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Don Bouchard Jan 2012
I remember reading
Martin Luther King, Jr's
Letter from Birmingham Jail
Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom
Mark Twain's Huck Finn
DuBois' Souls of Black Folk
For the first time

The words of Chief Joseph
Sitting Bull
Tecumseh
James Welch
and Alexie Sherman
And others of indigenous kind
Linger like arrows in my mind.

Of course, there's
Gilgamesh's forlorn quest for Enkidu;
Osiris, Amun, Ra, and Seth,
Homer's Illiad and Odyssey,
And Virgil's Roman treatment -
(For whom the gods destroy
We all must learn bereavement).

I remember reading
Milton's Paradises (lost and found)
And Dante's Infernal quest for Heaven
Through the bowels of Hell with Virgil's spritely guide
And up the Devil's staircase with Beatrice by his side.
John's Revelation of Times' End;
And LaHaye's money-making Left Behind
Apocalypses here to chill my mind.

I have surveyed Dead Presidents
Washington,
Jefferson,
Lincoln
Both Roosevelts, Ted and Frank,
And Reagan
And smatterings of others...
Then hopped the bookish pond to read
Sir Winston and some others,
Not the least of whom is Gandhi G,
Taught by the Queen to free his brothers.

I have studied
Moses
Job
David
Ruth
Esther
Isaiah
Jeremiah
The Disciples
Paul
and James
(Ironically,
Though Jesus is the "Word"
He never penned one).

British poets's thoughts,
Tale tellers long-dead
Have found their way
Into my head:
Beowulf and Chaucer
Old moral plays
Shelley and Keats
Cavalier Poets
Scott and Brownings
Burns and (not) Allen
Spenser and Shakespeare
Dylan and Tolkien
Lewis and Auden
And so many more
That I leave on the floor

Western Americana I have loved
Hemingway and Steinbeck, all worth the time,
Mari Sandoz' Old Jules, and
Rolvaag's Giants in the Earth,
Keroac went on the road, while
Joseph Kinsey Howard showed us the West
Lewis & Clark in journals scribed
Their journey west and back again

I can't forget psychology
And so I will digress
Or Sigmund's accusation stays
That I have but suppressed:
Ellis, Freud, and Eric Berne,
Pavlov, Skinner, Thorndike, Watson,
Wundt, and Wm James, Piaget and Chomsky
Then Vygotsky and Bandura put a social spin
on cognitive psychology, and Everybody's in.
Diverging and Converging, psychic students, all
Could never make transaction
'Til Rogers tried to make some peace
But Ellis wouldn't have 'im.

And then, of course,
The lighter stuff,
The popcorn of the mind:
Clancy, Rankin, Carole Keene
L'Amour and Will James
Stephen King and Poe,
Cruz Smith and Leon Uris,
Grisham, Deaver, Cornwall,
Asimov, Bradbury and Herbert,
Carroll and Baum...
Written Words change us.... I use the term "poem" as Louise Rosenblatt did, namely, a poem is the creation each reader makes to describe the connection between the Text and his or her own life experience, opinion, knowledge, beliefs, feelings, etc. Those "poems" affect and change us in our wanderings on this earth. I am, indeed, changed by the texts I have read and continue to read....
In haphazard fashion, I am starting a collection of writers who give me an understanding of the world's color and shape. This is just the beginning.... If readers have suggestions or reminders, I will add the ones I have read....
Don Bouchard Jan 2016
I remember reading
Martin Luther King, Jr's
Letter from Birmingham Jail
Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom
Mark Twain's Huck Finn
DuBois' Souls of Black Folk,
Adichie's The Thing Around Your Neck,
Sherman Alexie's Part-time Indian tale....
For the first time

The words of Chief Joseph
Sitting Bull
Tecumseh
James Welch
and Alexie Sherman
And others of indigenous kind
Linger like arrows in my mind.

Of course, there's
Gilgamesh's forlorn quest for Enkidu;
Osiris, Amun, Ra, and Seth,
Homer's  Illiad and  Odyssey,
And Virgil's Roman treatment -
(For whom the gods destroy
We all must learn bereavement).

I remember reading
Milton's Paradises (lost and found)
And Dante's Infernal quest for Heaven
Through the bowels of Hell with Virgil's spritely guide
And up the Devil's staircase with Beatrice by his side.
John's Revelation of Times' End;
And LaHaye's money-making Left Behind,
Collin's Hunger Games and Dashner's Maze Running
Apocalypses enough to chill my mind.

I have surveyed Dead Presidents
Washington,
Jefferson,
Lincoln
Both Roosevelts, Ted and Frank,
And Reagan
And smatterings of others...
Then hopped the bookish pond to read
Sir Winston and some others,
Not the least of whom is Gandhi G,
Taught by the Queen to free his brothers.

I have studied
Moses
Job
David
Ruth
Esther
Isaiah
Jeremiah
The Disciples
Paul
and James
(Ironically,
Since Jesus is the "Word,"
Through men He penned).

British poets's thoughts,
Tale tellers long-dead
Have found their way
Into my head:
Beowulf and Chaucer
Old moral plays
Shelley and Keats
Cavalier Poets
Scott and Brownings
Burns and (not) Allen
Spenser and Shakespeare
Dylan and Tolkien
Lewis and Auden
And so many more
That I leave on the floor

Western Americana I have loved
Hemingway and Steinbeck, all worth the time,
Mari Sandoz' Old Jules, and
Rolvaag's Giants in the Earth,
Keroac went on the road, while
Joseph Kinsey Howard showed us the West
Lewis & Clark in journals scribed
Their journey west and back again

I can't forget psychology
And so I will digress
Or Sigmund's accusation stays
That I have but suppressed:
Ellis, Freud, and Eric Berne,
Pavlov, Skinner, Thorndike, Watson,
Wundt, and Wm James, Piaget and Chomsky
Then Vygotsky and Bandura put a social spin
on cognitive psychology, and Everybody's in.
Diverging and Converging, psychic students, all
Could never make transaction
'Til Rogers tried to make some peace
But Ellis wouldn't have 'im.

And then, of course,
The lighter stuff,
The popcorn of the mind:
Clancy, Rankin, Carole Keene
L'Amour  and Will James
Stephen King and Poe,
Cruz Smith and Leon Uris,
Grisham, Deaver, Cornwall,
Asimov, Bradbury and Herbert,
Carroll and Baum...

The list goes on and on, and will, I'm sure, expand beyond capacity.
Work in progress.... Thanks to Soul Survivor for catching my glitch about Jesus.... Since all Scripture is God-breathed, technically, Jesus is the author of Holy Scripture, and He inspired the text we know as the Bible.... Good catch!
Saoirse Jun 2012
Sitting outside there
In your shirt sleeves
With your coffee and your cigarette
Wearing those black Ray Bans
That I'd've hated on just about anybody else
You looked just like Jack Keroac.

I couldn't see your eyes
But I liked to think
That you were thinking
Thoughts and things that I couldn't even imagine.
That to you
The world was like one big tangled ball
Of Christmas lights
To sort through
And fix up a little.

When I turned
You were already gone
Your broad hand
Grasping that cigarette.
yaas yaws said neil cassidy, and dean smiled back, I have no idea what you are talking about, carlo said to ginsberg, this one is crazy, and then sal said to keroac delete delete delete deleted delete
I"m crazy and I'll listen to your **** too, lets howl

HOOWWLLLLLL at the moon

Ginsberg was alight,, we can beat him at his game

Keroac is like...jesus, but he wouldn't mind

Dean just drives.  HA.  I'm gonna go get some Gan Ja nows peace
love and respect for all poets,
From Nietzsche,
Poets are shameless with their experiences; they exploit them
my answer...
**** YEAHHHHH!!!!!!
Cigarette ash on the torn page of a Keroac
Told us to “Burn Burn Burn”, so we never looked back.
Fleeing, hearts ablaze like the setting sun
No longer shackled by routine, we were on the run.
In an inferno fueled by Hendrix’s “Fire,”
We incinerated doubt, new love our pyre.
Blacked lungs serenaded flickering streetlights
While the flames of our passion consumed mundane nights.
Kerosene hearts ignited by matchstick kisses
We danced to the beat of the fire’s hisses.
Each touch a spark, yielding to lust
White hot euphoria...we’re bound to combust.
flipping mcdonalds hamburgers. and I asked for tabasco sauce, and since I’m clumsy, I dropped the bottle and  vinegar cayenne spilled all over the counter, everyone in the classroom was ******, man, and I’m telling you this because it’s a good dream, and you look like you could use some livening up, so bare with me.  So I’m shunned, I’m embarrassed, I’m angry, a cocktail of awful, stressful emotions surround me, upsetting, and I feel there is no way out.  But something inside of me, that anger perhaps, that part of myself that hates my mother and wishes I was never born, that part seem to unshackle itself within my soul, and I jumped out of my seat, ignoring the last few bites of my second double cheeseburger, and I flew out the front door, and I’m outside the house I grew up, los altos, Jay street, nice place, and I run, out of my mind, I run left because that’s the fastest way to get out of sight and onto a busy street so I know I can get away easier.  Behind me I hear my father crying, WAIT, WAIT, seany, but I don’t LISTEN, I RUN and it feels like keroac when he went mad, yeah it feels like a cheetah must feel, all that hatred made me run faster, and I was making my way down the adjacent street el monte, and my father wasn’t following me anymore, and for a moment there was relief.  Then, of course, with any story of escape, there is conflict.  A ******* bear.  it sounds funny in retrospect, but I swear to god it was a bear, Chris, big and mean Grizzly in the middle of el monte street, no cars, just me and the bear.  I was petrified, almost enough to head back to the house, but the hatred stopped me, **** it all man, that’s what it was,  so my gut lead me another way.  No!  I didn’t fight the ******* bear, Chris, that’s stupid, didn’t you see the revenant?.  So I took a detour, running up north elmonte, the other direction.  The bear wasn’t chasing me anymore.  next thing you know, my hands are moving over a picket fence, and I come to an immediate clearing.  It’s the beach in Santa Cruz.  I swear.  Where my grandma lived, the same beach, at the point where we used to make our daily walks to put our toes in the sand, cold beach.  and there was something, something getting in the water, a rodent of some kind, a squirrel, a raccoon, and it got into the ocean and began swimming against the waves.  And I wasn’t running anymore, and I felt like I had crossed a finish line, like I had done everything I needed to do in this world, I was ready to go.  My mind was clear, in that moment.  and in that moment, my grandmothers voice was trailing off in the distance, not saying anything, just murmuring at the end of a sentence as she does “so it goes” in acceptance. she has acceptance in her voice.  And I woke up to my girlfriend’s alarm.

— The End —