
A palindrome is a word or a phrase which is the same when read from the start or the end, for example the word wow or racecar. Or how about the phrase; A Toyota’s a Toyota. where ever you start they are the same.
You would imagine a palindrome is pretty hard to think up, maybe the odd word could be easy enough, and with a bit of effort a phrase, well how about a 224 word poem? here’s
“Dammit I’m Mad”
by
Demetri Martin
Dammit I’m mad.
Evil is a deed as I live.
God, am I reviled? I rise, my bed on a sun, I melt.
To be not one man emanating is sad. I piss.
Alas, it is so late. Who stops to help?
Man, it is hot. I’m in it. I tell.
I am not a devil. I level “Mad Dog”.
Ah, say burning is, as a deified gulp,
In my halo of a mired rum tin.
I erase many men. Oh, to be man, a sin.
Is evil in a clam? In a trap?
No. It is open. On it I was stuck.
Rats peed on hope. Elsewhere dips a web.
Be still if I fill its ebb.
Ew, a spider… eh?
We sleep. Oh no!
Deep, stark cuts saw it in one position.
Part animal, can I live? Sin is a name.
Both, one… my names are in it.
Murder? I’m a fool.
A hymn I plug, deified as a sign in ruby ash,
A Goddam level I lived at.
On mail let it in. I’m it.
Oh, sit in ample hot spots. Oh wet!
A loss it is alas (sip). I’d assign it a name.
Name not one bottle minus an ode by me:
“Sir, I deliver. I’m a dog”
Evil is a deed as I live.
Dammit I’m mad.
I promise you, bar some punctuation, it reads the same forwards or backwards.
(image credit: Flickr user puja)
From the Upcoming 
ueue, submitted by 
See also: A Day in Palindromia
Tiny Poems is a blog about mini poetry written on a single sheet of sticky yellow Post-It Notes. Sometimes the best ideas are the simplest, and the cleverest poets are the briefest!
Like a madness,
it grips internals,
twitching,
flexing,
instincts correlate,
holding me here,
driving me closer to them.
