Three Poems by Doug Draime

Papa

I read somewhere
many years ago
that Hemingway
wrote while standing up.
I also read, I think,
in the same article,
that he was always drunk
when he wrote.

How well did he hold
his booze? Well, those
reports vary greatly. Though,
having been a heavy drinker
at times, myself, I can easily
imagine Papa doing a fair amount
of staggering, abrupt
short lunges, and pitching
forward uncontrollably, against the
chest of drawers that he worked on.
It just stands to reason.

And I’m sure there were those
moments of pure terror and the
misty-blurred vision, as the chest of
drawers begins to topple, from his
weight – with a bottle of Bombay gin
and his shiny Royal typewriter -
as they all came crashing down on
him. And Papa too drunk
to give a tinker’s fuck
about any of it, laughing
hysterically as he rolled out
from under the mess.

____________

for Malala

A bullet cannot cease
the thought of freedom,
nor can barbarism
crush the indomitable
courage of a fourteen
year old girl, who’s
in-your-face defiance
rightly brings shame to
the Taliban,

and to all cowardly men
upon the face of the earth.
Whose spineless apathy, and
blind conformity sanction
vicious oppression and war.

Malala was shot twice, in the
head and neck.

And the bullet in her head ran
all around in her skull, but
did not stop her extraordinary
tenacity, the depth of
which few of us can even
imagine.

In her recovery standing
tall still, and speaking out
as before, declaring
her right of existence,
her right to education,
her right to speak the truth,

with her smile of fearlessness
and her pure heart
of justice, nailing the world
to its horrific wall of
brutal complacency.

____________

Winter Storm

Chapel bells on the SOU campus
a few blocks away
are striking four. Clouds cover
half the Cascade mountain range
through the dense falling snow,

the peaks sticking up
through them
like nipple less white breasts
yearning and expanding
for caress. Cars and trucks and school buses
climb the foothills like slow steamed chariots.

Molecules of exhaust and fog and snow
merging. Two teenagers in T-shirts and jeans
whip by down the snow-packed street
on snowboards like they were skateboards
and it was just another hot summer day.

3 Responses to “Three Poems by Doug Draime”

  1. I laughed out loud at the end of “Papa.” A very enjoyable poem. Love how visual it is!

  2. Doug – Such beautifully written, poignant poetry. I was particularly drawn in to ‘for Malala.’ Thank you for writing about her; she is a truly amazing human being and you have captured her powerful essence. Thanks again, Winnie

  3. Doug Draime Says:

    Laura & Winnie – Thank you both very much for your comments. It’s always such a solid, free feeling to know I’m getting across.

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