Can we start drinking earlier today?
Here's a poem for Clouser. Forgive if I've posted it before.
MAYBE
There is an object somewhere,
A part of you since birth,
You always know where it is
Like a compass to north;
Your father held it fondly for years
In his since dead hands as you fondle it
Now, your palms across the patina of
Wood or metal or hide. For
You have enshrined it with the sense
That somehow within, is the wisdom of
All that you long for and
All you have let pass by.
Allow me a bar as a sanctum,
Where the neon torments quietly
With its lazy bent beauty and
The beer sign turns so slowly
It almost stills the beating heart;
The bar back lies so calm in darkness
Like all twice-fucked lovers,
The barman so coolly cordial,
The barmaid so coolly sensual,
And the forever jukebox thumps out
Those same moist, drying songs as
We order again and again:
"Oh, so hard to leave,
So easy to stay . . ."
The booth wood firm against the back,
The body seeps languid with the clock,
For here the door might open to eternity
An angel gliding in from the mist,
Or be closed again with certainty
As the finished leave for home.
But maybe against all odds,
My lost father will walk
Through this barroom door,
And I'll nod to the barman
Who will know my father's drink,
And I'll place into my father's hand
The object--carefully preserved
And tenderly polished--
And my dad will smile.
Hobo Jungle
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P&R Pete
Tramp. it's new. Jon misunderstood, when you mentioned your concern about posting it before. I've never seen it, and I would have remembered.
Regardless, your poems play just as well a third, a fourth, a nineteenth time around, let alone a second. You go ahead and post at will, whenever it strikes you.
Otherwise, we'll be forced to reprise them for you.
Regardless, your poems play just as well a third, a fourth, a nineteenth time around, let alone a second. You go ahead and post at will, whenever it strikes you.
Otherwise, we'll be forced to reprise them for you.
Hey, Jon's here! All right, brother. Can you I get you a frosty? A string cheese? A hot wing? I was ten in 66 as well, but I had those dorky Buster Brown shoes and wasn't allowed to chew gum. I did however seduce every girl in the neighborhood between the ages of 6 and 14. When ALL the mothers realized it was me and descended on my mother--life ended for a while. My father always beat me with a belt on my bare ***, but I never cried. My mother told me that later. It really freaked my dad, she said. After it was over (the beatings) I just stared at him, never made a sound. I remember the beatings, but not my silence.
The crazy thing is I remember every girl. It took me until I was eleven to work them all in. But then it was over. I really got in so much trouble. But when I think of it now--why?
Last edited by Tramp on Sun Jan 23, 2005 6:01 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Here's a site that has some nice pictures and neat RR info from where I was raised in Geneva, N.Y.
http://www.trainweb.org/rshs/GRS%20-Geneva,%20NY.htm
http://www.trainweb.org/rshs/GRS%20-Geneva,%20NY.htm
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Jackie Blue
I missed the game. Both my computer cable and television cable have been and still are not functioning. They cannot be fixed until Wednesday or Saturday (whenever the repairman comes out). I could have watched it in a local bar, but my area of town is like a little Tijuana - not a place where a lady walks (or drinks) alone.
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