Poems
Poems
THAT SUMMER
the lilacs shivered;
a moist breese bedewed them
with shiny beads
like so many crustaceous anomalies.
a grim bird smirked
a dripping grapefruit grin
and a suckled babe's lipsy grumble
smeared the silence.
the boyish murm'rous fragrance
of the bees bumbling
'mongst the tranquil jonquils
subduded and humbled
the piebald magpie:
he surrendered in sluggish servitude
and offered a whimsical symphony.
that summer
seemed to me
an effervescent procession
of sundry melodious
watermelon mondays.
- John Everett
Dr. Ignatius and his Coal Beast
A sooty coal wonder, this robot,
this mechanical beast that crunches and sputters
and spits smoke across Scotland's bonnie hillsides -
some would believe the story hatched by the local rubbie-dubbies
and some would sooner collectively thumb their noses at you.
It's distant now, it's a screechy cry let high;
I check the baggage in the van,
especially the sound equipment we have lugged from the airport
to the hotel and the cameras that would let us take
6"x10" Kodacolor glossies of the monstrosity.
It's Quite clear this afternoon and the boxes and
their corresponding men -whi are tired- rise to the occassion
with lonely speed, the Coal Beast of Dr. Ignatius makes its highland path,
leaving black soot and tread marks.
The creator, the man, Dr. Ignatius is hunting the beast
through deserted forests and populous towns by El Camino
with mounted gunrack hoping to find it and DESTROY it
(He'll come out bravely in the final drafts).
We interview the local rubbie-dubbies at the pub
"Claymore! Claymore!" cries one red-beard face;
"Remember! Remember!" screams another.
"Capture the beauty of the land," the editors
had proclaimed by phone and we swore that we would, by God.
With highland clansmen assembling in the hills we take the cameras outside...
The soot-black Coal Beast of Galway is chugging up one side of the hill,
Dr. Ignatius in his El Camino coming up the other,
the clansmen with their broadswords waiting atop,
and our cameras are loaded and...
IT WAS TERRIBLE;
Dr. Ignatius hanging, tongue-out bleeding from the half-open door;
the Coal Beast dismembered and puffing smoke,
its furnace punctured by edged weapons;
forty dead clansmen on the bonnie hillside,
brother and father and son.
Somehow, we pack up the van and return to the hotel
for developing and copywriting and phone calls
to New York, New York, USA . . .
--Shawn Wallace
when people created simple wars and zany tigers
when people created simple wars and zany tigers
and tiny simple war-people were created from their popule,
as zaniness made their war-tigers simple
and strange wars made their tigers zany,
and people made strange from wars gone simple and screaming
simply created zanier wars, tigers and people
and their strange screaming chased people from cities
made strange from people simply screaming from cities
and other people created simpler wars
and zanier tigers
and tinier war-people were created from their popule,
as zaniness made their war-tigers simpler
and stranger wars made their tigers more zany,
and people more strange from wars gone simple and screaming
simply created zanier wars, tigers and people
and their strange screaming chased more people from cities
made strange from people simply screaming from cities
then other people created simpler wars
and zanier tigers!
and tinier war-people were created from their popule,
as zaniness made their war-tigers simpler
and stranger wars made their tigers more zany,
and people stranger and stranger from wars gone simple and screaming
simply created zanier wars, tigers and people
and their strange screaming chased people from cities
made strange from people simply screaming from cities
and other people created simpler wars
and zanier tigers.
--Shawn Wallace
THE ONLY VOWEL IN WHIRLIGIG
O the buffalo sings
and my heart falls down
a clatter of loose boards
a symphony of shards
the whole damn ramshackle shebang
in pieces at my feet
and I can only blush
and look for a shovel
while you stare
and wait for the next course
it should be along any minute
--John Everett
jugly insofrond
jugly insofrond,
fu suy queaky goth.
yist huy yap yah.
jugly indo insofrond,
ublit infu ublits, yerst ep yersts;
holup op bolub awh rockindu
suy windoo rheppy hum.
haq heh wraq!
groh wreh mough!
yist huy yap yah ho yap;
yap yah ho wraq
rheppy zep hum loo yap wraq
ep yerst ep infu yerst yist
huy yap yah yap yah wraq
fu suy queaky jugly goth!
jugly indo insofrond,
ublit infu ublits queaky greaky meakly goth;
jugly insofrond,
fu suy queaky goth.
--Shawn Wallace
The moon has an ulcer
the moon has an ulcer, ben.
I have seen it.
I saw it on February the twenty eight, nineteen seventy nine.
I saw it up there as clear as the nails in Jesus hands.
I saw it as clear as the blood running down his side.
I have seen it.
And I don't want no ulcer, ben.
That's why I got this thing for bread, ben.
I got this thing for bread like an alcoholic got a thing for whiskey.
I got a thing for bread like a cigarette smoker has for cigarettes, ben.
I got a thing for bread like Jesus got for sinners.
I got a thing for bread like a pot addict got for pot, ben.
And that's why its bad you know, ben.
Because I go into the grocery store and that's all I can get is bread,
IÕll spend all the money in my pocket.
The change from my shoes
And then I got no money for the bills you know ben.
I canÕt pay the bills sometimes, and when you cant pay the bills, well...
You don't pay the electric, it gets disconnectit.
You don't pay the gas, it gets disconnectit.
You don't pay the water, it gets disconnectit.
You don't pay the phone ben, it gets disconnectit.
You know what you got when it all gets disconnectit
ben?
You got nothing ben.
You got nothing except nine tons of ulcer
just like the moon.
You got nothing ben,
just like the good lord jesus
hanging right up there on the cross
plain as IÕm talking to you ben.
plain as that.
--Matt Lowe