Archive for the D. A. Pratt Category

Sometimes by D. A. Pratt

Posted in D. A. Pratt with tags on June 20, 2017 by Scot

she wanders
through my mind
wearing just jeans …
I like her dressed in denim
and she seems to know this …
Sometimes
she whimsically wanders
through my thoughts
wearing just a jean jacket …
I like her dressed in denim
and she seems to know this …
Sometimes
she playfully performs
wearing one black bra
after another:
both with and without
the caress of denim …
I like her wearing black
especially with denim blue
and she seems to know this …
Repeatedly she wanders
through my mind
in sultry scene
after sultry scene
being more
than just a muse
and she seems to know this …

It was coming by D. A. Pratt

Posted in D. A. Pratt with tags on March 8, 2017 by Scot

It was coming …

straight down
which is rare
since there is
usually a bit of wind …

She was quickly
at the window
watching the snow
descend delightfully …

Just as quickly I was
watching the way her hair
flowed flirtatiously straight down
to a daringly delightful derrière …

“It’s pretty,” she says …
“Yes, it is,” I respond …
“I mean the snow!”
“Yes … I know.”

An odd feeling by D. A. Pratt

Posted in D. A. Pratt with tags on January 19, 2017 by Scot

For the first time in my life
as his inauguration approaches
I feel the president-elect
will not complete
his first term in office …
I recall many wondering
if Ronald Reagan would
but that had something
to do with zeros … this time
I find myself having doubts
that the United States of America
will remain united in tolerating
the man’s demeanour
as a head-of-state
for four very long years …
a major Canadian newspaper
began a recent editorial
with the following words:
“In just over a week,
down the rabbit hole we go.”
Wonderland in this case
will be sensationally surreal …
over and over again …
until it ends … if
it ever ends …

D.A. Pratt
January 15, 2017

 

 

On Eleventh Avenue by D. A. Pratt

Posted in D. A. Pratt with tags on December 25, 2016 by Scot

On Eleventh Avenue …

between Rose Street
and Broad Street
not far from the old
Army and Navy Store
there was a place
where I finally found
a copy of Fanny Hill …
where I bought
my first copy
of Lady Chatterley’s Lover
(the edition that matched
the book by John Cleland) …
where I bought
my first copy
of Tropic of Cancer
(the Grove Press paperback
with the blue cover) …
where I also bought
my first issue
of a monthly magazine
called Playboy
(when it mattered – I’m not kidding!)
where I bought
my first issue
of Evergreen Review …
I bought
a lot of other stuff
there too … everything
contributed to what I
am today … it was
a small store
that sold magazines
and pocketbook paperbacks
and probably tobacco …

The place is gone now
and so is the old
Army and Navy Store …
nothing much has replaced
either of them … but
I think of the place every time
I drive along Eleventh Avenue …
in either direction
since it’s no longer a one-way street
in downtown Regina …

When … by D. A. Pratt

Posted in D. A. Pratt with tags , on November 28, 2016 by Scot

When …
was America ever great?
The slogan on the hat
has me wondering …
the hats with the slogan
will soon be buried
in the sands of time –
Shelley’s Ozymandias
comes to mind …

Powerful … yes … but
when was the United States
of America ever great?
What qualifies as greatness?
I guess it’s in the eyes
of the beholders – as usual …

I want to say that Americans
have been “at their best”
from time to time …
definitely … many times …
but not as often as some
would want everyone to believe –
this too is all about perspective …

And Shelley’s Ozymandias
keeps coming to mind …

Thoughts from far far away by D.A. Pratt

Posted in D. A. Pratt with tags , on November 19, 2016 by Scot

What’s to be written?
What’s to be written?
What’s to be written?
What’s to be written?
While I feel spiritually dead
about the overall results
of the 2016 American election
what I really want to say
about the whole damn thing
is that I am so damn angry
about the whole damn thing –
angry about every damn aspect
of the American political process
that has led to what is to come …
what is to be written?

Regina Saskatchewan Canada

I am not waiting … by D. A. Pratt

Posted in D. A. Pratt with tags on January 28, 2015 by Scot

Thinking back to the 1950s,
oddly Kafkaesque in its own way,
I can readily imagine
hearing Ferlinghetti’s voice
reciting the opening of his poem:
“I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder” …
I can readily imagine
connecting the tone of his voice
to Allen Ginsberg’s tone
in the opening words of “Howl”,
“I saw the best minds
of my generation
destroyed by madness …”

Thinking back to the 1950s,
I can readily appreciate
Ferlinghetti’s hopes in “I Am Waiting”,
expressed over and over again,
for a “rebirth of wonder” …

Thinking back to the 1950s,
I can readily imagine
that America was indeed waiting –
waiting for the 1960s to burst out
as it did … I can readily imagine
that in the 1950s it was oddly okay
to be an observer … and oddly okay
to express hopes for something better
by saying “I am waiting”
as Lawrence Ferlinghetti did
in his poem in the “Oral Messages”
portion of *A Coney Island of the Mind* …

Now, fifteen years into
the twenty-first century,
we’re in a different time
and a different place:
“I am waiting” seems simply too passive –
“I am waiting” is far too passive,
even as an expression of hope …

Yes, I could say that I am waiting
for Americans to be so much better
than they have been … I could
even say I am waiting
for Canadians to be better
than they have been lately …
but I’m not … North Americans
show no signs of being better –
and why mention anyone else?
I could make a myriad
of similar statements … but
that would be overly negative …
I could say I’m waiting for
the next volume of My Struggle
by Karl Ove Knausgaard to appear
in English translation (and I am!)
but … but … but I think we need
to think about more important matters …

We can no longer simply say “I am waiting” –
waiting isn’t good enough … waiting
isn’t going to work … time is running out …
hell … they’ve just moved the minute hand
of the Doomsday Clock closer to midnight:
what’s to be written? Okay … I wish
the whole damn thing were otherwise …
but it isn’t … it just isn’t …