Archive for the RD Armstrong Category

New Book Release by Rick Smith from Lummox Press

Posted in RD Armstrong with tags on August 20, 2010 by Scot
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Hard Truth by RD Armstrong

Posted in RD Armstrong with tags on March 11, 2010 by Scot

Once I wrote
“The past eyes
Me like a hungry dog”

I was cockier
Back then
Believing I still
Had my mojo
But that was before
I saw my last
Days before I
Knew the pain
And the real true
Fear that
A hungry dog
Might be drawn to
Investigate

But now I fear
That no dog is hungry
Enough to make
The effort
Choosing
Instead to
Keep searching

When I see that
Dog again
He will merely
Sniff once
Twice
And move on

TWENTY NOTES GONE SOUTH by Raindog

Posted in RD Armstrong with tags on February 16, 2010 by Scot

remember those beer-stained nights
of rompin’, out-of-focus blues
when couples squeezed onto crowded dance floors
to dance the crazy-legged be-bop & jive, or
jumpin’ at the woodside, or
doin’ the crosstown, las’ chance fo’ romance-
closing-time boogie.
remember the band hittin’ the ninth refrain  runnin’
like a roundhouse haymaker findin’ its mark
sweating under red and blue lights
while everyone was hypnotized by
the big man on the mic,
always dressed in a suit, Chicago-style
hair slicked back
remember how the big man never took off the shades
even at night, even as he slept, perhaps.
remember how he worked so hard
hunched over
cupping his instrument
pulling it into himself
grunting and shouting
sweat pouring off his brow
blowing his soul into and through
ten-holes
turning twenty notes into a
vocabulary of sighs and moans
like a mile-long, south-bound freight
pulling its tired load of joy and sorrow
over Breakheart Pass.
remember the big man driven
onwards
always

William Clarke is dead
twenty notes gone south, gone
home to rest

let us pause and remember

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The Queen of Harbor by RD Armstrong

Posted in RD Armstrong with tags on August 16, 2009 by Scot

I used to be a go-go girl and
Fuck look at me now
I’m working on my MFA!
That’s the first thing she said
It seemed innocent at the time
But I learned soon enough
That it was a very thin veneer

You should come over
Sometime and let me cook
You dinner

I have rolled that over in my head
Over the subsequent years
Trying to look at it from every angle
Trying to break the code

It’s funny how eleven words
Could say so little about what waited
Beyond that meal

I’m no good with
Women
I only say that because
I’m always single
Even Bukowski was
Married once by my age

I always keep up hope
Unfortunately I’m not a very
Good judge of what’s best
For me

They say you marry your mother
But I haven’t found her yet
You’d think it would be easy
Given how fucked up
Everyone is these days
But so far
My record is perfect