Archive for July, 2010

BRAUTIGAN MEETS BUKOWSKI

Posted in Scot Young with tags , , on July 12, 2010 by Scot

These poems recall the melancholy wistfulness of Brautigan and the strong honest lines of Bukowski.  They skillfully explore the sorrowful wonder of poets, poetry and life.

William Taylor Jr.

SCOT YOUNG GOT  THE CONVERSATION ON THOSE TWO LITERARY BIG GUYS RIGHT!   The last time I saw one of them standing naked at my party in S.F. They other thankfully not naked in N.Y. but having a beer after St. Mark’s reading puzzling “Who are all these People!”  Thanks for bringing them back.

–Charles Plymell


brautigan and bukowski live – drinking beer – talking poetry – for a few precious lines in scot young’s poems – this small press publication is a creative masterpiece.

t. kilgore splake

_______________________

Signed and numbered copies onlylimited watercolor edition sold out

28 page, numbered  chapbook.  Poems include Brautigan and/or Bukowski as a character or theme.  All art by F.N.Wright.  The first 1-10  include an original 5×7 watercolor by Wright.  each one different.  Each one inspired by one of the poems.  With the painting $10.00.  Just the chap– $4.00.  Postage 1.50, either way.

Limited to 50 copies–ONE  watercolor edition left.

24 copies left

19

Paypal accepted at scotdyoung@gmail.com or I can invoice you through paypal

or email for mailing address.

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Roll Another One by Carter Monroe

Posted in Carter Monroe with tags on July 11, 2010 by Scot

Driving to Arabia by Timothy Pettet

Posted in Timothy Pettet with tags on July 9, 2010 by Scot

A cotter pin is missing,
and three wheels wobble
on my red Radio Flyer.

My fingers wrap
the semi-circular grip
on a handle that rises
from an axle that binds
on all but the widest of turns.

Oaks
and those trees
with five-pointed, star-shaped leaves
line the street. Trees
I have never seen
border the road. The dots
and dashes of a firefly hatch
expose a code for particle and wave
along a stretch depleted of trees.

They quote an ancient one.
East, they say – Arabia,
Mesopotamia,  and a map of Cathay.

At a Rest Stop

The mile
is a trick imposed
by the Romans. Distance
is an illusion composed
of mathematics, imagination,
and word.

At a Truck Stop

Half-way to Denver, an exit
opens a parenthesis (piss
rhymes with bliss, and I desire
a second opinion
on the span of ring finger to thumb,
sacred spot to ecstatic hub,
and the purple that curls
after white
blooms behind the eye.

I hear country music. I need
a new rhyme.) The curve
of an entrance ramp
brings my parenthesis to a close.

In My Red Radio Flyer

Fueled by the hum of melodies,
many words forgotten,

I deliver fragrant oils
harvested from an island
in a perfumed sea.

I hear lyrics
voiced by a mouth
insinuated by a cloud.

I witness faces in the bark
on both sides
of a slender, Arabian tree.

The Bitch is Talking by Debbie Kirk

Posted in Debbie Kirk with tags on July 8, 2010 by Scot

Lately, I’ve been struggling with my own
Masculinity

I spend time wondering if the
Excess
Or absence
Of a chromosome
Can make me think
That I’m entitled to Ben and Jerry’s at 3 in the morning
And I’m too high to drive
Don’t you love me?

People often describe me as “blunt”
Which is just a less ugly way to say bitch

Where most people avoid confrontations
At all costs
I seek them out
As I love to look into hell
And exorcise one more demon

I push the envelope
My luck
And my partner into an early
5150

And my fucking temper
Addicted to Rageamahol
Waking up
Praying for a fight

And then when I’m riding on the bus
I remember it’s only in my head

I never felt comfortable wearing a dress
Every since puberty when my whiskey breathe
Stepdad
Helped himself

Yet people also see something feminine in me
That I don’t see

My own mockingbird
Singing black and blue

And I’d prefer to just be called
Genderless
Or invisible

But the sun is sitting on my balcony now
Offering one last look

But in this real world
The sun wouldn’t hang ‘round me
And
I’m pretty sure this all started
From looking into the sun anyway….

The Oil Spill Poems

Posted in Uncategorized on July 5, 2010 by Scot

Featuring the work of Charles Plymell, Rebecca Schumejda, Alan Catlin, Russell Streur, Hugh Fox, J.L. Cloyd, Michelle Pond, Sharon Warden, and Eric Burke.

The Spill by Rebecca Schumejda

Posted in Rebecca Schumejda with tags on July 5, 2010 by Scot

She is transitioning
from nipple
to bottle
from sippy cup
to straw.
My two-year-old
at the kitchen table
recklessly pulls
straw from cup.
Milk trapped inside
flows onto the table,
drips over the edge,
onto the tiled floor.

Over a mile under
the Gulf of Mexico,
an industrial vacuum cleaner,
without a collection bag,
has been gushing oil for weeks.
On the radio,
a reporter discusses
the complexity
of taking responsibility
as I hand my daughter
a damp towel
and ask her
to clean up
her own mess.

CRACK HEADS, CEO’s & OIL SPILLS 1983-2010 by Charles Plymell

Posted in charles plymell with tags on July 5, 2010 by Scot

Einstein, our modern oracle
spoke in equations rhetorical.                         
Since him, the nuclear claw
dredged life from sacred maw.

(The Indian lands out west included sacred ground
dug with giant machinery and flattened. Contracts
given to Interior Dept. politician buddies)

Ray Charles knew inside that scene
when earth turns faster, everything leans.
prisoners of earth have the sunflower brain
yearning for the seed echoed in brain.

(Ray Charles fixed his own plane though blind;
sunflowers lean towards sun like his soul rhythm)

Little Richard rose through hot sauce and digs
the Rosey Finger’d Dawn and sticky finger ribs.        
He demanded that the rhythm feed his soul
’til sirens outside his window let his mind go.

(I grew up in the days he was flipping hamburgers
in southern ghettos until he became the Black Angel
genius of his day. There are no imitations.)


George Jones drank up the light that shines

in hotel develed mirror pieces into his mind.          .

He probably never knew what Emerson bade;        .
“There is a crack in everything God has made.”

(He was novelty country singer in my day when I said
one of his torch songs was best ever in country music..
Sure ’nuff PBS has special honoring him and song voted
best.I still have his old LP with his face reflected in cracked mirror)

Lewis Thomas implied we might only be..uh,          
byproducts of photosynthesis and mitochondria.
Bruno was burned at the stake for much less,           
but we have our God to save us from this mess.

(My main influence L.T. was anthropologist/poet concerned
with things like origin of life. Bruno was killed for challenging
Church by teaching heliocentric theory center of universe.
Same arguments today, .e.g. Creationist vs Evolutionist)

James Watt, a brain by itself, removed no less           
from unnatural machines of unknown purposes;               
he’d leave a scene of genetic accident forsaken
and save his skin while more beast are taken.

(A robotic yes man Interior Secretary who liked to rape
resources to make his cronies rich, the kind who shoot
animals from helicopters. etc.)

Reagan knows that ticks reach for warm blood
while baby boomers jog in exhausts of Firebirds.
He wants the old films re-run because he’s an actor
He’s have Science study Freedom as a risk factor.

Weinberger wants war no matter when where or cost
A yes man for MacArthur,the GI’s knowledge now lost.
Three mercenaries of death made rich by our fall
program the unclean spirits designed to kill us all.

(Blood on his hands like McNamera/Viet Nam
During WW2 the sodiers knew he kissed pompuos
Gen MacArthur’s ass and became war advisor  to
continue wars for arm sales, looting oil, etc,using
propaganda of “defense.”)