Poetry
• A Place To Park - Fast
Eddie
• Cowpoke Memory (Elegy to Ronald
Reagan) - Hal Bogotch
• Moore Electric
- Shanna Moore
• The Phantom - Hillary
Kaye
• requiem for a light weight - Rex
Butters
A Place To
Park
By Fast
Eddie
I have those seven day a
week
Monday morning
blues
I must
redirect
The physical tangible
presence
Of my gasoline powered
conveyance
To an area and
situation
Where, all other things being
equal,
As is most unlikely, if not distinctly
not,
Said aforesaid
vehicle
Will be allowed to cease and desist
motion
At the unencumbered and unfettered
pleasure
Of its
owner
And/or the local
vigilantes
And/or the local
cops
And/or all other authorities
relevant
And without writ, alternate,
primary, or otherwise
And/or local
crackheads
And/or the local alcoholics
and juiceheads
All of whom they not there and
then sleeping
Or patrolling or unsuccessfully
attempting to bother
Or bitching, moaning,
and complaining
Or otherwise in action of
distorted replevin
Or control fee simple and
exclusive
Can or shall or
will
Allow motion of said
conveyance
Full and lawful cease and
desist
In effect, a place to park.
************
COWPOKE
MEMORY
(Elegy to Ronald
Reagan)
By Hal
Bogotch
Engines roar. Sounds of
productivity.
Keep still. Moving the heart
and mind.
Blood is honest. It flows
blue
in hidden, silent rivers. It spills
into the shocking light of
day
and is red. Trees bleed
sap,
shoot forth green
fingers.
Saddle up for one last
ride.
The lash cuts air. Leather
sings
before it stings. Why not
trot,
ever forward,
man-burden
a work of sweat. Wagon
trains
kicked up and ate this same
dust.
A man alone on a horse.
Love
measured in parts per
billion.
Hip flask of water. His father?s
son,
well ran dry, sang for a shot of
rye,
smear mud in your eye.
Afear?d
of naught but a phantom red,
empty head, man without
bread.
Hoof comes down. Tin can
crushed.
Accordion-flat and silent.
Lifeless
as gross national product, diesel
fumes,
looming debt. No pulse. An empty
wooden
box. Flag waved, country saved,
stone
engraved.
************
Moore
Electric
Don’t know if ya
noticed but since
I got zapped back into my
body
by lightening
from
an electric
dream.....
I’ve been writing about
zzzzp stuffs....
More solar
activity
sunspots
Venus
transit
I am still
electric
I
hear...
Rainbow
waves
I
see
blue
sizzle
holistic
halos
I
feel
minute tingling
currents
I stand on the
mountain
a magnetic
rock
collecting
all
these
words on the
wind..........
–Shanna
Moore
***********
The
Phantom
By Hillary
Kaye
I was created by a Phantom
a hit and run into a nameless future
created out of the rocks and sorrows
of other times, the small infinitesimal
particles of matter and matters not at all.
I was born of a Phantom
cloak and dagger
used and worn
I stood on the street corners of constant
despair
lost outside the blind man’s
crypt. I have become
a replica of others
wounded in this way
there is something in
their gait
the slow way that they take in
and out the air as if
they deserved so
little of anything
their eyes wander upward
for salvation and answers
everything has to be taken on faith,
the Phantom is
gone.
**************
requiem
for a light weight
his
idiot’s
grin
everywhere
phony
orange skin tan and shinola
pompadour
he’s
dead
labeled American
Optimist
easy to
be
optomistic
when
you can’t
comprehend
the
catastrophes
your cartel
creates
when you rest
safely
removed from
dismembering
machetes
of
cocaine contra commandos
the incoherent
mumbling
of gutter bound
mentally
ill
denied
human treatment
to fund corporate
welfare
assisting the
ascension
of snake handler xtian
minority
as dominant policy
architects
for the righteous
majority
a lifetime of grinning
denial for
drunkard
dad
Reich’s
friendly fascist grandpa
invoking
nostalgia
for nonexistent
eras
empty headed
sap
holding the vault door
open
for treasury looting defense
contractors
and felonious cabinet
members
arming
Saddam
and gun flooded
neighborhoods
powerful patron of
plunderers
while assigning school
kids
ketchup as
a
vegetable
voodoo
economics
sanctioning greed as our national
pastime
hard times, hunger, and ruin
still
trickle
down
Satan welcomes
you
with
awe
and admiration
– Rex
Butters
Posted: Thu - July 1, 2004 at 07:19 PM