1. ruth

    Mark Caltonhill – May 2013

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    Mark performed three new songs at the May Stage Time & Wine

    “A Change in the Weather”, “Korean Beauty” and “Lettuce Legs Blues”

    Mark is a vegetarian and recommends Taiwan as a good place for non-meat eaters. A while ago, he had a dream, however, in which his legs had turned into lettuces, and he was being chased down the street by a heard of hungry sheep. Naturally, being a poet, Mark wrote a poem about the experience, which he has recently turned into a song. Although it is not blues music, it does begin “When i woke up this morning … ” and has a sad ending.

    When I woke up this morning, my legs had turned to lettuce,
    completely green from my toes up to my belt-ish
    that was alright, as I was feeling peckish
    so I showered in vinaigrette, and ate salad for breakfast.

    I opened a restaurant, called My Green World,
    serving vegetarians from all over the Earth,
    the leftovers I fed to packs of rabbits
    from which I took wool and made alpaca jackets.

    I had to take care though, when going out of doors,
    else I’d be chased by herds of herbivores,
    by cows and sheep and other animals,
    and by long-haired drug-crazed hippy cannibals.

    With my lettuce ankles and lettuce knees,
    I have to hide my legs from Cantonese,
    from Japanese politely saying “itadakimasu”,
    and Koreans hoping to make a little kimchi at last.

    A salad-mad French artist named Toulouse,
    screamed “Je voudrais manger your bloody lett-ouse.”
    while a gentle German afraid of getting fat
    asked if he could buy “ein bission kopfsalat

    With my lettuce stalk, sex can be quite hellish,
    going from crisp to limp is a constant menace,
    I still hope to find love, perhaps in Venice,
    from a kinky Italian with a green-foot fetish.

    Sometimes I hide my legs when I go on a date,
    elsetimes, I just lean back and spread them on a plate,
    nonchalantly saying to my sweetie,
    “Darlin’, If you’re hungry, don’t wait, just eat me.”

    At this point I finally awoke from my dream,
    and from under the blankets, I heard a muffled scream,
    “No, I won’t suck your toes, even doused in sauce,
    in fact, get a lawyer, I want a divorce.”

    The moral of this story, I’m sorry to say,
    is that being a vegetarian, doesn’t always pay,
    I kept the restaurant, but my wife got the rabbits,
    which she cooked and ate, so there’ll be no more jackets.

    Mark performs stand-up comedy and comic poetry and song under the names Mark Malarkey and 胡說馬克 at various locations around Taiwan. For more details refer to Mark Malarkey on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/mark.malarkey.9

     

    (c) Copyright 2013 Red Room.  Material on this site is the property of contributing members of the Red Room Community. Please do not copy any part of this publication. Thank you. 

  2. ruth

    Mark Caltonhill November 2012

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    Stand-up comedian and poet Mark Caltonhill performed a selection of
    poems inspired by his dog, Hutian, who also attended Red Room.

    Included was his recent work, “If dogs wrote poetry”

    If dogs wrote poetry,
    no meandering iambic trot,
    but galloping dactylic pace,
    or else, we’ll do the spondee strut;
    No host of golden daffodils,
    but oak or elm each forty feet,
    or lamppost, hydrant or park seat;
    No odes to nightingales,
    but rather, eulogies to rubbish dumps,
    or as we call them, the long free lunch.

    And
    If dogs wrote intertextual verse,
    we might quote from the boundless imagery of Keats,
    but only so to rhyme with treats,
    and likewise, Gysinesquely sample
    the soulful fugues of Ms. Simone,
    religious thoughts of Paul né Saul,
    the communism espoused by Marx,
    or merits of silent movies versus talkies,
    but only so we might make mention
    of bone and ball and parks and walkies.

    And
    If dogs wrote epic songs we would not,
    sing of Norway’s Amundsen versus England’s Scott,
    but instead, memorialize it as a victory,
    of Greenland Husky over Siberian Pony;
    If dogs wrote epicurean verse,
    please, we beg you, no weasels going pop,
    or blackbirds baked into a pie,
    but warm, served raw, on tarmac plate;
    And lastly,
    if dogs are meant to write sonnets on love not hate,
    why do you so thoughtlessly castrate?

    (c) Copyright 2012 Red Room.  Material on this site is the property of contributing members of the Red Room Community. Please do not copy any part of this publication. Thank you.
  3. romamehta

    Mark Malarkey, October 2012

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    Comment

    Stand-up comedian and poet Mark Malarkey spoke about the attraction of learning guitar to a man facing mid-life crisis; read his poem “Rock and Roll Sex God”, discussed the pitfalls of Internet dating, and sang an original song. The lyrics follow.

    Your Photo’s Beautiful Girl” (to the tune of Sean Kingston’s “Beautiful Girls”)

    Rock ’n Roll,
    Rhythm ’n Blues,
    Twist ’n Shout,
    Come on, come on, come on …
    and move that thing about
    let’s Groooooooooooove, Baby,
    let’s get down and Funk It,
    Skiffle, Skiffle, Groove, Groove, Funk it,
    Rap, Twist, Rap, Twist, Shooooooooout out loud,
    and then comesPunk
    Cool’n’Easy,
    Middle of the Road,
    Country-style,
    Gospel position,
    Hardrockhard, Rock-hard, Rock-hard
    Rock
    Pop
    Jazz
    Soft Rock

    “and now over to Radio Three for a Symphony by Snoozebert.”

    I can perform live
    or I can lipsynch,
    I can play lead guitar, rhythm guitar, slide guitar,
    and accompany myself with dulcet tones:
    “And even when she was giving head
    she said tkgawockadawaidsd”
    I invite girls to my room to “check out my vinyl”,
    I’ve got loooong players, extended players,
    a huge collection of double A-sides,
    I got Soul, Ska, Skiffle, ’n Funk,
    Rap, Twist, Rap, Twist,
    Shooooooooout out loud,
    and then comesPunk
    Hardrockhard, Rock-hard, Rock-hard
    Rock
    Pop
    Jazz
    Soft Rock

    “and now over to Radio Three for some Opera with Flaccido Domingo”.

    Mark Malarkey@Facebook Continue reading
  4. romamehta

    Summary by Mark Caltonhill, June 2012

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    Comment

    Awesome!
    Without the MC ever banging the gong, Red Roomers controlled their urge to ramble this month, everyone limited their contributions to 5~10 minutes, and ALL those who wished read, recite, sing or play were given the chance, and one or two people even took the opportunity to read again.

    Moreover, in terms of quality—although getting off-stage quickly ensures even the worst performer is not “poor—in fact, the presentations continue to improve in excellence and originality.

    And, lest we forget, Red Room is primarily a listening community: we listen more than we present, and we are a community. There is no “I” in “community”. Ok, there is one. This is where my analogy falls short.

    Mark Caltonhill

    Continue reading

  5. romamehta

    Mark Caltonhill, June 2012

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    Comment

    This month Mark (Malarkey) Caltonhill launched his sonnet challenge at Red Room

    the idea is that the audience choose a place, an action and an object, and Mark has an hour (or so) to write a humorous sonnet using those words

    they chose:
    Timbuktu – trolling – dresser (bureau)

    Sonnet

    In this age, it’s hard to meet girls in life,
    go’in on a date is like Russian roulette,
    my last chance to find a potential wife
    was probably best through the Internet;
    I got invites from women far overseas,
    in Sydney, and Moscow, and Timbuktu,
    from ladies with all kinds of diseases,
    and stories of hardship and bad luck too;
    I suffered flaming and trolling and memes,
    and people who just told lies for a lark,
    finally everything is what it seems,
    and I’m invited to 2-28 Park;
    Where lines of men dressed as girls from head to toe,
    in other words, a cross-dresser boy row.

    not great art, but hopefully fun

    text copyright Jiyue Publications 2012

    Continue reading

  6. romamehta

    Mark Caltonhill, May 2012

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    Comment

    Mark Caltonhill performed an extract from his poetry/stand-up routine, including the following new sonnet on one downside of aging:

    Who will rid me of these meddlesome hairs,
    sprouting ungodly from within my ears,
    so dark and flagrant while all around greys,
    yet hidden from my presbyopic eyes?
    “Excuse me, not I, a thousand times no,”
    my tantrumic coiffeur won’t snip so low;
    “With hirsute auricles I can’t compromise,”
    my barb’rous barber refuses to rise;
    “The hand’s my domain, I’ll not pass the wrist,”
    dogmatic’ly says my manicurist;
    “And don’t look at me, I only do skin,”
    my dermatologist’s excuse sounds thin.
    “I’ll cut those hairs, clip your nails, paint your tan,
    and then close your eyes,” smiles the mortician.

    (c) Copyright 2012 Red Room.  Material on this site is the property of contributing members of the Red Room Community. Please do not copy any part of this publication. Thank you.

  7. romamehta

    Mark Caltonhill, March 2012

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    1

    Inspired by a fellow Red-Roomer who said she loves 7-Eleven–since not only can she buy every meal there, but also order pretty much anything else, right up to and including a vibrator–Mark Caltonhill (a.k.a.. Malarkey) sang his latest composition:
    Heaven, I’m in Seven,
    with its drink and groc’ry choices quite unique
    and I seem to find the products that I seek,
    in five thousand stores located cheek to cheek.

    Seven, I’m in Heaven,
    where the staff don’t care if I just take a leak,
    browse the papers without paying for my peek
    or buy coffee that’s too costly and too weak.

    On Sundays I shop at Carrefour,
    for prices beyond critique,
    but I have to admit it’s Seven,
    which sees me through the week.

    Books, news and magazines,
    I like what’s smart about you,
    that elevating you,
    like a staircase to…

    Heaven, I’m in Seven,
    with its drink and groc’ry choices quite unique,
    but too much fat so my heart can hardly beat
    and a whole year’s salt allowance in a week.

    The politely-trained employees
    don’t give me any cheek
    when I order a vibrator, they
    don’t treat me like a freak.

    [Dietrich style] Bier, chips und cigarettes,
    I like what’s bad about Du,
    Darum liebe Ich Dich
    Und Was kommt nach Sechs? …

    Seven, I’m in [Seventh] Heaven,
    with its fax and printing options quite unique
    as I seem to find the services I seek,
    In five thousand stores located
    … a million stores located
    … a gazillion stores located
    cheek to cheek

    (c) Copyright 2012 Red Room.  Material on this site is the property of contributing members of the Red Room Community. Please do not copy any part of  this publication. Thank you.

  8. romamehta

    March 2012, Red Room

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    Comment

    Red Room March 17 was one of the best ever. OK, if this is too subjective, perhaps I should say that it was one of my favorites in the two-and-a-half-year history of this creative gathering.

    This is because most contributions were original, self-created and self-read. Most were also short, thereby allowing more people to read, recite, sing and perform. And listen.

    Red Room is what its members make it, goes where its members take it. Who knows where it will go next, but in March it went in a positive, creative and sharing direction.

    Summary submitted by Mark Caltonhill

    (c) Copyright 2012 Red Room.  Material on this site is the property of contributing members of the Red Room Community. Please do not copy any part of  this publication. Thank you.

  9. romamehta

    Mark Caltonhill, February 2012

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    Comment

    世界雙關語遊行日

    Short of poetic inspiration lately, Mark Caltonhill apologized for only having “light verse” to offer this month.
    He read his most recent composition, “The Day My Legs Turned to Lettuce,” based on a dream in which he was chased down the street by a flock of sheep; followed by two earlier Chinese-language humorous poems: “你很像我的狗” (You Remind Me of My Dog) and “阿兜仔都住天母” (ALL foreigners live in Tianmu).

    “…my apologies for the rhymes; if i had chosen the topic, my legs could have been some nice rhymable thing like beans or leeks or … but lettuces they were

    also, apparently “peckish” means something completely different in US English; in British English it means “slightly hungry”

    enough! here’s the poem:

    The Day My Legs Turned to Lettuce

    One day, I woke to find my legs had turned to lettuce,
    completely green, from my toes up to my … belt-ish,
    well, that was no problem as I was feeling peckish,
    so I simply showered in vinaigrette and ate green salad for my breakfast.

    I opened a self-grown self-serve vegan restaurant,
    serving hippies from Lisboa to Sebastapol,
    and I also raised packs of long-haired rabbits,
    from which I took wool and made alpaca jackets.

    I had to take care, though, when going out of doors,
    or I’d be chased by herds of herbivores,
    by cows and sheep and other animals,
    as well, of course, by those damned hippy cannibals.

    [CHORUS] One day, I woke to find my legs had turned to lettuce
    well, there was no problem when I was feeling peckish,
    so long as I did not succumb to that habitual menace,
    of ending up as food in caterpillars’ bellies.

    A polite Polish policeman once doffed his hat,
    as a leder-hosened German enquired “Kaufs du kopfsalat?”,
    meanwhile a salad-mad French artist named Toulouse,
    screamed at me “Je voudrais manger your bloody let-ouse.”

    [Chorus] One day, I woke to find my legs had turned to lettuce,
    well, there was no problem when friends were feeling peckish,
    of course, come winter, things could get quite hellish,
    as only Russians still eat salad when the weather’s wettish.

    With my lettuce ankles and lettuce knees,
    I needed to hide my legs from ravenous Cantonese,
    from chopstick-wielding Japanese politely saying “itadakimasu”,
    and cabbage-missing Koreans hoping to make their kimchi at last.

    [Chorus] One day, I woke to find my legs had turned to lettuce,
    well, there was no problem if I was feeling peckish,
    and some day, I know I’ll find true love, perhaps in Venice
    from a dirty-minded Italian with a green-foot fetish.

    Maybe I should look for love within my kingdom,
    for someone with baby-corn fingers with no ring on,
    or whose own legs are slender asparagus spears,
    but preferably who does not have cauliflower ears.

    Sometimes I hide my legs when I go on a date,
    elsetimes, I just lean back and spread them on a plate,
    nonchalantly saying to my sweetie,
    “Darlin’, if you’re hungry, you go ahead and eat me.”

    [Chorus] Well, that’s all to tell about when my legs turned to lettuce
    completely green, from my toes up to my … belt-ish,
    my story’s done, there’s no more to embellish,
    unless, of course, it’s you who now feels peckish.
    Continue reading

  10. redroom2011

    Mark Caltonhill, January 2012

    by
    3

    Time is not on our side,
    our subconsciouses know this
    so they try to hammer love
    out of like
    or lust
    and sometimes even hate,
    striking metal against metal late into the night,
    we no longer see what we are doing

    the blind leading the blind,
    teacherless,
    like infants discovering themselves in playschool
    wanting to share our uncovery with the world,
    we are in LOVE,
    cynics sneer:
    yes, love, that one-letter word,
    frown down on us,

    but we don’t care,
    won’t heed these inner voices,
    look at US,
    we are in LOVE,
    repeated and repeating,
    hammering hammered late into the night,
    like a distant clanging bell,
    love … love … love … love … love … love …

    http://aviewfromthehill-taiwan.blogspot.com/

     

    (c) Copyright 2012 Red Room.  Material on this site is the property of contributing members of the Red Room Community. Please do not copy any part of  this publication. Thank you.

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