Archive for the Alan Catlin Category

Deep Water Horizon by Alan Catlin

Posted in Alan Catlin with tags on July 5, 2010 by Scot

A red fire ball
where metal meets
The Gulf; a black
trail of smoke after

Two Poems by Alan Catlin

Posted in Alan Catlin with tags on June 23, 2010 by Scot

Storm Story

Older woman
with walker
caught in sudden

crossing major
against the light

heading for Rite
Aid pharmacy

two packs of
Newport Lights
a Tall Boy single


All the roadside way stations
deserted, strip malls, shopping
plazas, ghettos for homeless,
canned goods tomb raiders,
scavengers of grocery store shelves,
warehouse rats; outside, highways
like McCarthy’s Road or the longest
tracking shot in movie history:
Godard’s Weekend as the end of
civilization, consumerism’s unnatural
end, seven hellish minutes of wrecked
cars, the dead and the dying, overturned
emergency vehicle silk screened sixteen
times, fragments of he future now or
as Cortazar saw it: life as we know it,
going nowhere.  At the information
center the map says: YOU ARE HERE,
but you’re not here, there’s no here, here.

Karaoke Killers by Alan Catlin

Posted in Alan Catlin with tags on March 5, 2010 by Scot

In Malaysia, in the Philippines,
in Thailand eight killed, wasted
for singing John Denver’s,
“Take Me Home Country Roads”,
though the article doesn’t say
whether it was the rendition or,
the actual choice of song, that got
them killed. In some states singing
along with John Denver, even in
the privacy of your home, is a
capital offense.  In Seattle singing
Cold Play off key can get your face
rearranged in a bar by a woman.
In the Philippines singing “My Way”
is a risky undertaking: six dead
and counting, ten years of serial,
unsolved murders all related to
an Old Blue Eyes tune.  Just think of
all the clubs and bars in this country
alone that song is sung in and what that
could mean;
mass murderers with
Sinatra t-shirts, “Keep the song book pure.”
Good thing the Sex Pistols are already
dead.  I wonder, do the karaoke killers
hang loose in clubs waiting for certain
types of victims, do they profile, do
they take requests? “Walk on the Wild Side”,
“Eve of Destruction”, “Ballad of the Green Berets”,
“Black Leather Jackets and Motorcycle Boots.”

The Book of Jack

Posted in Alan Catlin, Doug Draime, F.N. Wright, Father Luke, Hosho McCreesh, Rusty Truck echaps, Scot Young, Todd Moore with tags on February 21, 2010 by Scot

Art by F.N. Wright

Click on Jack–for best viewing go to fullscreen and use arrow that appears on the right to turn pages.

Moving On by Alan Catlin

Posted in Alan Catlin on December 13, 2009 by Scot

Cleaning their bedroom
after my father and step
mother died, I found a
sealed envelope of photos
of my mother some fifty,
maybe sixty years before
their divorce.
Of that woman he had
correctly said, “She needed
help.  More help of a kind
I couldn’t provide her
in two million years.”
He had so moved on,
I thought he wasn’t upset
when I told him she’d
died alone and crazy in
some sadassed New York
City hotel room full of
worthless junk.
Apparently, I was wrong
about how he must have
felt.  Was wrong about
more than I could ever
have imagined.

Motorcycle Mama by Alan Catlin

Posted in Alan Catlin on August 4, 2009 by Scot

She had a heart
tattooed on her
right arm, a baby
in a carriage on
the left, a phoenix
rising between her
breasts, both eyes
focused dead ahead,
forged in fire, riding
the sacred Harley
night leaving tracks
on her skin as
if it were black top
on a moonless night
her friends and relations
shot things down in
for fun, on some Route
66 in her mind;
the way she was hauling
ass she would need a
road crew to do plastic
surgery on her life
unless she let up
on the throttle
but by then it would
be too late.

$1.29 by Alan Catlin

Posted in Alan Catlin with tags on July 10, 2009 by Scot

“A buck twenty-nine
that’s pretty cheap
for an operation.
What kind was it?”
I asked.
“A small one.”
he said.
“Must have been.”
“They know us there.”
“Frequent shopper
discount, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“All I got is a buck
and a quarter.”
“That’ll have to do.
I guess.”
“Big sale over
at the Buy Rite
Discount Liquors.”
“I know it.”
“Good luck, with
“Thank you kindly.”
It wasn’t much of
an operation but
it seemed to be

Sammy’s idea of…by Alan Catlin

Posted in Alan Catlin on April 24, 2009 by Scot


a down home get
together at the bar
surprised everyone.
Not that a guy
who did twelve
different kinds
of pills, from
laughers, to downers
to in betweeners
with his beer
and red wine
wasn’t known for
spectacular surprises.
First he placed
the box on the bar,
ordered a pint
for himself and
a half for his
mother who never
really was much
of a drinker, “Right,
Mom?” he said
to the box.
Everyone just sat
there quietly finishing
the sentence he had
left incomplete,
“When she was still
alive” but no one
said anything out loud.
In fact, it was so
uncommonly quiet in
that bar you could
almost hear the head
bubbles evaporating
on her beer.