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Archive for May, 2010

Sleeping Beauty Left on Plane – by Jerry Ratch

May 29, 2010 2 comments

 

Sleeping Beauty was left sleeping on a plane
They tried to wake her but couldn’t
so they locked her in for the night

When she got up in the middle of the night
she was completely disoriented
and staggered up the aisle to the bathroom
to take a pee in a tiny little closet

“Where am I?” she kept whining “Where am I?”
Ordinarily Sleeping Beauty did not whine
so you can understand how extraordinary
the circumstances

After finding herself locked in the plane
she sat down in the pilot’s seat
and began pushing buttons and fondling
the controls

Suddenly the engines fired up
She taxied that puppy out onto the runway
and radioed the control tower
“Control Tower? This is Sleeping Beauty.
Permission to take off?”

“Yeah, right,” was all they said from the tower
They were smoking a giant doobie
because it was the middle of the night
and it seemed like the planet had stopped spinning
Also they thought someone was joking
until Sleeping Beauty powered up and took off

“Okay, May Day, May Day, we got Sleeping Beauty
circling over Manhattan and don’t know
how to get her down! May Day! May Day!”

“Tell her to splash down in the Hudson River,”
said an unknown voice over the intercom
probably her handsome prince in a rowboat below
“It’s been done before. Don’t worry. Piece of cake.
But next time watch out for the Magic Geese.”

copyright © 2010 by Jerry Ratch

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Rock On – by Michelle Elvy

May 29, 2010 2 comments

Rock on

by Michelle Elvy

Inspired by Christian Bell’s This is Not A George Saunders Story

It’s dark in here.

Well what do you expect?

Yeah, I know, it’s just that, sometimes,

I’d like to get out.

It’s your choice.

Is it?

Look…

I mean, I read. I’ve been around.

You’re from Oklahoma.

So they say…

What d’ya mean?

Not Arizona.

Huh? Never mind, it’s OK: no one remembers

their birth.

Yeah, but most people remember some

things, don’t they?

Of course, but so do you.

Like what?

Well, what did you last read?

Um…

You said you read, so what do you read

regularly? The NYT?

(blank stare)

Do you live under a fucking….?

Never mind. The WSJ?

(shrug)

The LAT?

I once read a book by George Saunders.

That objectivitst writer?

No, he’s not objectivist any more –

he denounced Rand and her neo-cons.

Woah, you do read.

I’m wiki-mad.

Cheater.

Can’t fit too many books under here, can I?

That Saunders: he’s smart, eh?

Well they don’t call it a genius grant for nothin’.

*   *   *

Hey, you know what? We should go out.

Out? Out?!

Well, yeah, don’t you ever think

you might wanna?

Is that a trick question?

Well why not? What are you waiting for?

Turnips? Radishes? No, carrots! Just a

goddamn carrot.

You’re being obtuse. Let’s go meet

some people.

Don’t know the local language.

I can teach you. Say ‘bonjour.’

They speak Spanish here?

Good lord, man! This ain’t Spain!

Well how should I know?

Jeez, you’re a regular Eliza Doolittle.

Hey! I’m a guy, dude.

So? still the same idea. Rain in Spain

and all that.

Well I never been to Spain.

That’s not the point.

But I kinda like the music.

You don’t play any music.

Naw, but I used to have a tape deck.

You mean a CD player.

Naw, man, 8-track.

Good lord, you need to get out.

You at least need company under here.

Two can be as a bad as one….

*   *    *

OK, fine. Play me something.

Anything but your old 8-tracks.

Wait, let’s play Mortal Combat: Annihilation.

You know I hate those games.

Dysfunction, dysfunction, dysfunction is a function.

You are dysfunction.

If dysfunction is a function, then I must be

some kind of ge-ni-us!!

Come on. You’re too alone under here.

You’re here.

*   *    *

You know, you can make this world

whatever you want it to be.

It’s too dark.

So make a little light.

Can’t — but maybe that guy in that cave

will lend me his torch.

I’m leaving.

Suit yourself. I’m gonna name my rock,

by the way — call it ‘genius granite’.

You never even read a Saunders book.

So? I got internet, dude.

Come on, I’ll take you to the library.

Well I guess if I gotta go somewhere,

that ain’t a bad first choice. But let’s stop

and eat, too — I’m starvin’, man. But I don’t

eat fast food. Could do with some tapas, though.

Have you been sneaking out?

No, just fancy the idea of tapas… Spain an’ all.

OK, come on, let’s go.

Alright… but I’m a little nervous…

fuck it’s bright out here! …

Oh, look, a daisy!

That’s not a daisy, you idiot.

It’s a jonquil.

What does it matter?

What does it matter?

Talkin’ to Myself ’bout Beets – by Walter Bjorkman

May 29, 2010 4 comments

Talkin’ to Myself ’bout Beets
by Walter Bjorkman

Walter says:

Harvard "Sideman" Beets at a bad gig

Someone brought up Harvard Beets yesterday,
kinda like Carlin sez
Jumbo Shrimp or Military Intelligence,

Walter says:
the lowly pedestrian source of sustenance to the poor
dressed up for a wedding
sugar to the non-tropical peons,
rough-skinned root, trying to be a flowering  ivy
probably got in on a grant

Walter says:
He met up with others in the same situation . . .
Yale Turnip
Brown Spud
Princeton Parsnip
Cornell Carrot

Walter says:
they formed an underground covel
and using their contacts in high places
the tubers & roots that had arrived 
who had took on proper names
& esteemed positions
The Dartmouth Shallot
The Wellesly Chive

Walter says:
they would secretly meet and put on some music
“Green Onions” by the MGs & Booker T.
plot against the leafy, above-ground powers that be
The esteemed and secretive
Watercress Society 

Walter says:
So they took over the Bean’s office
and held out for open emissions
which was finally adopted
and caused the need
for college level classes in
remedial rooting

Walter says:
The group disbanded and went back underground
The Harvard Beet was found ten years after
In northern New York
On a local committee for better irrigation

Walter says:
The Cornell Carrot went on
to a moderately successful career
as filler for Campbell’s Soups
We all know about Spud’s
humiliating association with Mattel
The others spend the rest of their freshness dates
hangin’ around gumbo joints
listening to Zydeco

Walter says:
There is talk of re-uniting on a concert tour
VAID Aid
“Veggies Against Irradiation Degradation”
Parsnip plays a mean gourd on their one hit

Walter says:
“The Root Of The Matter”

God Save The Queen Of Hearts – by Coleen Shin

May 28, 2010 5 comments

God Save The Queen Of Hearts

by Coleen Shin

make it smile, whatever
I’m not asking for a signature
though your name is another country
and laying in the dentist chair, needles seem
a given, the numbing sensation of a could care less
I wanted to count pricks, I thought that’s how it went
like a quill or pen, a subtle maneuver
on soft terrain, the praying mantis, a choice
even the artist tips his hat, scratches his head
remarks that this is the repast of a greening royalty
practically a genius of its genus
I could imagine that, the court costs alone
predates modern litigation, another
off with her head! or his, though minstrels
are so devout, so iconoclastic when it comes
to their craft. I wanted to save you
keep you in a locket warmed by my breast
not queen the bees, or lead the dance
a devotee of public hangings is here at noon
winner of my silver spoon, it is a trick, a trick
of my consort, his council, to make a spectacle
all could see through, find the deadly metaphor
all who do will be free to go, the rest
God help them, there is nothing more 

Love Letter from the Last Elephant – by Darryl Price

May 28, 2010 2 comments

Love Letter from the Last Elephant
by Darryl Price

We hear all the stories
coming right up out of
the dust. We see the same
sky, the same stars. We’ve met
 
our own deaths forever.
We know what’s happening.
Because of this some of
us will come willingly

to have chains put around
our feet. Some others must
never be anything
but free. This way they can

still lead with their hearts.We
cannot save us. You could
not save yours either as
he was bleached and became

a ghost. There is little
time for this conversation
before the planet
can no longer pronounce

our names correctly. Then
there will be no one to
call us home again by
trumpet or full foot stomp.

It may sound funny to
you but we have tasted
the rain, flowers, grass;
it tastes right, we believe.

Darryl Price

Voting Instructions – by Darryl Price

May 28, 2010 4 comments

Voting Instructions

“No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”–Aesop
 
I’m for people.
I’m for mushrooms.
I’m against ants.
For sunflowers.
Against those snakes
who kill for shade.
For elephants.
Against hunting
for fun. I’m for
comic books and
against snobs who
think art is worth
 
more than kindness.
I’m for laughing
at the movies,
books, strawberries.
Against cheating
the oceans out
of their bounty.
I’m for coral
reefs, sharks even,
but against the
scientists who
only believe
 
what they can prove,
philosophers who
love to argue
to the death.
I’m for loud music,
against bass
as the only
heard instrument.
I’m for wild trees
and plenty of
them! I’m against
houses being too
 
close together.
I’m for nectoring
monarchs who
could care less
about us humans.
I’m for pictures
of my friends, not
files,living well
in your own way.
I’m against the
definitions
 
of God. I’m for
a starry night.
I’m against smog
just so we can
make some big cash.
I’m for chewing
gum but I’m against
littering. I’m
for poetry,
against writing
to attack and
wound. I’m for love
 
that defends all.
that forgives all,
and includes all.
The only reason
to go to
the stars is to
realize the
light extends down
through all our concepts
of why we
are here. Not worth
fighting over.
 
Darryl Price

Categories: A Field of Poetic VOICES Tags:

Peach – by Claire King

May 27, 2010 4 comments

Peach

by Claire King

 


Ah, shit, Man, she’s a peach. I know her Daddy.  Rough son-of-a-bitch. Old though. And rich. She’s standing outside the 7-11, skirt up round her ass. Ripe. She could be a whore but she looks way too classy. Plus she has a huge soda – I’d guess diet – and a Twinkie. I work kitty corner, at the Sunoco and I’ve been watching her since six-thirty. I’m getting off in ten minutes.

I drive the Chevy over, top down. I have to make four rights to get back over there. It’s a pain in the ass. She smiles mad, like she’s been waiting on me for hours.

Want to get a beer? I say.

I’m fifteen, she says.

You don’t look it.

There’s oil stains on my arms and I stink from the heat, but I got Springsteen in the deck – always a winner. Just like that, there she is, sitting right next to me, Her legs open a crack in her little Barbie skirt.  All that skin. I’m telling you man; she’s a fucking grade A peach. What man in his right mind wouldn’t?

We park up on the corner of Lafayette and Tenth. The place is still half empty, strip–lit in blue. The bartender looks at me funny.

Rags, he says. And he pours the beers. Oily Rags, that’s what the sons-of-bitches call me in this joint. They’re as close to family as I got, though. I order beers.

The girl’s at the jukebox. The whole damn bar is staring at her ass and she knows it. But she ain’t playing it. She’s put on some goddam sentimental shit. The regulars groan, but when she comes back to the bar she takes the cigarette from my mouth and puts it in her own. She sucks it hard, and she knows what she’s doing. Jesus.

I’m a virgin, she says. Just so you know.  I hold her hand and she relaxes a little.

I love Foreigner, I say.

Four beers later and she’s falling through the screen door.  I scoop her up, over the couch and I pull up that skirt. I’m still good to go on four beers. My cock is hard. Not that she’d notice either way.

Who’s your Daddy? I say. And I slap her ass.