Richard Stevenson

The July Selected Poet is Richard Stevenson

Please feel free to email Richard at: richard.stevenson@shaw.ca



Scientists are not amused
by endangered Monk Seals
popping up with eels in their noses.

Is this some kind of adolescent prank
that teenage seals do to each other?
Or do the seals just siphon up the eels

by sniffing a little too vigorously
as the eels twist in and out of eel grass?
Seals wouldn’t snort eels, would they?

Not under water anyway. They’re mammals after all.
So what happens when the seals can’t eject the eels
by holding one flipper over the other nostril?

And how do they maintain their cool when
engaged in social intercourse with other seals
with a damn eel hanging out of one nostril?!

Oh that. That’d just an experiment.
I’m trying to start a new jewellery fad.
A spotted eel was all the jeweller had.

Cool eh? A real conversation starter, the eel.
It makes me feel—I dunno—a little more regal?
Could wear it as a tie, but it tends to wriggle away.


Lake Winnipegosis’ own
rose above a big wash,
you better believe—
heaved himself up
into history long ago.

Don’t hear much of ‘im these days.
Maybe he coiled himself
in a fire hose of retirement
and composure in a glass case
in some museum of his memories.

Not extinct, I hope. Just don’t
get around much anymore—
trips to the point to scratch an itch—
damn free-loading fleas!
Bloated, flatulent, weak in what
he wished were knees.

Kids and their spouses and sprogs
coiled in their sub-set entanglement hoses
on the fridge and stove and mantelpiece.
Long socks for himself for his wife and brood
hanging from the mantle—to crawl in for Christmas.

Lake Winnipegosis cryptids and critters…
Home for the holidays. Not answerin’ phones.
Here’s a Bronx cheer for yer bathysphere
recorder. Merry Christmas. Seasoned Green Things
A little less scum, sludge, and gunk, if you please.
Especially the six-pack plastic holders. They kill.

Yer fellow cryptid hoser.


Well, I’m the Pig Man of Cannock Chase.
Gonna get up in yer wide-eyed, unblemished face.
Maybe bite off yer perfect lips, ears, and nose—
You know, I just can’t get enough of those!

They’re scrumpdillyishish and dainty.
My mouth waters and I just get so fainty
just thinkin’ about ‘em. Perfect pink finger foods.
Mmm Mmm. I can eat ‘em raw or stewed.

Sorry if my pig face and boarish manners offend,
but I’m peckish and ready to up-end
your horse by sheer will and brute force
to get at yer gizzard and innards main course.

Just cos I was born a freak and banished
don’t mean I’m any less famished.
So give it up. Roll over and play dead.
I’ll make it easy and start with yer head.

Richard Stevenson has published 30 books to date. His most recent publications include a long poem sequence on the Clifford Olson serial murder case, Rock Scissors, Paper and A Gaggle of Geese: a haikai collection. Two collections for kids are forthcoming: Action Dachshund! and An Abominable Swamp Slob Named Bob. He recently retired from 36-year teaching career.