The Dancy Dance, a Holiday Tradition


In honor of Hannukah and Christmas, I offer you this holiday-themed poem by the great American poet Bob Folder. Like we have done, you may well wish to make it a permanent part of your family’s winter celebrations.

The Dancy Dance

I in all my lucky days
Have never danced inside my pants
Have never danced a dancie dance
Inside my little pantsie pants.

I in all the spooky fruit
That spun so slowly in my sleep
Have never dared to lift the sheet
And take a little peekie peek.


Babar the Applesauce

Capitulate why don’t you? Dos figuratives
met in the garden of my villa at Caesarea.
Speak softly to the applesauce in my lumberjack boots.
She dealt her dark sticky card on the white
table of the sheet: Van Sant traps, she thinks.
Wo doggies! My buttcheeks are twitchin’ like
3 sheep in a rain storm—
Bellbottoms are my mom.
The ocean broke loose from its sockets and
bent us like coathangers. Phonecians.
Fetch me my monk frog, Donate my liver,
the potted meat plant rang me like a
windchime. Guatemalan lunch bucket


Lost Bob Folder Translation Rediscovered


Readers and scholars are intimately familiar with Bob Folder’s translation of  Robert Frost’s “Stopping By the Woods on a Snowy Evening,” “Dropping By the Goods on a Low-Brow Heathen.” But they are only now starting to come to terms with a completely unknown alternative translation of that poem called “I Have Felt One Elf Tainted By the Sight,” which is a translation of “Acquainted With the Night.”

I Have Felt One Elf Tainted By the Sight

I have felt one elf tainted by the sight
Of Wookies in chains in shacks of shame.
I’m an outlaw furrier smitten with blight.


Lost Bob Folder Poem Rediscovered


Employing the literary archaeological technique of musico-textual analysis, the Center for Folderian Studies has reconstructed a lost poem by the master-poet Bob Folder. Among the poems lost in the infamous Max’s Bob Folder Folder Incident, this poem has been resurrected from a Dream Teens song that used his words for lyrics. (Listen to the song here.)

There was some contention as to whether the song’s lyrics come from a single poem or are the result of merging several together. Dr. Taylor said he believed the lyrics to come from a single poem with the LBaB reference being a list item; this led me to speculate that TtA was also perhaps a list item. Research is ongoing.

Read the poem after the jump.


A Moment of Gambler’s Clarity


My friend Joe Brooks and I wrote this script for a short film some years back, after a trip to Vegas. I’m not sure where the title character came from. But I’m pretty sure he’s real.


Note on characters:  Guy is a man.  Brent Huffman, on the other hand is a stuffed peccary mounted on a wheeled board with casters and a twine string to pull him with.  All the characters in the play react to Brent as though they can hear him.  The audience cannot.  The Dealer, the Waiter, Second Dealer and the Mob Boss can be played by one actor

The dealer, Paul, Guy and Brent Huffman are sitting around the table.


Paul makes a waving motion with his hand, Guy scrapes table with cards


The Tongue in the Sink


Lampwise the spanking took shape in the stink
Thus, trinket-wise, I drew the tiny resemblance of compost
And spied, through the doorcrack, the tongue in the sink
Skate with ducks in a marmalade rink
Simon says: immerse yourself in the memory of roast
Lampwise the spanking took shape in the stink
I scooped up the spent coins with my mouth and winked:


The Dancy Dance

This is quite possibly Bob Folder’s finest poem

I in all my lucky days
Have never danced inside my pants
Have never danced a dancie-dance
Inside my little pantsie-pants.

I in all the spooky fruit
That spun so slowly in my sleep
Have never dared to lift the sheet
And take a little peekie-peek.

But every monstrous shake-n-bake
That launched a dump-truck in the lake
Baked a little cakie-cake
And popped a toad until it spake.

In all those lucky daisie-days
Of dancing in my pantsie-pants
And taking leave of common sense
I never danced a dancie-dance

In the Pulp Industry

by Bob Folder

In the pulp industry
Success has a very distinctive perfume
The perfume of Eucalyptus globulus
Nurtured and expertly grown by Portucel
In its vast forests
In Portugal

These special trees
Provide the best of white pulps

The extraordinary efficiency
Of Portucel Industrial’s factories and methods
Does the rest
Ensuring not only the highest standard of quality
But also making us
One of the leading suppliers to Europe

And to make sure
That our unique performances
Are environmentally friendly
Every year
We invest in cleaner and safer facilities


The Folderist Manifesto

Although it might seem lazy and anachronistic to do so I do so. I have condescended and deemed it necessary. I have wheedled and cajoled, bullied and pleaded. I have come to no conclusions. The jury is still out, to return momentarily, hung. In the meantime I dangle, undecided, before my very nose, unwilling to back down.

I am jumping up and down inside my skin, full to bursting, as the toilets whizz by overhead.

I walk hand in hand with the jellyfilled donut of apprehension. Squeeze my hind-end.