Here we are sliding into 2024 and out of 2023.

We’ve come out of a crazy, sloppy year, 2023.

In 2023, so many things happened.

Untidy things.

I mean, someone reported a dead dog to the authorities, but it turned out the dead dog was actually a hotdog. She — it was a woman who called 911 — thought she was ordering a hotdog at the local wiener shop; the operator heard “dead dog.”

Weird stuff like that is what I mean about 2023.

Did you know there is a worm called The Rascal that is bred to rebel. That worm doesn’t listen to anyone. He is truly a rebel without a cause.

We found that out in 2023.

Yep. Weird crazy things happened.

We discovered in 2023 an invisible gland in the human body that can be activated by poetry. Yep, discovered in 2023, according to my notes, a poet gland.

All you have to do is recite two lines of a favorite poem, and then kill a chicken and sprinkle yourself with its blood.

After that, the poems come to you, and finally, you are a poet.

I found a bloody chicken on the Internet, printed the photo.

Then I cut the blood drops from the photo, and I recited a couple of lines of a favorite poem, then sprinkled myself with the paper chicken blood to see if I could prompt the invisible gland to open.

I was intrigued, so I began:

“I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and sky.

“And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.”

It is a sea-faring poem.

Definitely gland worthy.

Nothing happened.

Nothing.

I shivered; was that the gland I felt, or did I have to pee?

I didn’t know.

I guess now I’ll have a find a real chicken.

I’m joking about the birds.

Kids, leave those chickens alone

What a long, strange year it’s been.

I know you want me to cite my sources, because 2023 was nuts, and who knows what the truth is?

My source is the Internet, and that’s why I know the discoveries are real.

The stories are on the Internet, they have to be real.

Right?

Right?

Moral: Do not believe everything you read on the Internet.

Here it is, a favorite poem, in case you are curious.

Sea Fever

John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

 And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking,

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; 

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

This poem written in 1916 by John Masefield from down Ledbury way.

We appreciate his words.

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Contact: David Madrid