The Guacamole Song
A mob of versifiers write a poem, and it's the pits
A great number of bad poets lowered themselves to my challenge, and the result is a poetic triumph that promises to continue the proud tradition of George Sterling’s literary genius. I would like to extend my congratulations and my hearty thanks to the sixteen poets — and an artificial intelligence poem generator — for helping me complete The Guacamole Song.
As you’ll recall, last week I solicited verses from readers so that I might complete my versical masterpiece, a poem I expect will rival The Abalone Song, the magnum opus penned by George Sterling. The Abalone Song celebrates the morsel of deliciousness wrapped in mother-of-pearl. (You might additionally recall that I described Sterling as an old dead hack, a producer of florid poems, who had lurched about Carmel-by-the-Sea with his bohemian friends at the turn of the last century.)
I suppose, in retrospect, that I should have been more clear with readers about my expectations. Many responding contributors did poetic justice to my solicitation and sent me perfect verse, but several others apparently didn’t understand the rhythm and the rhyme, the theme and the scheme. I won’t name names, but you’ll know who they are when you read the poem (see below).
Also, some readers got downright surly about the entire enterprise. A couple of contributors were horrified that I anglicized the pronunciation of “guacamole,” claiming that it should be guaca-molay and not guaca-molee. Yet another contributor, Fred Hernandez of Pacific Grove, insisted that we are all wrong and it should be pronounced guaca-moleh.
Worse yet, I seemed to have offended Tim Thomas, Monterey’s historian extraordinaire. Thomas was particularly disgruntled that
a.) I misrepresented the importance of the common abalone to Monterey’s rich tapestry of culturally significant sea life, and
b.) I besmirched the good name of George Sterling.
I am willing to admit to a certain shellfish blind spot. I have since discovered Thomas’s amazing historical research, contained in a book he wrote in 2014 about abalone and “Pop” Ernest Doelter called The Abalone King. Thanks to Thomas, I have gained a new-found admiration for the abalone’s place in our region’s history.
But the jury is still out about George Sterling and The Abalone Song. Referring to the latter, Thomas is steamed that I referred to The Abalone Song as “the Hokey Pokey of poetry.”
Thomas seems to think that my — our! — great new poem, The Guacamole Song, is bound to be an embarrassingly inferior satire of Sterling’s hokey-pokey paean to abalone. So emboldened, Thomas has challenged me to a “face off” that would feature public readings of The Abalone Song against The Guacamole Song. Such a presentation will give the public an opportunity to “see which one stands out,” he said, with a degree of delusional confidence.
Challenge accepted!
And so, without further ado, I am proud to unveil, for the first-time ever, the complete version of The Guacamole Song, a 31-stanza masterpiece that starts with my original poetry followed by whack-a-doodle verses submitted by 15 of America’s worst poets – and by a random artificial intelligence poem generator (because that’s where American culture is apparently heading these days):
The Guacamole Song
* Oh! some loathe avocado on toast
Because they think it’s phony;
But I’m of a piece to forgo my lease
To live on guacamole.
* Italian is fine and I like to dine
On bread and cannelloni;
But I do my best with life’s biggest tests
When I’ve crammed on guacamole.
* Popeye eats spinach and when he is finished
His muscles are big and stoney.
But when he proceeds with Olive Oyl’s needs
He loads up on guacamole.
* On Salinas’s streets, we love good cheap eats
And we dine with parsimony,
But we ain’t cheap — we don’t give a bleep! —
When we can get it with guacamole.
* He says Gee! And she says Whee!
And they say Holy-Móle!
And thus we all say, forget Bobby Flay,
Make mine with guacamole.
π My avocado pit split quite boldly
And displayed an image wholly holy
‘Twas a Madonna roly poly
Behold Our Lady of Guacamole
ø When time to dine, I am inclined
To stand and shout out, “Olé”
That great green stuff, can’t get enough
They call it guacamole.
ø Some like Nivea, Some like Pond’s
Some swear by Oil of Olay
But I wash my face, (and everyplace)
with fresh green guacamole!
ø When it rains, we all complain
Because our roof is holey
I'll patch it up with just a cup
of great green guacamole.
ø Said by the host, “Please have some toast!”
To which I shouted, “No Way!”
“I can’t eat that without a pat
of fresh green guacamole!”
ø I think you’ll find I’m of a mind
To embrace this wholly:
When avo’s ripe, I am the type
to make some guacamole.
√ From the left-coast tourist boardwalks,
To the right-coast island, Coney;
We happily dine on that green slime
The splendid guacamole.
√ For the fruit overripe, serve it with tripe
(Or "offal" if you want to be tony)
If you eat it with chips it goes straight to your hips
That blessed guacamole.
√ Onions, garlic, tomatoes, and salt,
If you wish you can go all dog-and-pony.
But it's especially fine with a wee bit of lime
A wonderful treat, guacamole!
∫ Of Livernois much has been said
But never that he’s a phony
One moonlit nite he was stopped by the cops
Covered wholly in Guacamole
∂ We don’t want lumps of tomato chunk
That’s totally unholy!
Lime, minced onion, Cilantro fine,
For the perfect guacamole!
+ I did my best when I confessed
To try and act real holy
Said Hail Marys, as you’ve guessed
While chewing guacamole
∆ I once watched a film about
Possession most unholy
A young girl spun her head around
Then spewed out guacamole
≈ The sunfish is a funny thing
It’s large and rather bony
It has few natural enemies
When served with guacamole.
Ç Some have sneered and called me roly-poly
But they can’t spark a cry of “woe’s me”
For I live solely
On glorious guacamole.
Ç While shopping El Super in my Spanglishy way
(Far more “Glish” than “Span,” I must say)
I pause to ask, "¿Donde está el guacamole?…
“Er… Espero no es ‘la’ guac, I pray.”
∞ I ate guacamole from Iowa.
It's taste, it nearly defiled, yah.
From the tip of my tongue
To the end of the bung
The awful green goo really riled, aaaghhh!º
≤≥ Lo, devotees of rhymed doggerel
Will quibble and snort, “Oh stay,
To hear the ‘long A’ of guacamole
Miscast as a wee ‘ee’ — insufferable”
≤≥ ‘Tis akin to pairing roly-poly
With a savory chicken mole,
It’s broken like an old Zamboni
Meriting a loud “No way or Ole.”
∑ It’s green and lumpy with specks of spices
comes alive with chips even less than wholly
Forget the rest of the food on the table
There’s nothing better than guacamole
∑ Poets are stumped when trying to rhyme
Words in different languages as
e’s can sound like a’s at times they agree
Like with the funny word guacamole
¥ Of all fruit the alligator pear is most adored
For from its flesh sublime comes creamy guacamole
When a heaping bowl and chips are brought to board
Without a doubt everyone will shout: holy moly
# Some like it chunky
Some like it smooth
But it’s downright unholy
to eat store bought guacamole
« A firm avocado,
A ripe red tomato,
Un poco de chile y sal,
Cebolla, cilantro, limón,
Oh, pity the fool,
Who of this delight,
Has never partaken
Ω So let us gather, with bowls full in hand,
Embark on a gastronomic wonderland,
For in Guacamole, love unfurls,
A fiesta of flavors, life's taste buds twirls.
Ω With each indulgent spoonful, we transcend,
Into a realm of pure bliss, where taste ascend,
Oh, Guacamole, a poet's delight,
You fill our hearts, day and night.
Our esteemed poets, listed:
* Joe Livernois
π Fred Hernandez
ø Arden Eaton
+ Ray O’Halloran
∂ Robin Eschliman
∫ Greg Furey
√ Michael Fink
∆ David Lynch
≈ Jeff Rothal
Ç Katherine Ball
∞ Edward P. Noire
≤≥ Larry Parsons
∑ Peter Hiller
¥ John Balcom
# Pam Dozier
« Leslie Patino
Ω boredhumans.com poetry generator
By the way, during my skulking research about abalone, I came across an incredibly bittersweet requiem for Sterling, written by Upton Sinclair, the great American muckraker. Sinclair considered the Carmel poet his “dearest friend.” The essay I discovered was published in the communist/progressive newspaper, The Daily Worker, in late 1927. It provides a unique and candid first-person account of the odd community of writers and artists that Sterling attracted in Carmel at the time of the city’s founding.
The essay is also a heartbreaking portrayal of Sinclair’s unsteady friendship with Sterling. I am unable to find any mention or citation of Sinclair’s lovely 2,400-word passage in any of the literature or biographies written about Sterling, Sinclair or the Carmel Bohemian scene.
I am sharing the unabridged version of Sinclair’s requiem here. I recommend it both as an astonishing piece of lost literature and as a vivid account of some whacky Monterey County history.
Read Sinclair's Tribute to Sterling