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The CoffeehouseINTRODUCTIONOnce I got over the initial infatuation you get from that first time in a creative writing class, I developed a love/hate relationship with writing poetry. I have fun doing it, and there's a certain drive inside me to get thoughts down on paper - but I hate the results. Now anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm my own worst critic of my work. However, I really have it in for my poetry. I think it's great when I put it on paper, but after it's done I'm totally disgusted. It's like I got so interested in the rhythm of the words that I missed the point of what I wanted to talk about. So why post a poem here at all? Because... on occasion... rarely... very rarely... I go back to a poem and it strikes me; "Hey, this one turned out all right" (to date, this has happened paid nothing but contributor's copies, I might as well post it here and get still paid nothing -- with the chance it might get read by people familiar with my other work. And if lightning should ever strike again, this lone entry will get some company. Oh, and the reason I call this section "The Coffeehouse"? Easy. It's that whole stigma associated with making p*etry public... in dim places that serve lattes served by bohemian types while someone reads to the accompanyment of bongo drums. Nowadays we call places like that "Starbucks."THE POEMSANOTHER ONE WENT DOWN TODAYIt's darkand his breath comes out in steam frost lingers on the ground and city lights glimmer in the distance like the future Another one went down today It made the morning paper And as the cold makes stiff his fingers and resolve He knows he's got to go back Another one went down today It's broken on the ground Bright vacation clothes like confetti Across an icy landscape The air brings pictures on the chill He's seen them all before: C law marks across the ground Fresh turned earth scent mingling With things heavy and sinister Another one went down today It's there before his eyes Somebody's paperback, a photograph A paper full of yesterday's news A tennis racket, cross-stitch Unmailed postcards that say 'I love you' The frost is off the windshield now The air is full of fumes A familiar whine calls out his name He turns, knowing that one went down today He turns from the picture bringing wind to duty through the cold past ghosts of crumpled metal Soon he will be gone with it all put behind him Soon he will forget And deafen his ears to the voice inside that whispers insistently words he doesn't want to know: "Another one went down today."
VICKIE HAS A DATEVickie, Vickie, she has a dateShe's meeting him at Perkins And I'll bet they're going dutch. She'll have the burger And he'll have the fries They'll sit across the table They'll look at their food. And when it all is over --an after dinner mint! It's out the door they go... (Maybe she'll hold his hand). Nine-thirty -- my, it's late! Her thoughts return to the empty plate A handshake instead of a kiss... Maybe they'll do it again sometime. BACKTHERE WAS A QUITE UNHAPPY GIRLThere was a quite unhappy girlWho made her mark upon this world The purpose of her life, it seems Was to ferment unwholesome schemes On moonlit nights the boys she'd tease Until they'd beg her for release And when at l ast they spilled their seed She kept reminders of the deed And thus it was the world was cursed With what would only be the first of children named Nip, Bink, Tuck, Hoover, Eyelash and the twins, Damascus and Rapunzel. Word of her prowess made the rounds Was known by all throughout the town Her brood in tow for all to see Such misbegotten progeny No man would take her for a wife With trophies of her sordid life But even though she was deplored It just took one knock at the door So while the townsfolk had her shunned She spent another year fecund with children named Nip, Bink, Tuck, Hoover, Eyelash and the twins, Damascus and Rapunzel. And thus produced, out of her need More desperate, mewling mouths to feed Until one day she'd had her fill And she took cash out of the till Then slipped out in the dark of night With dreams of glory in her sight A future that was hers to choose Escape from all the men she'd used She'd buy respect, she'd buy new friends The chance to start her life again with children named Nip, Bink, Tuck, Hoover, Eyelash and the twins, Damascus and Rapunzel. She hid as long as she had dared But no-one in her home town cared Their place was pleasant, it was nice Without her kids, without her vice No extradition would be waived If it was far from them she stayed And so she lived there, long in doubt Until the money had run out Until she had again seduced And in good time she had produced more children named Nip, Bink, Tuck, Hoover, Eyelash and the twins, Damascus and Rapunzel. These children, we should now aver All turned out to be just like her With pouting lips, seductive eyes They break hearts with their scheming lies As far and wide they all have gone To have more babies just like mom Like locusts they all multiply Until "Enough!" is our sad cry But there's no way to make amends In truth, we'll never see the end of children named Nip, Bink, Tuck, Hoover, Eyelash and the twins, Damascus and Rapunzel. BACK |
© 2007 by Joe Clifford Faust |
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