#1950s
3-D
popcorn
and kisses in the balcony
little soldiers
showing dogtags
to get a free refill
before duck and cover drills
at intermission
it's all one big movie
whether the summer rockets
arrive with Flash Gordon
or by way of Cuba
Sep 14, 2021
Sep 14, 2021 at 8:51 AM UTC
1950s kindergarten
cute, dark-haired girl
in jumper dress,
bright-red tights,
walking towards me
smiling...
I run away with sweaty hands...
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 8:55 AM UTC
beware atomic attack!
1950s civil defense
duck and cover drills
Bert the turtle
showed us the way
flash of light - duck and cover!
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 8:40 PM UTC
Why I am so Beat
Something about...the road, old shoes and sore feet,
motorcycles and wine,
greasy diners and last dimes,
half a stale Hoagie left to eat.
Man, that's
why I am so Beat.
Headed out west from town to town.
Dry-rot houses, faded signs,
Pioneers in rags, so behind the times.
This dead world keeps puttin’ me in a funk,
Pal, that’s why
I’d rather just stay drunk.
Girls and boys in every bar,
From Kansas to Colorado,
Hit me up for drinks and manila tar,
Trying sadly to feel what I do,
Man it’s hard;
That’s why I feel so scarred.
I came out west to find my soul
And saw emptiness instead.
Don’t ask me where I’m heading next,
Cause I don’t know.
I’m friggin hexed.
All I know is drive & drink & sleep;
Man, you know
That’s why I am so beat.
August 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
Let's talk poppies and candies,
Let's talk summer frocks and bees,
Let's talk blue skies ending
In crystal blue seas.
Sure let's talk the neighbors,
Sure let's talk cooking books,
Sure let's talk red lipstick
And guys' good looks!
We're gonna talk Elvis and Marilyn
And Trotsky and Tolstoy,
We're gonna talk Eastern countries
We're about to destroy.
And Italian movies and French perfumes,
Marijuana and milkshake,
Bobby socks and jukebox,
And vacations by the lake.
Let's talk, my dearest pal
All of the above,
But I'd say, first of all,
Let's not talk love.
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 6:05 PM UTC
I often
wonder what
happened to
that blazer
my old man
bought for me.
For Sunday
best, he said.
It was black
with silver
looking cold
buttons down
the boys' side
as fashion
dictated.
My old man
would fold up
an ironed
cotton white
handkerchief
for the top
small outside
pocket space.
I once had
a coloured
photograph
of me and
the blazer
one Sunday
out some place
with me there
with a smile
on my face.
My old man
is dead now
but where that
black blazer
is now I've
no idea.
Maybe out
there somewhere
in a lost
different sphere.
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 4:41 AM UTC
You stand against your white
metal bedstead bundled up
in a strait jacket like a neat
parcel awaiting delivery.
Your hands around your
back, out of the way like
exiled rebels. From the
barred window light
comes in, light from a
world out there, out
there where you were
once, once upon a time,
time past and time... bird
sings, can't see it, but it's
there, singing, bringing
sound, nature sounds,
unlike the bedlam noise
that screams outside, screams,
shouts, cries and moans.
Nurses bellowing names,
as if names meant anything
anymore. Any more? yes
please if you have any spare:
a voice calls out from some
place in the ward. You want
out out of this hell hole,
this asylum, this hospital
for the mentally INSANE.
You remember that written
on the gates the day they
brought you. You, your mind
in a mess, mess of memories,
memories of hits, slaps, *****
head slams and finger feels.
Nurse enters and gazes at you:
cooled down now? Ain't going
to flip out again? You stare at
her, the fat ***** the uniformed
cow. Well? Have you? You
could have her, could take her
out if you weren't bundled up,
quite harmless and sick silent.
The nurse has a wart on her
chin, her eyes piggy eyes.
Ain’t you going to answer?
You smile and nod your head.
That sweet smile of yours
could get men to do things,
if you wanted to, but you
didn't want to do what the
sick ***** wanted you to do.
Piggy nurse unstraps you
slowly, you sense that
freedom, pins and needles,
and able to breathe free.
Be on your best behaviour,
nurse says, and walks off,
the lard **** swaying goes.
You will have her one day,
stuff her like a screaming
fat pig being slowly stuffed.
You smile your smile.
There, there, be better,
be better, in a while.
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 4:26 PM UTC
The stars might look like
milky bones from afar.
Or glowing tennis *****
still clutched in owner's hands
while the dumb dog
chases something hidden.
Did he stick his head
out the window of the spaceship?
Tongue out,
howling.
Did he know the hole
he had dug
was his own grave?
I hate when owners
pretend to throw a ball,
only to hide it behind their backs.
The dog trusts you.
The dog loves you.
The dog loves life.
The dog doesn't want to die.
The dog doesn't deserve to die.
The dog doesn't care about exploring space,
it just wants to find that ******* ball.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 11:22 PM UTC
One Sunday
evening after tea,
Benny's old man said:
do you want to
go see a horror film?
Yes,
he said,
that'd be good,
but it's an X film
and I won't get in
(He was about
12 then).
Put your long
trousered suit on
white shirt and tie,
and we'll see
what they say.
He Brycreemed
Benny's hair,
polished
his black shoes.
He said:
if anyone asks
how old you are
say nothing,
I’ll tell them.
So off they went
and stood in the queue
at the cinema.
Benny felt
a bit conspicuous
standing there,
but he put on
his unsmiling face,
stared at no one,
and squared his shoulders.
When they got
to the ticket office
his old man said:
two adults please,
and gave her
the money;
she gave him
the tickets.
They went past
the usherette
who just looked
at Benny,
but nothing.
They found two seat
and sat down.
Soon after
the lights were lowered
and the Pearl & Dean
adverts began.
Benny was then
inconspicuous
one of the crowd.
He had been taken
as an adult,
and got into see
an X film:
Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde.
He sat there
with a smile,
and with a bit
of schoolboy pride.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 1:42 AM UTC
Put the coin in the box,
Colin, Uncle Donal said,
Hear it shake, and he’d
Take up the box and shake
It hard so that the coins
Would rattle loudly. Do you
Hear that, Colin, that’s the
Change from my purse and
Pocket, the missionaries can
Have that for their work abroad,
To feed and spread the Word.
Will you hush the noise there,
Granddaddy called; I can’t hear
Myself think for the racket of it.
The horses are on the run and I
Can’t hear who is where and who’s
Behind. Uncle Donal put the
Charity box down on the mantel
Shelf with the gentleness of Cousin
Chloe removing her underwear
Before her bath. Ah, **** the horse,
Granddaddy bellowed, I could run
Faster myself so I could. Never bet
On the horses, Colin, he said, they’ll
Let you down and take your money
Just like a woman. Uncle Donal pulled
A face and grinned from ear to ear, as
Grandmother entered the room with
A face of thunder and Granddaddy said,
Oh, hello, wife, how are you my dear?
Jul 29, 2016
Jul 29, 2016 at 2:51 PM UTC
Sutcliffe, O’Brien and you
Used to wander about the
Bombsites after school, the
Keep Out signs ignored,
The catapults in the back
Pockets to hit at cans or
Bottles or windows if there
Were any left in the empty
Shell houses of the bombed
Out homes. Dad said there
Could be unexploded bombs
Here, Sutcliffe said, his blue
Eyes and blonde hair catching
The day’s afternoon light, his
Grey flannel trousers and blue
Blazer stained with food and
Dust. O’Brien lit a crafty ***
And passed to you to take a drag.
You coughed and passed it back,
Clambering the bricks to broken
Stairs to a higher landing where
You thought ghosts might hang
In danky rooms or smelly attics
Where light shone through the
Broken tiles. O’Brien ******
Against a wall, the cigarette
Hanging from his lower lip.
Sutcliffe sniffed the air and
Scratched his **** and you
Standing on the creaky stair
Pondered who stood or lived
Here before the bomb dropped
From the threatening sky and
They wondering if they’d live
Or die. Bet this was the bedroom,
O’Brien said, and he and she
Laid out here having ******
When the bomb went off.
Sutcliffe sniggered, taking
O’Brien’s cigarette for a quick
Puff and handing to you with
Dampened end. What a way
To die though, Sutcliffe said,
Him not knowing the ins and
Outs of *** or death by bombs
Or what’d be left after bombs
Dropped. Probably some old
**** who lived alone, O’Brien
Conceded, staring at the sky
Through the hole in ceiling,
Without much concern and
Little feeling. You reflected
On his words and the stink
Of **** and damp and empty
Shell, the echo of yesteryears,
The ghosting wanderings at
Night and cold captured fears.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 4:44 AM UTC
Children, gather round
Your second parent calls
A simple box
Wooden and metal
A face of glass
Adorned with two knobs
Take your seats
And take off your shoes--naughty!
Elbows off the table
Legs crossed, hands clasped
Black and white
Levittown
Like your mary janes and stockings
Your president birthed
And mourned
Mother’s in the kitchen
The window outside your little world
Is black and red but not white
Malcolm X, and all the rest
Standing up for their territory
Little girl, the country’s changing
Pick your daisy
We’re not crazy
The bombs come closer every day
Haven’t you seen Castro
And our fiascos by the bay?
Great Society
Social Security
Aid for the old and poor
Dinner’s ready
Mother’s specialty
Credibility on a plate
Crudely disguised
Plastic, fantastic, and uniform
Yet your mind is so hungry
That you eat it all the same
And give it no thought
The window’s widening
Its light reflected
On that glowing omniscient face
Color! Color!
Bright and vivid
Dancing at your fingertips
Brother’s gone off to Nam
Off with your skirts, your stockings,
Your mary janes,
And that awful ribbon in your hair
Burning dope
The rainbow bathes you
In its splendid glory
The birds in the sky
Like rolling thunder
Hawks tearing at the doves
****** falling to the trees
Agent Orange
Fire, death, destruction
Where’s your meal now?
Johnson stumbled,
Faith has crumbled
And so have the foundations
Of your enclosed walls
Bobby’s groovy--
No--he’s gone
And King’s dream
Escaped with his last breath
White rabbit,
Gentle rabbit
Sing your peace
The country’s ablaze
At home and away
Stand your ground
Chicago, Ohio
Each one’s a battlefield
Time for dessert--
Licking lollipops
LSD
Clear your plates
For a second course
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 10:04 PM UTC
WHEN
Finding an old friend
from years ago
when we were young
and not so slow...
WHEN ~ THEN
We would pass in the hallway
on our way to class
saying "hi" with a smile
as we walked past..
WHEN ~ THEN
It's Friday night
are you going to the game?
Of course lets meet
on the corner of Starr and Main
WHEN ~ THEN
We would meet our classmates
in the stadium to cheer
Warm in our mouton coats
The 50's were good years...
WHEN ~ THEN
The game would be over
we'd walk home in the dark
back to the corner
where we would then part...
WHEN
Now to the stadium
we still go
but now our grandkids
are putting on the show...
by judy
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC
Morning comes
the night's gone
Ingrid waits
and listens
there's music
her mother
is cooking
the breakfast
her father
is silent
or he's out
Ingrid heard
her mother's
moans last night
flesh on flesh
Ingrid gets
out of bed
and dresses
she hopes her
father's out
not sitting
in the lounge
in a mood
watching her
eating what
he tells her
is his food
or maybe
he'll bruise her
or hit her
as he does
her mother
as he did
in the night
she goes out
of her room
to the lounge
hoping she'll
be all right.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC
I won't be there to catch you if you fall
If you don't tell me where you are
10:04 am, Saturday, June 27th, 2015
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
I'll tell you where I am
When I stop moving
For now, I don't know where I'm heading.
10:07 am, Saturday, June 27th, 2015
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
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Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:34 PM UTC
She serves, serves as. Her body-is-home-is-nation.
She does not dwell, she is dwelling.
She keeps the lights on. She fluffs the pillows.
With child, eternal. She is so very...blessed.
She is the pilot light and the pile of ash.
Savior, safegaurd, scapegoat.
She is flambéed, micro-waved,
she is pressure cooked in social sweat,
and then told that she looks “radiant.”
Idolized, pasteurized, tranquilized,
she is bottled, sealed and brought
beaming to your doorstep each morning
for a reasonable monthly fee.
Her hearth fuels all creation, destruction,
and consumption followed by decaf coffee
and polite chatter in the living room.
She is so excited to welcome you into her...home.
She is incontinent. Incontinuous.
A swollen, slacken gesture towards a self.
She is wet clay laid again on wheel,
awaiting to welcome the coming
divine, un-declinable gift from god.
A fist to the gut, from beneath.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
Bottled, bound in a brume blue-green,
a mist of Listerine again descends.
And slick, with what’s like shower’s
sweat, there's wipes of writing
on the wall. One thought, on
an endless loop of overcast,
warm marks on rippled sobbing glass:
o u t.
Seated, seeping. The mute little girl
fallen down the town well.
We are half-aware of the consequence
of these dreams of outside air. Clarity.
It kills me, but I suspect that now
a good deal of this vial’s moisture is mine.
Chewing cautionary label gum,
(Do Not Swallow!)
We churn the potential
over and over in our mouth--
it taunts a minty tingle.
A curved black mark.
A chasm shadowed.
A welling up of a desire to gulp.
Desire for just one breath, one vision past
this germicidal upturned glass.
To live unlost, unwet, unmasked
a lifetime halled with gorgeous mirrors,
mirrors free from fog.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
"Cap-ti-va-ting,
sim-ply cap-ti-va-ting”
in Mommy’s mirror,
he tries to be delicate with his mimesis.
Young fingers fumble the rouge tube.
He’s teetering on heels, on toes
not enough grown, not enough.
A falling of chiffon too long,
and shaking grass-stained knees beneath,
On pink-inked cheek and lip, he’s hit.
Retching, and sobs over mother vanity,
the perfume struck the awful dusk,
giving him a first taste of an alcohol-laced lust
for a beauty unobtainable; a beauty that can ruin.
DANIEL!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!
DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT IS
TO GET LIPSTICK OUT OF WHITE LACE?!!
JUST YOU WAIT UNTIL DADDY COMES HOME.
JUST YOU WAIT.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC