Man Cave–The Poetry Series with F.N. Wright


she may be a lady
but she ain’t no
southern belle
‘cuz there’s just enough
sin in her veins
to make her naughty
& hotter than hell
almost as good a ride
as a built-up tricked-out
Harley-Davidson motorcycle
but I remember ridin’ her
down near the bayou
that came damn close
she was hotter than that
Louisiana summer night
so hot there was Tabasco
sauce drippin’ from the stars
above by the time she was done
fuckin’ this ol’ wore out biker.



I fell in love today
a tall drink
of water
her long dress
that she hiked up
to just above her knees
as she sat down

I could tell by her
well-shaped calves
that she had racehorse
legs thighs filled with

when she caught me looking
at her legs she smiled
as only a beautiful woman
with no ego or vanity can

when she stood & walked
her body absolutely
shimmered beneath
her long blue dress
that smelled of summer
& days when I was younger

the dress reminded me
of the tropics
but not Hawaii

somewhere more exotic

& I made her laugh
a woman’s laugh
with something I said

yes, I fell in love today
but I know she didn’t.



I’m out here
in the Mojave
about 50 miles
from Barstow
high on peyote
spinning like a whirling
looking up at
the sky
marveling at
a spectacular
light show
the stars are putting on
for me & only me
I hear ominous
rattles shaking
& I know it as a
Mojave Green
it is dark
& I can’t see
the motherfucker
but I know he’s too
close for comfort
but the peyote
has me in it’s grips
& instead of feeling fear
the music of the
rattles makes me spin
as the peyote paints
a goofy smile upon
my face.



I watched the beardless Saint Nick
Throw his 5 & dime bell of the
Armies of salvation into the
Gutters of resignation, wipe his
Nose upon a raggedy sleeve & send
His reindeer laughing into the no-
Christmas Harlem except for Rudolph
Who entered Pink’s Place in the Big Easy
With Mrs. Claus, six elves from the North
Pole & Mr. King (dressed as a snowman)
To watch a fat, sexless go-go girl shaking
Like a bowl of jelly & proclaiming to be
The Christmas Angel fornicate with a
Christmas tree that looked suspiciously
Like the Easter Bunny who had previously
Been fucking the Tooth Fairy & I couldn’t
Help but wonder how many children would
Have cried if they’d known the truth of
What Christmas is supposedly all about
Though I have a feeling most of them
Wouldn’t have given a damn.



last night at Dodger Stadium
3 Giant’s fans were taunted by
2 Dodger fans in the parking lot
after the game ended

though they tried to separate
themselves from their antagonists
the Giant’s fans were attacked

two managed to escape but one
was caught, beat savagely by fists
& kicked in the head when down

the father of two suffered serious
head injuries

he is a paramedic from Santa Cruz

it should have been two poets
from Santa Cruz instead

because there are not
enough paramedics
& too many poets.

6 Responses to “Man Cave–The Poetry Series with F.N. Wright”

  1. Absolutely awesome group of poems, FN! Last line of “It Should Have been Two Poets” is reminiscent of Bukowski in “40000 Flies:” It’s so easy to be a poet and so hard to be a man.” You be both, FN! Scot really picked some good ones here, real and to the bone.

  2. I love these poems, especially the first one. Being from the south they sing to me!

  3. Ray Foreman Says:

    Almost Bukowski brought back to life….that’s a complement because the material and characters are INTERESTING, not earthworms that wiggle slowly, very slowly on a smooth sidewalk and make no noise…and if a poem doesnt make noise, I’m going back to sleep. Ray

  4. Great stuff. Raw, uncensored. But polished & gleaming like chrome on a chopper, leaning on its kick-stand, in front of some downtown bar–shots with a beer-backer–on a Sunday afternoon.

  5. R Perlmutter Says:

    FN says it like it is: no flowers….just meat and pavement…a panorama of life in so few, precise, word-strokes and the wafting of “real” in your nostrils.

  6. I’m always inspired by your raw poetry and verse, Frank. You are truly a wordsmith. Your friendship over this past year has meant a lot to me.
    Sincerely, Rich Cronborg…Chicago artist/author.

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