Archive for the F.N. Wright Category

chinatown brautigan

Posted in F.N. Wright on March 11, 2012 by Scot

AMY by F.N. Wright

Posted in F.N. Wright with tags on July 24, 2011 by Scot

> she could’ve been
> any limey named Amy
> but she had a Winehouse
> full of music
> that hadn’t even matured
> at the tender age of 27
> found dead Saturday,
> July 23, 2011
> how many young musicians
> & poets before her?
> how many more to come?
> I thought I’d put away
> my black wardrobe after
> Johnny Cash died
> but now I must once again
> dress in it & follow one more
> caisson carrying a gift
> larger than life
> to an early grave.

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

Posted in F.N. Wright, Man Cave with tags on May 1, 2011 by Scot


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.

Three Poems by F.N. Wright

Posted in F.N. Wright with tags on March 30, 2011 by Scot


I have never understood
our government but learned
at a very young age
not to trust it while serving
in Nam.

they do everything ass backwards
like erecting a Vietnam War Memorial
often called “The Wall”
then a Korean War Memorial
& finally
after most of the WWII vets
had died built them a monument

Congress has declared March, 30
“Welcome Home Vietnam Veterans Day”
all these years after those of us
who made it home alive
though in many cases with damaged bodies
& minds that bring demons at all hours
day or night

but the veterans I feel sorrow for
are those who fought in Korea
known as “The Forgotten War”
suffering almost as many casualties
in 3 years as we had in Nam in more
than 10 years

& to these brave souls
some survivors of the
“Frozen Chosin?
& “Pork Chop Hill:
I say to you,
“welcome home.

Continue reading

VIETNAM BOB by F.N. Wright

Posted in F.N. Wright with tags on March 23, 2011 by Scot

(for richie)

he did two tours
in Vietnam
like so many
he brought home
the nightmares
those sluts
the horrors of war
like so many before him
& those to follow
he died too young.


Posted in F.N. Wright with tags on September 6, 2010 by Scot

my son in the hospital
taking a stress test
possibe heart attack
only 48

my oldest grand-daughter
in labor with her third son
only 28

drinking a beer
trying to make sense
of it all
after 68 years
& failing.


Posted in F.N. Wright with tags on March 19, 2010 by Scot

thursday may 18th
the year 2010
davy crockett
& daniel boone
both kicked the
bought the farm
cashed in the last
of their chips
finally died
after rumors of
davy’s death
many moons ago
at the alamo
& danny boy
died right along side
of good ol’ davy
coonskin hat long
’cause fess parker
took ’em both with him
dying at the age of 85
the uncaring bastard
did it on his wife
of 50 fucking years
(marcella is her name)
84th birthday
some kind of shitty present
if you ask me & I’ll
give you 10 to 1 odds
she’s one pissed off woman
at the moment
well, fess
I must care or I wouldn’t
be writing this shitty
fucking poem
or I must be bored out
of my fucking gourd
at any rate, marcella
happy birthday.

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.

TONIGHT by F.N. Wright

Posted in F.N. Wright with tags on December 31, 2009 by Scot

I think I will
silence my voice
listen to music
while recalling
the sound of your
voice today
o, the muse
will still be with me
but the words
she brings me
will be like
whispering feet
gliding across
the ballroom floor
& though they
will be silent
to the ear
I hope you hear them
because they are
for you & only


Posted in F.N. Wright on September 23, 2009 by Scot

she worked her lips
down my body
as she stroked my cock

a blowjob was
coming my way

or so I thought
until she stopped
tonguing my navel

“jesus christ,
you’re getting
a fucking beer belly!”
she grumbled

“no, darlin”,
I explained,
“it’s a matter
of poor posture.”

“”bullshit,” she said,
“I know a beer belly
when I see one
& you have a
fucking beer belly!”

“no! no! no!,
I argued,
“it’s simply
poor posture!”

I could feel
that blowjob
fading fast

I leaped out of bed
& sucked in my gut
for all that it was

I’m sure a lot to
the shareholders
of anhauser-busch

as I pulled back
my shoulders
& puffed out my chest
she laughed &
got out of bed
& I watched her
sway-back ass
leave the room

by the time I
realized what
she was doing
it was too late

she’d poured
all my beer
down the drain.”