The Blue Rock Poems

THE BLUE ROCK POEMS

Contents

1. The Widower by William Haskins
2. Willard Munsen by Michelle (drachin8)
3. Linda Muscatelli by Bret
4. Two Hobos by Godfather
5. Speed and Ella by NeuroFizz
6. The Spinster - Gladys Barnes by Trish (Stew21)
7. The Abandoned House by Godfather
8. The Post Mistress by Shiraz
9. Haiku Jane by JAlpha
10. Maggie Pitchford by Michelle (drachin8)
11. Blue Rock Forest by Paint
12. Will Baskins by Michelle (drachin8)
13. Alfred Lynch by Trish (Stew21)
14. Billy Fortune by NeuroFizz
15. Paul Rollins by Trish (Stew21)
16. Lucy Maines by Shiraz
17. Daryll Connor by Michelle (drachin8)
18. Ella James by Trish (Stew21)
19. The Innkeeper by Innkeeper
20. "Big Ed" Tarry by Cassie88
21. Tara Allen by poetinahat
22. Danny Comeau by KTC
23. Margaret Gould by KTC
24. Erika with a K by Rivana
25. Lumberjack Pierre by Paint
26. fairy spring by Paint
27. The Butcher by Innkeeper
28. The M's - Margaret and Margie by Trish (Stew21)
29. Annie Connick by KTC
30. The Town Bully by Haggis
31. Frank, the Janitor and Miss Potts, the Teacher by Shiraz
32. Eustus Harp by davids
33. Little Melanie Maskins by Rivana
34. Old Whiskey Maid Penny by Rivana
35. A Song from Lisa Butterfield to Her Best Friend Martha-Jane by Rivana
36. Harry's Blue Rock Blues by ddgryphon
37. Gathering Greens by ddgryphon
38. Sarah Jessims by Michelle (drachin6)
39. The Morganson Boys by NeuroFizz
40. Amy Munsen by Michelle (drachin6)
41. Johnny Bluenose by Paint
42. Sheriff Rollins by Michelle (drachin6)
43. Bill Brewster by arrowqueen
44. Father Evan Stuart by Shwebb
45. Naydeen Bayer by Paint
46. Michael on Life and Mark Stanton by Rivana
47. Blind Sophie by Jcomp
48. Sandy Morganson by Trish (Stew21)
49. Jerry Sparks by pconsidine
50. Emma Sue Davis by Pat (pb10220)
51. The Trailer Park by Paint
52. Jim Crawford by ddgryphon
53. Brandon O'Toole by PattiTheWicked
54. The Lament of Georgina Fields by Rivana
55. The Bettis Sisters by PattiTheWicked
56. The Lumberjack's Wife by rosemerry
57. Alistair McGunn by Godfather
58. Kass Lynch by Paint
59. Here lies Olmar Custar by Nateskate
60. Wild Betty Sue by dahmnait
61. The Stranger by Perks
62. Wendell Allen by ddgryphon
63. A Song for Tommy Oak
64. Declan Mahan by poetinahat
65. Ricky Loves Becky by Don Magin (dobiwon)
66. Miss Blue Rock by Trish (Stew21)
67. Mendoza's by poetinahat
68. Ballerina, Aged Six by jst5150
69. U.S. v. Blue Rock (eminent domain) by jst5150
70. Blue Rock Trust & Savings by jst5150
71. Judy Walters by PattiTheWicked
72. Margaret McGrath's Prayer by Don Magin (dobiwon)
73. Harriet Walter's Prayer by Don Magin (dobiwon)
74. Dennis McGrath's Thoughts by Don Magin (dobiwon)
75. Earnest Walter's Thoughts by Don Magin (dobiwon)
76. Hannah Walters-McGrath by Don Magin (dobiwon)
77. L.J. The Carnival Worker by Trish (Stew21)
78. junie winters by P.H. Delarran
79. auntie fancy by P.H. Delarran
80. Eunice Knight by Cassie88
81. My Uncle Sid by NeuroFizz
82. Regret (for Ricky) by Mark Moss (LimeyDawg)
83. Dylan's Story by Mark Moss (LimeyDawg)
84. Robbie Gallagher (The Changeling) by PattiTheWicked
85. Bob and Ned by Mark Moss (LimeyDawg)
86. So Far Off by jst5150
87. Eva Halloway by NeuroFizz
88. Marigold Schefke by Eveningsdawn
89. Mackenzie Schefke by Eveningsdawn
90. Blue Rock Love Triangle by Eveningsdawn
91. Alan Morganson by PattiTheWicked
92. Diane Yazawa by PattiTheWicked
93. Dustin Schefke by Eveningsdawn
94. Meet O-Z (seven, eight, nine) by jst5150
95. Black War Stone by Paint
96. unmarked by dclary
97. Beatrice Coleman by jst5150
98. Blue Nichols by scribbling butterfly
99. Lessons from a Headstone in Blue Rock Cemetery by LimeyDawg
100. Save Mendoza's by P.H. Delarran
101. Sestina on the Battle for the Souls in Blue Rock by emeraldcite
102. I remember by whistlelock
103. Town Gossip by Eveningsdawn
104. Nervous Tobias Watts by Trish (Stew21)
105. Hope by billythrilly7th
106. Dep Verd by Paint
107. A Cantor's Blessing for Blue Rock by davids
108. Darryl and Barbie Lou by Pat (pb10220)
109. The Postman's Collection by jst5150
110. The Perfect Word by NeuroFizz
111. Kevin Dennis Turns 50 by Don Magin (dobiwon)
112. Gene and Damon by jst5150
113. Peerless Peter Pasternak by jst5150
114. Gleam Blue by jst5150
115. Hal's Hardware Emporium by My-Immortal
116. The Wanderer by Akuma
117. Priestess by Paint
118. scattered Polaroids by jst5150
119. Cat of Dead by Akuma
120. The Football Hero by robeiae
121. Silvia Blake by laurel29
122. The Lumber Baron by Ganesha
123. Fragments of Haley by colpo di fulmine
124. Peggy Woods- The One Legged Bride by writerterri
125. Abandoned Temper by dancingandflying
126. The Wishing Well by TheIT
127. The Town Founder by arrowqueen
128. Meadowview Dance Hall (The Flapper) by jst5150
129. The Schefkes (Final Chapter) by Eveningsdawn
130. Dozer by Paint
131. The Trashman by johnnysannie
132. Town Hound by kdnxdr
133. The Rhymin' Man by QueenB
134. Me and Paddy Murphy by LimeyDawg
135. Blue Rock's Scheme by Joyce Rapier (BeeBomb)
136. The New Family by SherryTex
137. Sailor's Daughter by Eveningsdawn
138. The Visit by JoyceW
139. The Town Loser by louisgodwin
140. Anna Faye by Saritams8
141. Crater Fathom Deep by jst5150


1
The Widower

After Old Man Pitchford
Buried his wife,
He went back to the house
And coughed three times,
Sat down in his favorite chair
And cried,
Smoked a cigarette,
Said his prayers,
And died.

-William Haskins



2
Willard Munsen

We always stopped for coffee
at the corner store
to start the hour drive north.
Maggie Pitchford loved her caffeine
despite the doctor's orders;
the hospital was more bearable
with a cup and conversation
on the way.

Everyone knew me as a careful man,
but it only takes one mistake.

I lie here now in memory
of my failure:
no car is invincible
when pulling in front of
a semi-trailer.

-Michelle (drachin8)



3
Linda Muscatelli

Always the bridesmaid...
I never could get a man
to ask the right questions
or make a declarative statement
about his feelings for me

But your husbands were willing
when I let them know I was lonely
Everything you all had,
a home, your cars and kids
I had only in my dreams

Dreams that ended
That dead July evening
The Pick and Shovel burned down
I saw the flicker of flames
in my rented room

Where I lie down at last
a pint of peach brandy
the rest of the tranquilizers
orange light danced on the ceiling
like my torment to come

At my funeral
none of you, or your men
men who'd wept in my arms
about the burdens they bore
as much as shed a tear

- Bret



4
Two Hobos

Two brothers,
Jack "Frost" and Bo,
Old hobos from Mississippi.
the one gone gray,
the other with his hat pulled low.
Jack would talk
or tap out a beat,
and Bo's wailing harmonica
would fill Blue Rock's streets,
until the street lights went off.

- Godfather



5
Speed and Ella

My uncle Speed
grew through his hair
before I was born
so says my dad,
and long before
Mom and Dad
moved away from
Blue Rock.

Ella is Speed’s friend
they’re always together
she, with the torpedoes
on her chest,
that make her hugs
an education
for a thirteen year old
like me.

Speed and Ella
always laughing
no rings on their fingers
but touching in ways
that suggest more
than what they say,
so says my dad
his eyes on Ella’s torpedoes.

Speed and Ella
know every dirty joke
and act them out after
we kids go to sleep.
Or so they think.
And my dad drinks his beer
and laughs until his eyes
tear up, still on Ella’s torpedoes.

But after Speed and Ella
go home to wherever
my father talks about
how perfect they are
for each other,
but the way he says it
doesn’t make it sound
so perfect.

Back home from vacation
my dad tells my mom
how lucky they are
to have left Blue Rock,
and how Speed and Ella
are just typical.
Whatever
that means.

And he tells her
that Speed
can’t be that happy
or he’d marry Ella
and have kids
like us, but I know,
just like Speed, I’d settle
for torpedoes.

Yet all I see
in Speed and Ella
is happy back and forth,
his eyes on her eyes,
not her torpedoes.
And it makes me wonder
if my dad
was adopted.

- NeuroFizz



6
The Spinster - Gladys Barnes

Coffee mugs on a wooden rack
each from a place
someone else visited.
A piano
she'd never learned to play
justifying, "it was mother's"
mismatched China -
five patterns in all.
Gladys looks at her puffy hand;
"I wish it still fit."
while she strokes her cat
Her eighth cat in a row
"My truest love, Bernie,
he went off to war
he proposed before he left.
Daddy wanted us to wait
til Bernie got back."
But he never got back.
The yellow envelope arrived
at 4:56 on a Wednesday
afternoon made it look orange in
falling light.
Since,
she still hates
Wednesdays
she never leaves the house
without a hat - black.
answers the door in a housecoat
denture-free -
ever after
known as the witch
to neighbor kids.
She sits alone
and strokes her cat,
each cat,
every cat,
in succession,
named Bernie.

- Trish (Stew21)



7
The Abandoned House

Just to the west of Blue Rock,
there stands
an old abandoned house.
The house is said
to be haunted
by the ghosts
of old townsfolk.
Nobody knows who lived there,
But some say it was Tommy Oak.

Speed and I went down
to the little place.
We were young
and called for
the supposed ghosts
living there.

We said we'd bury something,
and dig it up
when we were older
So we carved
into a piece of stone,
Ghosts of the abandoned house,
come out,
we mean you no harm!
And in the hole that we dug up,
we found the skeleton
Of someones left arm.

- Godfather



8
The Post Mistress

Numbered boxes in a row
Letters sorted
Parcels stacked
But not before a close inspection

The town bulletin board
A satiated sponge
And broken spigot
That can’t turn off

She rules her domain
A public servant
Insisting it’s her duty
To be well-informed

False concern and
Counterfeit care
Feeds her cache of minutiae
To spew on the locals

Come evening, the door is closed
The small building empty
Preparing for tomorrow’s flurry
Of town folk needing their fix

- Shiraz



9
Haiku Jane

Here comes Haiku Jane
her boots are made for walkin'
the town feminist

runs the bookstore too
three small shelves of paperbacks
back of the cafe

- JAlpha



10
Maggie Pitchford

I have but two regrets in life:
One,
that I did not spend my last moments
in my husband's arms,
sharing my last breath with him,
a kiss fresh upon my lips.
Two,
that my last cup of coffee was Decaf.

-Michelle (drachin8)



11
Blue Rock Forest

Looms large, emerald green
at the west edge of town
the Blue Rock Forest
breathes.

Centuries of twisted limbs
reach down sly, slow
to caress
the town's children.

At silver eveningtide
forest wails low
through ancient roots
for the moon.

Horses tell the tale
when they rear and plunge
no entry, stay back!
from the forest's dusky hall.

- Paint



12
Will Baskins

"I'm no poet,"
he always said
if you caught him,
pen between his teeth,
notepad in his lap,
basking at Blue Rock Lake.

And everyone would always laugh
and move on down the shore,
smiles on their faces,
dreaming of the treasures
in that small collection
of paper.

And when he died,
his notepad,
his latest chewed pen,
were buried with him,
still unread.

- Michelle (drachin8)



13
Alfred Lynch

Proud and crisp - Alfred Lynch
was like the produce he sold.
His bleached apron matched
his hair - thin and white.

After the metal forge closed
He carved a living
season to season
selling the fruits they bore.

Springtime brought bulbs
and annuals
the town decorated
with Alfred's seedlings.

In Summer, barefoot kids
paid a quarter for a peach.
Alfred smiled.
they reminded him
of his almost-grown grandkids.

In Fall, over-ripe apples clung
to him after his long day,
he sold pumpkins and cider
to make a dime

through the days -
growing shorter
before the quiet winter.

At Christmas he sold trees
and made garlands.

"I think I bring joy to Blue Rock"
he said to Margie,
"At least I hope I do."

But harsh Winter
would end him
while shovelling snow.

Empty, stands Alfred's Produce
Empty, Margie's pockets.

Still, when Margie whispers to him
graveside,
she says, "Alfred, you did."

- Trish (Stew21)



14
Billy Fortune

Billy Fortune lived
in the old railroad station,
converted to a house
with no real kitchen.

He liked to knock
bird nests out of trees
and pull the heads
off the baby birds.

His railroad house
caught fire last August
and he moved away
from Blue Rock.

My parents whisper
about the fire
and it seems to me
so do the birds.

But come this spring
I can hear them sing
while building nests
in what remains

of that old railroad station
with no real kitchen.

- NeuroFizz



15
Paul Rollins

If there's one thing
Blue Rock's got
it's taverns.
Well two:
Taverns and churches.
I got to both religiously.

Doc won't lemme drive
so I walk.

You can walk
wherever you need to go, here.
I need to go to the tavern,
'specially after church.

The young'uns think
Ole Paul's a fool
as I salt my beer
with crooked fingers
and look at my Keno card
down my crooked nose
cussing at the numbers.

They don't know
what I've seen in my life.

I was in Dubya Dubya Deuce
I tell 'em - one will buy me
a Bud draft - always does.

Then he turns to
pick up on Lucy Maines
wicked bartender, she.
They've got no time
for an old fool like me.

- Trish (Stew21)



16
Lucy Maines

Time was, her auburn hair
Once draped her soft shoulders
Now streaked with gray, it’s
Pulled up and off her callous face

A once petite frame with sensual curves
Worn over time, aching and stiff

Soft linen, now replaced by a dirty apron
Lucy Maines’ sweet green eyes
Have turned sour, along with her mien
She doesn’t care anymore

Forty-two years of washing glasses
Wiping up puke and listening to old men cry
Have taken their toll and it shows
But she stays with nowhere to go

Billy Fortune didn’t tell her where he went
Bastard

- Shiraz



17
Daryll Connor

I watch her every day
stomping in and out,
in and out,
of her little cafe,
combat boots clomping,
warning Jeb and Eric
when they've leaned too long
on the window pane.
I know who she watches as well
with those soft brown eyes:
Sarah Jessims strutting down the street,
swaying her new-found hips.

Sometimes I wish she'd watch me.

-Michelle (drachin8)



18
Ella James

High school left her
with a bad reputation
and a scar.
The day she walked out
she said, "I'm never coming back."
Went looking for something better
something she could never be
in Blue Rock.

Greyhound carried her away
and she would start anew.
A new addiction
A new reputation
equally ferocious
as the last ones.
Dreams fell like icicles in spring
Sharp shards of a past
not worth remembering.
Drama in a life instead
of on a stage.

And with no money
and no time to lose,
she took change
from her tip jar
and called a friend.
Greyhound brought her home.

Speed met her at the bus stop.
Gave her a lift and
Lifted her spirits.
Ella never looked back
to the past
not worth remembering.
Ella came home to stay.

- Trish (Stew21)



19
The Innkeeper

Welcome tired travelers,
Come in you weary guests,
Please tarry at our inn a while,
And give yourselves a rest.

No grander home will you find,
No other lodgings see,
The only place to stay in town,
Is with my wife and me.

This house is full of memories,
Of a bygone time and place,
The laughter of my children,
Still echo in this space.

In this place I wed my Lucy,
In this place my Lucy died,
And now behind this building,
I rest by Lucy’s side.

For many years we ran this inn,
Through times of war and drought,
When prohibition came to town,
We threw the drunkards out!

For fifty cents a night we charged,
The men of the CCC,
We did our best by Roosevelt,
New Dealers all were we.

So welcome weary travelers,
Abide with us and rest,
My wife and I will visit you,
In the dreams of honored guests.

- Innkeeper



20
"Big Ed" Tarry

I let life happen to me.
Imagine waking to the sound of rain,
to think only how a wet field
slows a horse.
To care, really care about nothing
but the touch of a tightrope
under your toes,
believing you can get to the other side,
knowing any second you might fall,
will fall, deserve to.
I let life happen to me.
Let it take what it means
to be human from me,
not things, but the wanting of things,
the joy in the sharing of things.
At fourteen, I won
a .22 caliber hunting rifle
off of Zeke Taylor with aces full
at my first poker game.
At sixty,
I propped that rifle on the floor,
leaned over, feeling the coldness
of the steel against
the roof of my mouth,
and pulled the trigger.
I let life happen to me,
I did not let death do the same,
finding some solace in that last
certain moment.

- Cassie88



21
Tara Allen

I've been buying
my own Christmas presents
since Dad took off
and Mom started drinking.
I was ten.
I've served drinks at the Tavern
since I was sixteen
but Bob said he thought
I was twenty-one.
Lucky for me
whatever that is.

It's okay -
working there, I mean.
Bob treats me nice;
he used to give me looks
but I didn't look back.
He knew Mom
and he understood.
I get a lot of looks.
it's a compliment
whatever that is.

Mom said I didn't
have to finish high school
but I did anyways.
I like learning about things
but I don't care if I
ever use the knowledge.
I just like knowing.
People never ask me though
I guess because I'm pretty
whatever that is.

Most people around here
get married sometime.
It doesn't always stick
but it's something
you get to be
at least for a while.
Now and then
One of the guys in the bar
says "Marry me, Tara"
like that makes it okay
to squeeze my butt.
They must think I'm lonely
whatever that is.

- poetinahat



22
Danny Comeau

Walking through town,
in the shroud of night,
watching the reflected lights
in the puddles at road's edge,
green, amber, red,
green, amber, red,
I imagine there must be more.
With empty streets,
and cooling coffee
from the now closed cafe
keeping me company,
I imagine the world beyond
the tri-coloured sign
at town's edge,
Welcome to Blue Rock:
Quaint, Friendly, Home.
I imagine leaving,
seeing that desolate sign
in my rearview mirror,
dimly lit by the Saunders' porch light,
and I fill with longing,
so real it rips my lungs,
causes hitching
in my small town dampened spirits.
There must be more...
More than the promise of pulp,
that sour burned wood smell
devouring my senses night and day.
More than the promise of pickups,
Annie Connick in a snow white gown.
Out beyond that sign,
imagination fills me with hope,
and then my feet defy dreams,
turn me around, about face,
bring me back to the centre of town,
The statue of Diefenbaker,
the bench beside his plaque
where Annie first let me kiss her wanting wet lips.
Cities lie in dust in the face of that kiss,
Progress leaves me behind,
guarantee my Blue Rock future,
laundry in the pulp dirty breeze,
fixing carbeurators in the blueberry heat of August,
Watching Annie rocking on the porch,
Apron swaying on her gently undulating knees,
Children at her feet twirling buttercups to chins.
A single kiss,
melted from my lips months ago,
will keep me in Blue Rock,
keep me from knowing
the world beyond that simple sign,
lit nightly by the pool of hopeful light
dripping from the Saunders porch,
that beacon telling strangers
where to find my home.

- KTC



23
Margaret Gould

Days are quiet now,
with the kids moved on,
in search of brighter days,
the promise of neon glow.
I forget what they longed for now,
sitting around the dinner table
alit with bickering noise.
To be elsewhere,
leave the glow of Blue Rock
for places more conducive
to their upturned dreams.
Now the memory of them,
how it fades from view.
No visits have brought them
back to the forefront
of my wandering thoughts.
The river of my youth,
still a calming five minute walk
from the dooryard of my life.
Their generation forgets
the comfort in knowing
that a rock thrown from the place of your birth
still has the potential to land
in the place where you will wed,
the place where you will finally lay still,
comforted in the knowledge
that you were known by neighbours,
cherished by the familiar faces
in the general store down the road.
They left too soon to remember
they could one day return.
And now, walking along the river's edge,
I remember falling,
swimming to the rock in the bay
where the town's name was birthed,
looking out across the water
to take in the comfort of community.
Age is bringing me closer to the beginning,
hauling away the baggage of memory,
and one day
it will be as though they never were,
as though they did not stretch my womb
and make this small place of their birth
a sacred field I could never leave.
Nursing homes in the comfort of cities
have recently been calling,
enticing me with the seaweed motion of hands,
Children trying to ease their guilt,
bring me closer to the ruins of man,
cause me to leave the comfort of my dooryard
for the trappings of their slick neon glow.
Blue Rock, the place I defend,
small to the world outside,
yet big enough to hold
the whole of humanity,
one child at a time
as they cascade,
now only in memory,
from my burgeoning womb.

- KTC



24
Erika with a K

Erika with a K
was the odd one in High School
Even the odd people gave her a wide berth
She wore black every day,
except on Labor and the first of May
when she dressed all in white
-The most brilliant of sights,
in linen imported from Nepal

Erika’s father
was from old blood in town
As a rich man; he was seldom at home
He traveled far and wide,
that’s nothing to hide
And Erika studied art
one summer in Saint-Bart -
She spoke better French than miss Ward

Erika with a K
She never cared about propriety
and never swore on a god, but a goddess
Despite people’s berating
you’d find her meditating,
beneath an old tree
every day around three
Come thunder, come rain or come shine

- Rivana



25
Lumberjack Pierre

time was
the town of Blue Rock
brought in
Lumberjack Pierre
and his knarly crew.

powers that be
were going to cut
Blue Rock Forest
to the ground,
lovely space it was.

trees laughed and whistled
through their branches.

the thought was
condos and a lake
flowers, ducks
retirement
and all.

Pierre fired up
his massive saw-
the crew stood ready
as the motor revved
a nasty whine,

old and dry
sacrificed her days
an oak tree
tall as the sky
fell on the lumberjack.

so the legend goes

- Paint



26
fairy spring

fairy spring bubbles
clear cold water
dances and plays
falls
pure over
sparkling crystal

the legend
with townies
it will bring
back youth

the forest
guards
jealously
watching
sinister

- Paint



27
The Butcher

I am the village butcher,
Mark well what I do say,
This beef that be a hang'n,
Were fresh just yesterday,
The chicken's green, the bacon's fat,
The fish has turned quite ripe,
If me mutton ain't yer fancy,
Then try this bit er tripe,
The oxtails have gone moldy,
Me prices are a steal,
I shall not charge ye extra,
For the maggots in the veal!

- Innkeeper



28
The M's - Margaret and Margie

Sipping lemonade on a porch swing
nyloned feet sway
to the aged giggles of The M's.
A lifetime they've spent
and the stories were told,
And today, they were telling again.

In quiet times of Blue Rock
the early hours of their lives
the town was two roads wide.
Two little girls became sisters
And they called themselves The M's.

They walked to a one-room school house
from family farms each day
Each made it all the way to 8th Grade.
Dust covered their buckled shoes
And coated their throats and lunch pails
They talked about myth and legend
of the country-folk
those things that made wind howl
and floorboards creak.

Margie's Papa teased them night before
In a sleepover bedtime story
"The gypsies rode through
years ago - took little children and dogs!
and around this time of year,
at dusk,
you can hear the team of horses
rumbling 'cross the planks of old Creek Bridge!
carrying a wagon-load of Laughter and evil shrieks
As their ghosts roll back into Blue Rock."
Margaret and Margie huddled close
under the quilt in the old wooden bed.

Afraid to be out at dusk, next day,
they raced toward home after play
feet kicking up dust in a frenzy
giggling at the adventure,
letting imagination take hold
unspoiled of possibilities.
Ghosts and Gypsies!
They could suspend disbelief.
Still time to be innocent
Still time to forge memories.

To the steep muddy bank of the creek
they ran and stopped on the grassy slope.
Falling, laughing and listening
to the absence of sound
no ghosts.
Just a falling sun.

Then...a clank, a clatter a roll of thunder
getting closer, getting louder
wicked laughter -
a spineful of chills
huddled under that old bridge,
ankles buried in thick black mud,
petticoats sopping six inches deep,
that gypsy team got closer, louder;
bore down with speed and heat.

Afraid to look they closed their eyes -
prayed, shut out all the light.
Hoof beats rolling wheels
the bridge planks wailed and groaned!
and silence.
still, empty silence.
'cept for the gasps of The M's.

Full hour passed to dark
before they climbed the bank,
shaken to a core they had not known existed.
Gypsies with a team of horses
Then just disappeared.

The story -
their children
their grandchildren
would hear at sleepovers,
huddled under a quilt
in a big wooden bed.

A sisterhood and a legend,
Reminisced on,
at the porch swing with lemonade.

- Trish (Stew21)



29
Annie Connick

"I love him,
I love him not,"
Each result ends in tune
to the syncopated rhythm of my heart,
with a resounding 'love him'
as the last petal falls.
Alas, I cannot stay.
Tonight I leave this empty town,
Pack my bags and dream away
From its treacherous tendrils.
Away from the stink of its ugly river,
The obtuseness of its simple inhabitants.
Danny Comeau, with his deep brown pools,
Eyes I can get lost in, forget to refuse,
They almost keep me here, in this place I hate.
But I can’t.
The bus comes through at eleven.
I will be on it, or I will die.
Danny Comeau, with his dark tanned skin,
A smell I could devour, forget to ignore,
A texture that almost makes me remain in this town of hate.
But I can’t.
I’ll buy my ticket as the bus pulls in…
To avoid the knowing glances
Of those tarrying about the café
With nothing better to do
But raise their brows at those escaping.
Danny Comeau, with his tall bright hope.
But I can’t.

- KTC



30
The Town Bully

A troublesome thug named John Kohn
Tried to force Alice Beckerson prone.
So her pa grabbed his Glock;
Shot that punk from Blue Rock,
And he's buried here under this stone.

- Haggis



31
Frank, the Janitor and Miss Potts, the Teacher

A one room schoolhouse
It’s still in use today
Kathryn Potts, the teacher
Many years it’s been this way

When the children go home
There’s much more work to do
She grades their papers and stacks their books
Tomorrow’s lessons start anew

She hears familiar footsteps
Climbing stairs beyond the wall
It’s Frank, the school’s janitor
Right on schedule, his daily call

“Hello Miss Potts,” he announces himself
His greeting every night
He wants to call her Kathryn
But sure that wouldn’t be right

He washes down the blackboard
And scrubs the hardwood floor
Wipes color crayon off the walls
Dirty fingerprints off the door

She hardly speaks, her head held low
And goes about her task
Frank wishes for the courage
To remove his phony mask

You see, he’s been in love with her
Forever it now seems
He wants to take her as his wife
But it’s only in his dreams

“Good night, Miss Potts,” he says as he
Puts things away with a smile
“Good evening, Frank,” she softly replies.
“I’ll still be here a while.”

Frank leaves the school and starts his car
Looks back as he drives away
Perhaps tomorrow he’ll find his chance
It is another day

Miss Potts puts down her pen and sighs.
Thinks how it could have been
If only he would ask her out
How happy she’d be then.

- Shiraz



32
Eustus Harp

Gettup Eustus gettup
stop lyin' in the earth
do you wanna be or not
get up off the earth

Gettup Eustus gettup
yer shirtails always out
can't ya find a life my boy
get up off the earth

Gettup Eustus gettup
oh don't do it in yer pants
no one wants to feel yer truth
get up off the earth

Gettup Eustus gettup
time to rise on high
you've had the last
you pile of dung
wou worthless laffin' clown
get up of the earth

Welcome Eustus Harp
glad to have you here
don't worry 'bout the past
take yer wings 'n fly
Welcome Eustus welcome

- davids



33
Little Melanie Maskins

Little Melanie Maskins was not like other girls
and she didn’t play like little girls did
She climbed trees with Benny
and shot guns with Bob
and still she was just the sweetest little heartthrob
Said old whiskey maid Penny
at the Whiskey Maid Saloon

Now old Mister Maskins, he was not like other men
He swore three oaths before breakfast
and was a bit too sweet on beer
His wife died in childbirth,
was buried six feet beneath the Earth
And old Maskins had a leer
for every maid at the Saloon

But, said old Penny, don’t you worry your head -
Maskins may have been a drunkard
and a none too gentle man
But he loved his darling girl
more than all the beer kegs in the world
And if there’s anyone who can
change his leer into a smile again
then be sure; that’s our darling M&M

- Rivana



34
Old Whiskey Maid Penny

She was the daughter of a sea captain
was old miss Penny Woodlands
Despite the name you could say
and laugh at her expense
That’s OK for today,
but she’ll break your arm tomorrow

Penny she was born on a sailing ship
traveling from America to Asia
She wouldn’t and she couldn’t
tell you all about that trip,
Because she shouldn’t
And to this day she’s never let it slip

Less than five feet and petite
That’s Penny to the pound
But people know better than to think
they can push old Penny around
You fondle her after a drink;
a hangover will be the least of your woes

- Rivana



35
A Song from Lisa Butterfield to Her Best Friend Martha-Jane

He'll come around one day
you'll see my dearest
He'll figure out all the things he did wrong
With a rose 'tween his teeth
that he paid for himself
He'll woo you with a self composed song

You'll work things out
I know my dearest
You'll be like you were once upon
Loving and smiling
live without crying
The reasons for fights will be gone

He'll be the man you knew
I'm sure my dearest
The one who kisses you sweet on the mouth
He'll get a job
and a three piece suit
And you'll take long vacations down south

Yeah, so I'm a sucker for fairy tales...

Truth is my dearest
if I call what I see
There won't be no red roses on Valentines
When he sings he'll be drunk
and that smile is a lie
And he'll leave you with tears and his fines

Because baby he's a twice time loser
for losing himself and then you
And maybe he'll find himself one day
but most likely he'll get lost on the way
and if you stay you will lose yourself too

- Rivana



36
Harry’s Blue Rock Blues

Friday night belongs to the lonely
Harry plays his aging upright only
When the night has come
‘Round midnight when the night has come
To kiss his tears
To voice his fears.

Here in Blue Rock when the moon shines out bright
Everyone whispers ‘bout Harry’s lost sight
Whispers in gossip
‘Gainst commandments they gossip
About his life
Oh, his life and wife

Harry drinks whiskey, bangs black and white keys
Music swells up, oh it begs and it pleads
Where is my Jenny?
His voice gravels in, Where is my Jenny?
Long gone away
Without words away.

Harry MacRae is left moaning these blues
His poor little room, with rot-gut for booze
When loss is too much
Lord without mercy, when loss is too much
And pain always follows
Oh pain always follows

- ddgryphon



37
Gathering Greens

Gathering Greens, from the
Emerald forest west of
Blue Rock’s newest homes,
Dottie Stone, ninety years
Strong, can be seen at evening tide.

Children watch from a distance
Whispering at the magic of her movements.
She reaches that sturdy, wrinkled hand
breaking a plant stalk, squeezing juice
from its purple fibrous body.

She rips it from the earth shaking
Dirt back to the ground and places
It in her basket, moving on.

Again and again, leaving some,
Taking others.

Finally, unable to stand the
Mystery, Jenny Paper,
Youngest of the gang,
Marches up to the
Ancient one and asks
Straightaway,
“How do you know what to keep?”

Dottie remains at task:
“When I was young, like you,”
She spit, “my father taught me
How, to pick and choose
Them what’s good to eat, and
Them what’ll plant you in the ground.”

- ddgryphon



38
Sarah Jessims

I hate him, truly I do,

his eyes always stuck
on stuck-up Jane,
never on me
as I waltz down the lane.
However I strut,
it's always the same,
not good enough
to compete in his game.

I hate Daryll Connor, truly I do,
and if he weren't my true love,
we'd already be through.

- Michelle (drachin6)



39
The Morganson Boys

An appointment, you say
with the Morganson boys
your septic’s backed up
with a gurgling noise

How long have you been
around in these parts
known the Morganson boys,
their pump truck of farts?

An appointment, you say
I hope you’re not sight’in
cause what I just heard
is the walleyes are bitin’.

- NeuroFizz



40
Amy Munsen

Sometimes I wonder
about everything
as I hang my head over the toilet,
willing my waist to waste
away.

My reflection is in color,
muddied greens and browns,
splashes of red and orange.
My dreams are black and white,
life and death,
always a moment of impact,
like a weekday comic strip.

I miss Dad.

I think my mother misses him as well,
at least the concept of him.

Sometimes I wonder,
is he still proud of me now?

- Michelle (drachin6)



41
Johnny Bluenose

Lil Johnny Bluenose
musta been bout ten
went for a walk
in the woods
his ball cap on backwards
good luck tokens
buried in his pocket
whistling in the dark
he'd show Marilu
a boy coulda been a man.

The dog found a token
under a pile of leaves
dog hadda be beaten
to go in the woods
that foggy night
screamed ever time
Dep Verd pulled
onis leash.

Never saw our Johnny
never heard even
a sigh.

Found a tombstone
in the wooshy woods
all lit up by the sun
(I hadda a few
to go there myself.)
tombstone made
of a pile of purty
rocks
a ball cap for
an angel.

- Paint



42
Sheriff Rollins

Some folk are like
festering sores,
infecting the good folk
in a small town like this;
place is better off without 'em.

You have to make a few cuts
now and then,
dig in deep and be sure
you've cleaned out the badness
so it don't come back.

Give some folk a hint
to get out of town.
We don't need no more
mixed up boys
not knowin' who their papas are,
no more black-faced Bluenoses
just looking for trouble
where it shouldn't be found.

This ain't that kinda town.

- Michelle (drachin6)



43
Bill Brewster

Bill Brewster was a salesman
who dealt in shirts and pants.
(He might have been a poet,
but he never got the chance.)

So he went to work each morning
and he took good care of Mother
and just smiled when she bragged
about his smarter, younger brother.

He went to church each Sunday
in a suit and polished shoes.
And he never lost his temper
And he never hit the booze.

In short, Bill Brewster lived
the most exemplary of lives -
but when he went to sleep at night,
he dreamt of blood and knives.

- arrowqueen



44
Father Evan Stuart

I’m Father Evan
at the Our Lady of Sorrowful Benedictions
That’s what they all call me
Like I’m a brother
But I’m more like a stranger
peeking in the windows
through the confessional screen.

I know who got herself buried
Behind the old house
Outside Blue Rock
I know why
and I know what I was told
and I’m old enough to know the difference.

Even the Protestants seek me out.
The Blue Rock Methodists,
Even the Church of Christ Vocals who won’t so much
as whistle a hymn
seek my absolutions.

I feel lucky to give them
I feel like Christ
feeding the hungry

But my own secret is well-hidden beneath
my vestments
I drink too much communion wine,
and it’s killing my liver.
I don’t believe in Transubstantiation
anymore.

- Shwebb



45
Naydeen Bayer

I'm in recovery
but you never heard that
teachers aren't supposed
to get drunk

Miss Potts never knew
about the bottle
that lay hiding
in the ladies room
under the cabinet
the toilet paper hid it.

John Barleycorn
was my lover
and a good one he was too,
kept me warm on snowy nights
made me forget
about the one who got away.

Made me forget
I couldn't live
on teacher's pay.
Made me forget
the creep of age
making a turkey wattle
under my chin
the kids made fun of.

Now I go to secret meetings
far away from Blue Rock
they don't know
even though honesty
is the program
I can't tell them
because teachers
aren't supposed
to get drunk.

- Paint



46
Michael on Life and Mark Stanton

I know there are more like me,
at least one or two in this town
Not that they’d ever tell me that,
but I do know they’re somewhere around
There are even men in the tavern
who, when they get a little to drink,
somehow let their eyes slide lower
down my body to my butt
To think
they dare to call me a sissy

I know Mark Stanton of the Stantons
was a gentle like me once upon
But he moved away quite sudden
and since then I ain’t seen him around
Though I heard he shacked up with this guy
And there’s a rumor he made it on Broadway
But it’s very hush, hush you understand,
straight from the gossip mill
They say
his daddy made him a sinner

- Rivana



47
Blind Sophie

Not as spry or active as
she had once been,
now geriatric at the age of 13,
she woke this day, as any other,
eager for the touch and care of
her frail friend.

When morning came without the sound
of feet shuffling across the carpet,
or the familiar, jagged coughs,
Sophie's nerves went electric;
she dashed to her friend's aide...

Nudging open the door, she entered the room,
and jumped onto the bed.
Her friend remained motionless,
even as her a tongue flecked over his leathery skin,
and Sophie began to whimper.
Her sight may have been robbed three years prior,
but she had no difficulty detecting
the faint aroma of death
that had settled in the room overnight.

- Jcomp



48
Sandy Morganson

She did the best she could
with what small bit she had
Pick And Shovel the life bread;
The store owned by her late dad.

All of Blue Rock talked that night
It went up in flames
Lots of folks suspected who
But no one was sayin' names.

Her Henry passed a few years before
The boys were up and grown
Proud family despite her sons
And the trouble they had known.

They were gone off fishing
Sandy'd gone to bed
Then Sheriff Rollins called her
Trouble's what he said.

"What'd they do now? They need bail?"
She answered with a stammer.
"No ma'am, that's not the case,
Your boys aren't in the slammer."

"The family store went ablaze
I'm thinkin must be arson.
The volunteer FD showed up.
And so did Mayor Larson."

The boys keep working onward
Living a happy fishing life.
Sandy's got no purpose,
No family store, no life.

- Trish (Stew21)



49
Jerry Sparks

Jerry was 12 when the interstate paved over
his fishing hole, his school yard,
his grampa's grave, his mama's house.

Teacher says away down the blacktop,
that swiggles in the summer heat,
you can see Elvis or Hank Williams,
if you time it right.

"One of these days..."

Slug of beer, another round of Keno,
maybe a plate of buffalo wings
(without the celery, cause that's for sissies).

Jerry Sparks knows exactly how far it is
from Blue Rock to Graceland.

"How far is it from here to the interstate, Jerry?"

- pconsidine



50
Emma Sue Davis

The rocker creaks like old knees on the front porch
As she fusses with a loose hairpin
And watches life.
A squirrel scolds from the oak tree stump and
The mockingbirds stop their spat
When three cats amble over to the scrap dish.
The kids are all grown now;
Gus went and took a city job selling used Fords
And Ally got herself hitched and moved to Memphis
With that good-fer-nothin’ Joe.
So Emma rocks and watches, till the postman comes
And hands her the day’s offerings:
An ad for new tires, some coupons,
And The Daily Gazette.
She reads the obituaries with pursed lips;
(He should’ve given up that pack-a-day habit)
And then does the crossword puzzle,
But never with pen.
I waved at her once;
She was looking right at me
But she didn’t wave back.

- Pat (pb10220)



51
The Trailer Park

out west
past the abandoned house
before the forest
on the dark side of the street,
the trailer park.

the locals
try to pretend
it isn't there
with its abandoned cars
broken lawn chairs
half naked children.

the beer drinkin daddies
who don't work much
the mommas with their tired
eyes
who work two poor paying
jobs
to keep the children fed
Judy is pregnant
again.

The police make
regular calls every
Saturday night,
breaking up fights
taking away shotguns
begging the mommas
to arrest him
this time.

Sometimes
you see a bright looking
kid
but
they don't stay
long.

- Paint



52
Jim Crawford

“Jim Crawford,” the greatest curse
Grandmother ever spat.

Jim Crawford:
Fine dark suit,
Bright shirt,
Lively tie,
Mischievous smile.

Tall and easy,
Dark and rugged,
Burnished red skin,
Pencil thin mustache,
Ex-husband.

Alcoholic.

An Irish Indian
Kissed by the
Blarney Stone at birth
Great with Children
Hell on adults.

Love and turmoil
Forgiveness and anger
Raising four
Children

Finally
Too many
Nights alone,
Living in poverty
Keeping the children
While Jim played the
Amiable drunk
At every dive
And street corner
In town.

Finally
Tired of jails,
Failed rehabilitation,
Living with and
Without him

Finally
Divorce.
Never again would she speak to him.

He married five times more.
She never married again.

At her funeral nearly
Two decades later,
He sat weakly in his wheelchair,
Dressed neatly in a polished suit,
Beside his final bride--
The one who knew the score--
And cried.

- ddgryphon



53
Brandon O'Toole

That creepy boy from next door
Is back home again.
He was gone for a while,
Last summer,
And his mama said he was visiting her people
Down near Kettle Creek
But I’m not so sure.

That creepy boy from next door
With his flat gray eyes
That look right through you,
Not really at you,
Came by and asked if he could cut the grass
And earn a few extra bucks.
I told him no
Even though the yard needs to be cut
Something terrible
Because I didn’t want to owe him
Anything.

That creepy boy from next door
Don’t have much to say but
I know one of these years he’ll be famous.
We’ll all say what a quiet boy he was
And how his folks are good people
And that they always kept to themselves.
And there’s never been no trouble.
But we’ll look at each other in mute affirmation
as the newcasters call him by
All three names,
And we’ll remember the summer the
Dogs went missing in the night
And were found later discarded
And skinned.

- PattiTheWicked



54
The Lament of Georgina Fields

I don’t know when I first noticed
there might be something up with my dad
Might have been when I mentioned it to a friend
and she said daddies aren’t supposed to hurt you
-You can call CPS, she said
That’s what I always tell ma’ own dad
when he’s got me up against a wall

I ain’t never called that number though
He mostly stopped being physical when I was 14
and anyway, it’s not like he hit me or anything
Was just a lot of grabbing and pulling and shoving around
I don’t think about it too often any more
Don’t even rightly know when it stopped
I know I mentioned the CPS,
So maybe Franny was right about that
Oh well, bound to happen I guess

I don’t know when I first noticed
dad just couldn’t hold his liquor
I was pretty young though and to this day
I try to stay away after the second drink
Which means I rarely see my daddy in the evenings
It’s not his fault though and I don’t say that it is
They say children of drunkards grow up to be drunkards
and daddy’s got a family full
with people who like to drink whiskey
and wine and dine and drink plenty of beer
Hell, it’s not wonder I hate people drinkin’

Mama said I should practice my lyin’,
but the books say that truth is my friend
And since books have been on my side
more times than anyone
I’m gonna take their word for it this time
Besides, I hate lying, it’s just another dirty thing
that ****s up my fairy-tale existence

I don’t know when I first noticed
that I really hate my father
Was some time while I was growing up
It might’ve been the first time I got frightened
that he’d hurt me really bad
Or it might’ve been all the nasty **** he tells me every day
The things that make me wish myself away
to a place where no one puts you down
But I know when I hate him the most
and that’s when he does something nice
and I start to love him again

- Rivana



55
The Bettis Sisters

You don’t want to go down to that bridge
The one out by the old Morganson place –
After dark when it’s raining.
It’s where the Bettis sisters went one night
And one pushed the other in.
They say she was mad at her
Over a man.

It was the yellow-haired one that died,
And she floated all the way to the falls
And went over like some drunken swan.
Some kids were fishing the next week
When she came bobbing up from the silt
Popping out of the muck like some
Rotten cork and just
Scaring the piss out of those boys.
That little Guthrie boy wasn’t right for
A long time after seeing that.

And the dark-haired one, they always
Said she was a bit crazy like her mama’s people
Because she went home that night
After she did it
And fixed herself a pie
Just as nice as you please.
They say that if you go out to the bridge
At night, when it’s raining,
You can hear the Bettis girls howling
At each other on the wind
And you can hear the yellow-haired one
Crying like she did when she died
And her wild-eyed sister
Laughing.

- PattiTheWicked



56
The Lumberjack's Wife

I used to sing in Harry's blues band.
All our brass came from the high school marching band.
We had an understandin', me and him,
I'd stay with him if he stayed away from gin.

I'd wail into the mic with my old jazz tunes
like Ella Fitzgerald singing the blues.
Townsfolk would come off the street to be near
and I said Harry, honey, we can do better than here.

Harry wouldn't listen and the lumberjacks came
cutting down our trees that was their game.
Then Pierre fell down dead
when that old tree landed on his head.

I snuck off with the lumberjacks
riding in the truck back.
I wanted to see my name in lights
on the hot summer nights.

Now I'm married to a lumberjack.
As I lay on my back
I think about Harry
it was him I shoulda married.

If I went back to Blue Rock
the town would be in shock.
With my head held down
would Harry MacRae want me around?

- rosemerry



57
Alistair McGunn

My name is Alistair McGunn,
I run in the bookshop in town.
I don't really know much about anyone,
Just from looking at their smiles and frowns.

Me, I've long been a published poet,
And have many novels on the shelves.
But I'll bet Blue Rock doesn't know it,
they're just concerned about themselves.

I'll get out of this town before long,
I have the money, and travel books
My mother told me that would be wrong,
that I should never leave Blue Rock.

Oh but I will leave, leave someday,
Oh but I hate this ignorant town!
They don't know who I am, anyway,
this place will only bring me down.

- Godfather



58
Kass Lynch

You could feel the air
sucked out of the room
Kass Lynch just walked in.

Alfred's wayward daughter
smoker voice, country singer
that men have died for.

Long brown legs wrapped
around the bar stool
red spike heels for your back.

Cloud of wavy mahogany hair
falls over brown sugar eyes
women's claws grow at the sight.

Collective sighs when she stands
pulls her cranberry velvet top
over cushion breasts for your face.

Oh, she'll love you aplenty
leave you flat and wasted
But Kass needs to sing.

- Paint



59
Here lies Olmar Custar

They'll lay me down in the dirt soon enough
and say, "Here's an ol cuss who spent far too many
years as sick as a brick, and
too proud to admit it."

I lay out the tools of my demise, not that I'll use them.
I just like to see my choices spread out on the bed.
Been wondrin if the disease will take me first,
but the longer this cruel winter lingers, the more tempted
I am to take control.

Don't have much else to control, not one choice in life.
Couldn't make people love me or give them pills so they could endure my pain, or bad days of broken record diatribes.

I guess I could make people hate me if I wanted. It don't take much talent. Just stop listening, do all the talking. Act like I don't give a lick bout any of um, though I do. That's my weakness, I still care.

Ah...can't say no one would love me. There's always a bleeding heart, which is good, I suspect. But sometimes a dog wants to die alone, lick his sores out of sight. I pictured myself crawling deep into the woods, far from where people go. Sure it's disgustin. They find my remains in five or six years. That's not what stops me. I think of the mess I'd leave for my heirs. There's not much to dole out, but the scraps left of the pension. Still, I do care about what they'd suffer. Caring is such a mortal weakness.

Pretty much, everything's been taken, wife, kids, the house.
Can't choose to be beautiful or healthy. Can't work, can't work out no more. What beauty I had has been stollen.
Extreme makeovers can't do much with a patchwork-quilt glued and sown together, and not very properly I might add.

How many doctors can I tollerate? They mean well, but I've heard, "Never seen that before...nothing more we can do." far too many times.

Yeah, doctors and medical clinics are all a sham. They like it when they have something to work with, something they can fix, but they get pissed when you stop getting better.

No one likes a puzzle that can't be solved, especially the medical profession. Soon enough they all want to stuff you in a closet, cuz you make em feel guilty. When they see you, they offer to send you to another specialist. Drive four hours to see someone who will charge you four times what they're worth, to tell you what you already know.

Waste of time. Four or five confirmations and what's the use? I'm left with bottles of painkillers. Is pain worse than losing your focus. For now I want to keep my wits and suck it up.

They ask if I ever think of killing myself, and I just laugh as If I'd ever answer honestly. Yeah, sure. My brittle body could never endure the pain of a straight jacket. My bones don't straighten, and being tied to a bedrail would be like flaying me openly. When you reach the end you play out these scenarios in case they guess. And I factor in just how I'd kill myself if they ever tried to restrain me. So, I check another box, "No", with a sad laugh, because I'd like to be honest just once.

I'm tired of the never ending pain, the lonliness of being a burden, the guilt of knowing this has hurt others. Yeah, Job's wife didn't have no picnic, being wed to a cripple. She lost everything too.

Yeah, here lies Olmar Custar. I lie to the doctors, lied to everyone who'd ever asked how I'm doing, knowing some truths are too hard for others to endure.
I'm just tired.

- Nateskate



60
Wild Betty Sue

In blood red dress
And black dagger heels
Down Main Street she'd dance
With a smile for every averted eye.
Those same eyes follow
Her receding back
Admiring, admonishing
Tongues wagging
Bitches in heat.
"She'll come to no good, she will."

From pool hall jukebox
Pumping nickels
A slow, simple beat
Elvis crooned for her and her alone
As she danced,
Always in blood red dress
And black dagger heels.
Flitting from man to man
With no more than a simple peck
And a smile,
Though they begged for more.
"Oh, she's a wild one, she is."

But Wild Betty Sue as they called her
Cared not a whit for what the townsfolk said.
"They don't understand" she'd say,
"I was born to dance, and dance I will."
And forgave for every hard stare,
Every evil look,
Every roaming hand.
She forgave and danced.

And the night Billy took her
Down by the old railroad tracks?
Well, with hands wrapped tight
She danced her last dance,
In blood red dress
And black dagger heels,
Elvis crooning for her and her alone.
She danced.

- dahmnait



61
The Stranger

Small town charm.
My wandering left foot.
And the right one too
for good measure

Trudged in on the heels
of a helluva storm
seeking shelter
from more than just rain

The last of the thunder
laughed hard in his face
as the screen door slapped shut
hard behind me

At-your-service smile fell
his face recalled mine
A favor returned marked
the coin of this crossing

I’d greased the way
back to safe, yokel hearth
when he’d tripped the line
out of league
out of water
out of common sense

But well in his cups
and in far too deep
in a bar
in a city
far away from Blue Rock

“If you ever need anything”
damp upper lip
best shirt dark at the pits
fairly trembled his promise
as the fat, country smiles of his
dumpy wife and pudge kid
tucked back into his
too empty wallet

And so here I am
and he’s none too pleased
and I’m likely only to
get stranger and stranger
under false smiles
in front of the whispers

but he’ll bail me out
as I once did for him
or the grapevine
will strangle us both

- Perks



62
Wendell Allen

He shuffles into Blue Rock
another beggar, another wandering soul.

Ruddy from the traveling sun
shabby from a little too little.

He follows trembling steps to the
Blues on the Rocks Tavern: home.

Dim recollections like a life line
just out of reach to a drowning man.

He pushes through the door
into the darkness; into smoke.

John Kohn sees him first,
“Hey, old Rummy!” He shouts-- Kohn’s
father taught him that look well--
everyone turns.

The beggar shifts, blinks twice,
shy from everyone staring.
Kohn speaks again,
“What can we do for you?”

Slap stinging his back, the traveler stammers
“I-I . . .” uncomfortably he waddles in place;
his voice fades away. . .“D-Drink”

Self-assured veneer over smallness,
Kohn lifts a shot glass of sweet
whiskey near the old man’s
needful, aching lips.

“But first, Rummy,” Kohn sneers about the
room, the drink aloft, then back,
“What’s your name?”

The words stab, thoughts bleed
congeal, rise up in battle against
themselves, a war evident to all
who dare look to the stranger’s eyes.

Kohn’s voice seems to bellow,
“C’mon rummy, you got to have a name.”

Images swirl in the broken gypsy’s psyche.
“D-Drink” is all that whispers out as the
rich smells of comfort from the
bar clouds his already muddled mind.

“Leave him alone, John.”
Authority in an alto voice
breaks free the enraptured crowd

Soft, sweet Tara Allen–a young waitress--
turned hard by anger and sympathy.

“Ain’t easy for everyone, John.
You should know that better’n most.”

Kohn retreats--ugly revenge forming
through muttered obscenities.

Tara, an angel in jeans, a bar towel for a stole,
reaches in her apron,
ten dollars of her tip money
for the doddering drifter.

Grimy hands clutch the bill
like a penitent grasping the
hand of God.

“You move on down the street, old fella.”
Firm words filled with compassion,
she is soft and lovely again,
“There’s a mission.
Get some coffee.
Clean yourself.”

He is once again cradled by the night,
unclear what led him there.
Unsteady in the moonlight,
money in hand;
memories he doesn’t understand.

Distant, an out of tune
piano’s song crawls
through the streets
scratching the walls,
scratching the windows:
“Gone away,” it growls,
“long gone away.”

- ddgryphon



63
A Song for Tommy Oak

Tommy was born 100 years ago
In a house his Grandfather built
While his father fought on the road,
while his uncle fought and got killed.

Tommy Oak's pa was always strong,
he was a great steel driving man.
He proudly sang the union songs
He drove steel with his left hand.

Tommy was just 16 years old
When he saw his father get shot.
Tommy's bloody turned icy cold
And his eyes turned blazing hot.

Ten men came for his unarmed pa,
they came howling to the Oak farm.
Armed with big guns and a hacksaw,
they cut off his fathers left arm.

His family they were forced to look
As they carved him into his death.
It didn't matter what it took,
But they would live to regret.

They burned down the Oak's little farm,
Tommy's family laying dead.
His father had never done any harm,
no matter what those animals said.

Now poor Tommy Oak is alone!
No one to guard him anymore,
there's nowhere he can call home.
So he picked up pa's 44.

Tommy sought out the ten beasts,
armed with honour and not much more.
The first found had become a priest,
but he will preach no more.

The next four, they were all living,
working in Memphis, Tennessee.
Tommy burst in, unforgiving
said "Hey boys! You remember me?"

Next in line was the jiving man,
the joker, gambler of the pack.
Who'd since become a truck driving man,
the coward who talks to a mans back.

Tommy waited in the driving rain,
the jiver had nowhere to run.
He thought back to his fathers pain,
and blew the truck to kingdome come.

The next one had kids and a wife,
and Tommy shot out his right arm.
Tommy spared the animals life,
and spared his little farm.

Next one owned his own butcher shop
and acres of good farmland.
Tommy went out and burned his crop
But not before shooting the 'man'.

Next was dead when Tommy came
He'd fallen an 80 foot height.
Now Tommy can't play the 'man's game,
nature beat him to his right.

Next in line had become someone,
a judge in some High Court.
Tommy went with a loaded gun,
to get justice for all his hurt.

Tommy came like a devils son,
To kill the leader that night.
With his brown eyes and silver guns,
Tommy took his natural right.

Now Tommy's on the run from the law,
wanted in more than 40 states.
He killed the men who killed his pa,
he killed the animals he hates.

So Tommy moved from town to town,
finding bad men along the way.
He'd beat them up or shoot them down,
"Bad men die" is what he'd say.

Ten men came for Tommy one night
As he lay asleep on a bed.
They stabbed him before he could fight,
then they cut off poor Tommy's head!

They threw his head onto the streeet,
and named poor Tommy a joke.
So as long as a good man breathes,
let's sing a song for Tommy Oak.

- Godfather



64
Declan Mahan

Born in a suit, they said
and in the wrong town
like some Yankee cowbird
dropped to hatch in Blue Rock
but he was gone by then
a man of a boy

Dec was born with one eye
on the horizon
you could see him busting
to go east, with the
homing instinct
of flocking bankers

Mom and dad were proud
and he was tolerant of them
they understood when
he didn't play football
but his perfect behaviour
was disturbing

So he studied
and won awards
and topped the class
and got the fat envelope
from The University Back East
and bolted straightaway
eyes bright, ties striped

Days passed
months, the occasional
mother-darling homecall
oh, I'll not visit this holiday
I'm off with Charles to East Nonesuch
Best to Dad, thanks
for the cheque

Eventually, nothing
Commencement came
they got the bulletin
The Mahans, grown to expect
A son of great promise
but no notice
estimated Declan
had greater plans.

Arriving at The Grand Common
the tentative parents
sought the Pride of Blue Rock
gold in Blueblood College Town
arrived in time
to glimpse a furtive
bleary-faced figure
scutter ratlike
round a flagstone corner

and into a sickly day haze
of decidedly
uncollegiate
dank
gray
neon
gunge.

- poetinahat



65
Ricky Loves Becky

Beat-up old pickup truck
Red color
Mostly rust-red.

Down Main Street
Lights off
At two A.M.

Ricky Walters driving
At his side
Becky McGrath.

Two fleeing souls
Bored
And very young.

Stoplight turns red
Last chance
One look back.

Tears in her eyes
Family
On her mind.

Desire in his soul
Make a life
For him and her.

Facing uncertain future
Anywhere else
Better than Blue Rock.

Too young to know better.
Too brave to care.

- Don Magin (dobiwon)



66
Miss Blue Rock

She's the pride of the fair;
Prom dress turned
runway attire.
No one can see
her homelife here.
Twirls on her toes
strikes that saucy pose -
That's our new Miss Blue Rock.

Miles of teeth gleaming,
hair in curls streaming
down her back.
Rhinestone crown perched;
lips pursed,
"did it mess up my hair?"
That's our Misguided Blue Rock.

Girls heartbroken behind her,
smiling evil her way.
Claws intact but fighting a tear.
"She looks fat from back here."
Cameras click, flashes flurry,
runner up prays
she gets red eye in those pics.
That's our green-eyed Monster Blue Rock.

Her momma -
pregnant too young
never got her turn
at Pageant life,
"My girl looks lovely,
don't she?"
Show me all your envy
Momma has a vicarious tiara
and her sash says,
"That's my girl",
but it shoulda been me
16 years ago
That's our Mis-spent Youth Blue Rock

One never said
he'd loved her but always had.
He rode her bus,
knew her troubled life.
Watched her wave to the stands
and pass him by;
thought to himself, Goodbye.
She's too good now.
Too desired.
He goes to college in the fall.
Would have taken her -
gotten her out.
That's our Missed Opportunity Blue Rock

Boys in the crowd watch her
"remember last summer,
when I did her?"
Others laugh, wanting a turn.
She catches their eyes,
no smiles.
I'm done with you boys
in her posture.
But she will go back to them
after she crowns next year's.
That's our Mistaken Blue Rock.

- Trish (Stew21)



67
Mendoza's

Funny place.
Some folks round here
go there
three-four times a week
for years and years, but
they can't tell you
what the place looks like.

Book man McGunn
took the time once
and spun himself a haiku:
Squat slab-concrete slabs,
threelayerfaded flakepaint
and a GOOD FOOD neon.

Nothing tricky
on the menu, but
breakfast anytime
or a heap of good mexican
will fix you up.
Coffee's by the hour
and the clock doesn't work.

Best thing to do
is come by at night:
get a booth, open the window
and listen for Bo and Jack
casting
Magic Sam's shadow
across the crumbly road
or big trains groanrattling
passing through.

Not everybody comes here,
not much happens.
If nameless had a name,
it might be Mendoza,
which is how they like it.
And that
plus the GOOD FOOD
is why, as you
nurse your warm belly
out that plain door,
you're feeling
all right.

- poetinahat



68
Ballerina, Aged Six

Summertime ballerina aged six
small feet crossed the stage
as mothers and fathers adored
pink ribbons
curled brown hair
a smile like a chirping robin

One day after practice
ballerina walked home
past Luteman's Store with a wave
Puffy pink snow coat
ballooned out like some ...
now who'd let her walk home alone?

Just past Elm, round toward Grand
'rolled slow that Buick
It was green ... or was it Gold?
At first she just frowned
and started to walk
but out came the hand
"Your mom told me to come by"

Dour the headlines
in the Blue Rock Gazette
front page and then some on back
Lawmen in tailored suits
crawled all over the place
With notepads and measuring tapes
Flash bulbs, policy and
distance

Out of town lawyers swarmed
like gnats on Lake Fiskey
Fat Mayor Jackson's
proclamations of hope
in an election year
All a whirlwind of commotion
Then, gone
like the leaves in the breeze

Stage empty, a mother
sat weeping in darkness
watched the foliage flutter down the road
boxes packed for somewhere north
leaving behind Blue Rock
And a ballerina aged six

- jst5150



69
U.S. v. Blue Rock (eminent domain)

Here's my decision
this land is now ours
big highway and malls
must go through

In 90 days hence
bulldozers will come
as will surveyors
and many other crews

This Beltway bench can see
Blue Rock's a fair town
but this supreme court's
got no time for sorrows

That land it is needed
state's interests in hand
compensation to be determined
on the morrow

"But that ruins Mendoza's!
Tears through old town square!
why does big government
have such a tin heart?"

Contempt, I would say!
Have counsel led away!
My judgment is right
from the start!

What's done is done
And Blue Rock will prosper
my decision
is not one I'll feign

Court is adjourned
and now Blue Rock has learned
the power
of eminent domain

- jst5150



Blue Rock Trust & Savings

Bimbo's blonde locks
catch Budweiser neon
ash from her cigarette
falls carelessly
as she eyes me
like a rollercoaster seat
small town charms
somehow lost on her
Maybe I'll take her along

Card's pressed between
my thumb and forefinger
.......Stan Newberry, manager
.......Blue Rock Trust & Savings
Liked Stan's suit
His little tie
His fat security guard
the location of his vault
wonder if he'll like
my piece

Shouldn't take long, Stan
must employ his daughters
or someone else's
Park the Buick out front
in
out
Back to the Interstate
if Stan acts up
well ... Stan won't act up

Bimbo walks over
Name's "Kathy Potts"
voice is whiskey and razors
breath's hot in my ear
She's quick like
caller ID

Smashes her chest against me
soft, warm and heavy
wonder if her bosom
feels the length of the barrel
I ask for two more
of whatever she's having
Smile, scrub the stubble
and show her some scars
Must live in some trailer

Teaches school, she says
dumped her janitor boyfriend Frank
Me? I'm just
passin' through town
She whispers,
"Drifters excite me," then
says something Cinemax dirty
hand squeezes me
where all the blood flows

I'm some Don Juan
Tell her my motel's
near a place called "Mendoza's"
but I don't try hard
don't have to
She finishes her swoon
quick and thick

Wonder if she'll like my piece
they all like the money
maybe I'll take her along

- jst5150



71
Judy Walters

I go into the Dollar Store
And everyone whispers
There’s that Trailer Park Girl
Knocked up again
But I don’t say a word
I just buy my generic paper towels
And some soda pop.

Baby number three
-- pregnancy number five --
Not like anyone’s counting, though.
Hatch Morganson said he’d take care of me
-- of us? --
Whenever the kid is born
But I’ll believe it when I see
Child support checks in my hand.

Sometimes when the kids are driving me nuts
Mama comes by so I can go over to the bar.
I don’t drink at all
-- bad for the baby, you know –
But me and Tara talk about the stuff we used to do.
About how fifteen years ago we were sure
We’d get out of Blue Rock
And go off to a big city.

My brother and his girlfriend
Borrowed twenty bucks for gas
And I don’t think they’ll be back any time soon.
But they’ll end up some place just like this one
With three babies in a trailer park
And buying Dollar Store soda pop,
Wondering where their future drove off to.

- PattiTheWicked



72
Margaret McGrath's Prayer

Dear God, watch over my precious Becky,
Every night the same words,
In all the places she might be.

In the privacy of a dressing room,
Keep her in your constant care.
With eyes closed and bowed head.

Send your angels to surround her,
In a quiet moment of prayer,
And protect her from all harm.

With a picture of her baby girl,
I put my trust in you.
Gone three years now.

- Don Magin (dobiwon)



73
Harriet Walter's Prayer

Strengthen my son Ricky,
In the early morning dawn,
Keep his heart pure and kind.

Eyes lifted toward the rising sun,
Help him to remember what's right.
His boyish face in her mind's eye.

We taught him to be responsible.
Knowing she raised him best as she could,
Don't let him lose his way.

Silently praying that he learned well,
I put my trust in you.
Gone three years now.

- Don Magin (dobiwon)



74
Dennis McGrath's Thoughts

I used to think,
If he ever comes back to Blue Rock,
I'll kill him.

That Ricky Walters.
He took my Becky away from me,
My baby girl.

I can't forgive him for lost time.
But if he took good care of her,
Let him bring her back.

For her I'd welcome him.
My heart's been broken
Three years now.

- Don Magin (dobiwon)



75
Earnest Walter's Thoughts

Did I do wrong?
Where did I fail my cherished Ricky?
I should have known.

He said he loved Becky,
But it wouldn't work out in Blue Rock.
He couldn't prove it here.

Why couldn't I see?
He looked to his father for guidance,
To be a man.

Now I could do it,
Having all this time to think about it,
Three years now.

- Don Magin (dobiwon)



76
Hannah Walters-McGrath

Becky and Ricky made a life,
A good life.
And a great baby.

Time to fill a void denied.
To show off.
To mend the wounds.

Back to Blue Rock for a while.
They missed it.
But time heals pride.

They had never talked to each other
About going home,
Until Hannah asked.

Each held the thought in lonely guilt,
Unwilling to hurt
The one they loved.

Their baby's needs were their needs now.
She deserved
Grandparent's love.

One night as they held each other,
Hannah snug between,
They opened up their hearts.

Crying because they should have shared
Their longing to return
For three long years now.

- Don Magin (dobiwon)



77
L.J. The Carnival Worker

Dog-eared Hemingway
tucked in his hand
control switch in the other.
Laughter rose and fell
with carousel horses.
Hem’s swayback spine
formed a triangle
pitched in the grass
to hold his page
as L.J. slowed the ride.

And smiled.
Children dewy with the thrill
of a one-ticket ride.
In the faces he saw bliss –
thought naïve.
They’d be here
taking there own kids
on these same rides
a few years from now -
never improving on a life.

Sad he had to return at all.
Tuition doesn’t pay itself and
No Experience Necessary
put L.J. back in Blue Rock
for a two-day stop
on the carnival’s yearly rounds.

Least he didn't have to sweep up
the empty popcorn bags,
half-eaten corndogs –
remnants of a nickel-and-diming.
L.J. knew how it’d be
Just like he knew the ending
of his well-read Hem.

He was one of them.
In a jolt of squeals
the ride started up;
music jarring his thoughts
back to the girl.
Melissa.

Beautiful, tragic Miss Blue Rock.
Of last year.
Alcoholic step-dad
and no room for dreams bigger
than her momma’s.
Carousel spun like
the fine twirl her dress made
just last year on that stage.

He hoped he wouldn’t see her
not as a carny – not like this.
He hoped he wouldn’t see her,
but prayed he would.

He’d choked her out a year before
As she waved past him.
But she would haunt him -
And there between the hooves,
he saw her.

Jack Barker
flipping up the back of her mini skirt
She looks tired.
Tired of boys up her skirt -
the climax of her life
gone too soon.

He squeezed Feast into a fist.

Stood slowly.
Pulled the lever.
Stopped.
Gate opened –
Children ran to adoring parents.

Melissa smiled.
Jack jutted a chin.
“he’s a carny now?”
But Melissa knew;
walked his way.
Bit the words
along with her lip;
apology aching to get out
and wordless, he accepted.

She would wait -
lemon shake-up stand.
11:05.
And he would go to her
book in hand.
Give it to her
with forgiveness.
and hope.

There is more, Melissa
So much more.
Here.
I’ll show you.

-Trish (Stew21)



78
junie winters

junie on justin benson

junie doesn’t think much
about the last time she saw justin
how he held the e.p.t stick for her
while she peed
how she knew then
he would never be the one for her

he jabbered happily about the future
not washing his gesturing hands
flinging the stench about the room
ingoring junie as she grimaced

when the timer finally dinged
junie snatched the stick from
justin’s hand and peered closely
at the symbol that would determine
the rest of her life

she yipped and grinned
at the negative mark
jumping up to hug justin

he refused her celebration
with slumped shoulders

his lips were pursed and his eyes cold
but it was his clenched fists
that froze junie

she looked him right in the eye
and justin didn’t hit her

he grabbed his toothbrush and razor,
then silently patrolled the apartment
collecting his few belongings,

walked out the door
and out of blue rock

he headed to the next, bigger town
to jockey nights for KXTC
spinning alternative music
while attending school

junie knows he has a girl
with a round belly and bare feet
she tries to be glad for them

and keeps her radio preset
on button number six
to KXTC, Prairie Falls

- P.H. Delarran



79
auntie fancy

everyone here knows why
they call me Fancy
but Fancy calls me Mystery

I don’t think they know
about me and her

imagination has its nuances

Papa wanted to open a club
for purveyors of magic
and call it the Mystery Spot

Mom said no and they
moved to California
to balance upon a fault line

I stayed behind
and started my own club
registering one special member

who signed her name Fancy
it was her idea but I let her

my sister Ella stopped
inviting me out when I told her
that last call was yesterday

she can’t see the end like I can
because she’s always looking up

she gave me a cat with a card
that read, ‘always celebrate life’
I named the cat Confetti

the thing about crazy
that is the most fun
is torturing that cat

she says the same thing about me

Confetti helps prep
for my club celebrations
offering snacks to serve to Fancy

and in return I curl her hairs
one strand at a time
with the sharp edge of my scissors

- P.H. Delarran



80
Eunice Knight

I lived with death
in my mirror,
the color yellow
sucked from the sun.
A failing liver,
thinning my blood,
clotting my tears,
too proud to say
I was an alcoholic;
too hurt
by a husband I loved,
even as he loved others.
The liver isn't the only thing
that excretes bile.

- Cassie88



81
My Uncle Sid

Tall as a tree
to me,
sandpaper hands
stained
with black dirt

Not a whimper
about long hours,
five o’clock
chores
beat the sun

In the fields
love of labor
produces a crop
of more
than grain

I have never felt
a loving hand
on my shoulder
quite as
steady

Or a voice
whispered
that calmed
with such
confidence

His high school,
not quite finished
yet I look up
and reconsider
my definition

of success

- NeuroFizz



82
Regret (for Ricky)

For eighteen years we stood on distant shores of the same blue ocean, sometimes casting our messages in bottles to the mercy of the waves, hoping against the whims of the tides and the passage of time that we would recognize the common bond we share.

Now, my brother, I am alone on a distant shore and you are gone from this world.
Distance is no salve for my regret.
Time heals too slowly.
I wish there had been more bottles when we had a chance to know each other better.
I wish I could have experienced the promise you offered this world, and shared with you what little I know of life.

Now there is only distance, and a small plot of earth where they laid you to rest where, if the winds are in my favor and the tides do my bidding, I will come in the summer time to lay a wreath against your stone.

There I will bring my messages and cast them to the gentle summer breeze instead of the tide.
Tears are no salve for my regret.
Time heals too slowly.
There, in silent reflection, I will tell you all there is to know of me.
There, with us separated by time and space instead of open water, I hope you will finally know your brother.

- Mark Moss (LimeyDawg)



83
Dylan's Story

I remember cursing myself for my weakness.
I remember loving you more for your peerless courage and strength.
I, the father, grown and full with life’s lessons;
You, the son, small and full of life’s promises,
Stared at each other from across the room.

You asked me, in your two-year-old voice
“What’s wrong Daddy?”
I cracked. I fought back a tear. Shamed, I looked away for a moment.
There are things a father cannot tell his son.
I learned that lesson that October day.

One word brought me to my knees.
One word made me hurt because it meant you hurt.
One word, in one instant, brought all of my life into sharp focus.
There are some things a father cannot explain to his son.
Cancer.

Six intravenous lines brought the chemo to your medi-port:
Six arrows through my heart.
Only yesterday did we see the last of the sores that bore witness
to the savagery of the battle being waged inside you.
There are some things from which a father cannot save his son.
A part of me was dying inside that day.

Through all of this you said to me “Daddy, can I watch Toy Story 2?”
I cursed myself for my weakness.
In that moment I loved you even more for your courage and peerless strength.
There are some lessons a father must learn from his son.
“I love you, Son,” I said, as we stared at each other from across the room.

- Mark Moss (LimeyDawg)



84
Robbie Gallagher (The Changeling)

Fifteen going on thirty
Irish eyes in a poet’s face
The girls think he’s beautiful
But strange.
Socially inept, he doesn’t
Know jack **** about football
And has nothing to say
Of conquering cheerleaders and prom queens
During locker room bragfests

Dad looks at him across the dinner table
Wondering how he spawned such a thing
This boy with eyes a thousand years old
Who would rather read than play catch
And he has nothing to say to him
At all

Somewhere beneath those tousled curls
Lord Byron lurks, waiting to shout out
Declarations of love and passion and beauty
But in Blue Rock
The voice is silent
Because there isn’t anyone who wants to hear.

He keeps a notebook under his mattress
Where most boys keep porn and condoms
And he writes furiously after dark
Scribbling line after line after line
Secretive, nearly shameful, under the blanket
Like he might get caught whacking off.

The girls whisper, wondering what wonderful
Romantic things might some day
Come from this odd boy who speaks little
And thinks a lot.
The source of numerous schoolgirl fantasies
Though none would dare to speak it
Because after all, he’s just some geek
And not a quarterback.

- PattiTheWicked



85
Bob and Ned
(Dedicated to Derek N. Page and
Eric R. Moss; forgotten heroes of WWII)

Around this small and sleepy town
There used to be some hallowed ground
Just a spot not far from there
Where folks once came to stop and stare.

Just four by four and ten feet high,
The obelisk aimed toward the sky,
“For those who fell,” the caption read
Above the names of Bob and Ned.

The brothers, they were local lads
Raised by Mom, without a dad,
And mischief often found the two
With idle hands and naught to do.

So Bob and Ned would bide their time
With freshmen pranks and petty crimes
And all around the town ‘twas said
That naught will come of Bob and Ned.

One summer’s day a letter came
Dear Uncle Sam had called their names
And just like thousands gone before
Their country shipped them off to war.

On battered streets and bloody fields
The enemy refused to yield
They’d fight and run and fight again
And soon the boys grew into men.

With steely courage through and through,
Heroes each and heroes two,
They carried out their country’s chore
On Europe’s cold and bloody shore.

The soldier’s life’s a sorry lot,
To give it all then be forgot,
And war’s a dog that must be fed,
So time was called on Bob and Ned.

A gunner’s nest, a sleepy town,
Had found their squad and cut it down,
With three men wounded, three men dead,
The moment came for Bob and Ned.

At the gunner both men ran,
And through their charge they got their man,
But, wounded, so the story’s said,
The gunner’s last had found young Ned.

Ten were saved by heroes true
But Ned was wounded through and through,
A spreading stain he couldn’t hide,
And in Bob’s arms poor young Ned died.

The young man let a mournful sob,
But a sniper’s bullet found young Bob,
It dropped him cold and dropped him dead,
So passed the lives of Bob and Ned.

Now poppies grow from Europe’s green,
Lest we forget what they have seen,
Those silly boys who gave their all
To free us, when their country called.

Now in Blue Rocks small town square,
The names of Bob and Ned are there,
Two young boys who went to war
And gave it all on Europe’s shore.

The years have past, the war; forgot;
Except for this, a hallowed spot,
That bears the names of heroes dead,
Those mischievous boys, Bob and Ned.

- Mark Moss (LimeyDawg)



86
So Far Off

Lost Arabian nights on tired foot
into homes with scared children
Like We're the Romans
or something
march where We want
run music up loud
weapons hang heavy
Hail!

Patrol's over, shift change
One hour driving
'Til Zeus strikes the caravan
and Chaos lifts us to Her
I'd rise from the wreckage
if My legs
weren't so far off

Rush rush rush
Helicopters and dust
Wonder if Mom's making her
famous (stay!)
stewed (stay!)
tomatoes (stay with ... !)

Dreamtime
I'm flying ... cotton mouth
dust swirling toward Heaven ...
I'll stay with you, OK
but you've got to get beer

Awakened
Alive
The mighty metal mouth closes
I'm a FedEx box on a jetplane
Just returned postage
one of the dead and dying
sent back
to my little town

Seventeen hours
in a pressurized tube
stretcher makes you stiff
miracle this thing
even flies

Bunting and pie
for a thousand or so
van bumps across Old Creek Bridge
sounds like rounds popping
into a scared child’s house

Mayor's fat hand
pushes
my chair
'Til I'm the center piece under,
"Welcome home, soldier!"

Mother's here ...
So, gone the red sunsets
into thick golden sands

I'd run to her
if my legs
weren't so far off

- jst5150



87
Eva Halloway

Darling Eva of yesteryear
passed on a proposal once or twice,
dreams of braces on her teeth
thinking that a tweak or two
just might set back that clock

Darling Eva of just today
feels the hot flash of a childless life,
and sneers at the youngsters on her block
for their arrogant and noisy fun
that should be hers this time of life

Darling Eva of all tomorrows
counts her money for her cats
who understand just how it feels
to be locked up in a cluttered house
where doors only open to let things in

- NeuroFizz



88
Marigold Schefke

they called her
golden
although her hair was
plain-jane summer-bleached brown,
and her skin (from the sun)
was tanned near as dark
as her long hair.
they called her
golden
'cause mary never fit
too sweet and innocent
too delicate
for a girl who,
at thirteen,
rode the suncolored
buckin-bronc palomino
everyone called golden
for 10.2 seconds.
set a rodeo record,
won more than the cash prize -
she's carried that name
(golden)
ever since.

- Eveningsdawn



89
Mackenzie Schefke

(I)
her mother calls her Kenzie
her brother, with a sneer,
calls her Ken.
her father, when he thinks of it,
calls her by her full name.
her sister Golden
calls her Mackie
(something that only Golden
is allowed to do).
rest of the town
just calls her Mack.


(II)
Mack's tall for her age,
tall and slender,
more boy-shaped than not,
with her father's mild gray eyes
and her mother's freckles,
and the red-blond hair
that skips generations sometimes
and was last seen in her great-grandmother,
who wore it past her hips.
Mack's is cut
just past her ears.


(III)
she's a queer girl, Mack is,
in more ways than one,
wearin' camis with her brother's jeans.

- Eveningsdawn



90
Blue Rock Love Triangle

Sarah's watchin' Daryll,
Daryll's watchin' Jane,
but Jane is watchin' Sarah
swing her hips again.

- Eveningsdawn



91
Alan Morganson

“You come from a long line of warriors,”
He said, huffing over the clunk of an oxygen tank,
Smiling with eyes broken in some mud puddle in France.
“Boy, you’re gonna do this family right,”
He said, even though a good part of him
Got left behind at Bastogne.

A lean boy, long and lanky, like his father
And his grandfather, and a few generations more,
With a desperate need, something twisted in the gene pool,
To go forth and take on the world and say
Danger be damned when duty calls.

“Morgansons been in the service since Blue Rock
Was an Indian trading post,”
He said, knowing it’s not nice to say “Indian” these days.
“You write home when you shoot some gooks,”
He said, trying not to remember
An elderly Dutch farmer startled in a chateau.

Proud as a man can be, a smart and severe salute
Snapped off on a tarmac,
A uniform which seems sizes too large on a boy’s shoulders,
Somewhere inside the fatigues is
A child playing dressup.

“My boy’s off fighting for democracy,”
He said, wondering if the kid has the sense to change
His socks and not get trench foot.
“Yeah, that kid’s a true American like his daddy,”
He said, hoping to God that his son never has to watch
The light go out of another man’s eyes.

- PattiTheWicked



92
Diane Yazawa

Another Friday night in Blue Rock
And another friendly face
Comes in to order dinner and asks her
How come she left China.

No, really, she explains for the
Millionth time,
Yazawa is a Japanese name.
No, Hatch, I’m not kidding.

And no, I don’t watch Bruce Lee movies,
And I don’t do Kung Fu,
And I have no goddamn idea
Who Yao Ming is.

I came here when I was a baby,
She explains,
When my aunt married a GI
And the rest of us followed.

Jesus, Hatch, I don’t even have an accent
And no, I haven’t seen Memoirs of a Geisha.
Nothing personal, honey,
But I’m as American as you are.

She stubs out her Newport as he
Waves goodbye, taking carryout back to
That pregnant girl.
And wonders for the umpteenth time
Why it even matters where she’s from
Because the only place she’s ever known
Is Blue Rock.

- PattiTheWicked



93
Dustin Schefke

Dusty's got his momma's
pale blue eyes
but none of their laughter.
Dusty's got his daddy's
talent with horses
but none of his love for them.
Dusty's got Mackie's
smooth way of talkin'
but none of her good nature.
Dusty's got Golden's
simple good looks
but none of her attraction.
Sometimes seems like
Dusty's got all he wants
but nothin' he needs.

- Eveningsdawn



94
Meet O-Z (seven, eight, nine)

Chain link hammock
cherry's bright, smoke's driftin'
school's out soon
waitin' for customers
of seven, eight, nine to
Say hey to Oh-Zee
what up, Lil Dude?
roll 'em up some
Blue Rock Red that's
homegrown in this
High School Hustler's
hometown soil
cash and carry (don't tell your mom)
Hey, is that a PSP?
back tomorrow, oh yeah
crush the butt, count the haul
bucks for the tux
pays for prom, then
steak at the Outback,
puts painted red lips on my
Stoli bottle
then some secret stash
rounds out the night
hope the Honda holds up
got places to Be
first the Elementary
tomorrow, World's Mine
global dumb customers
of seven, eight, nine

- jst5150



95
Black War Stone

Billy Fortune is back
he grew crazier
after following that
Black War Stone.

That big old stone
is all that is left
of Billy's pals from 'Nam
that and the twitchy
dream laden nights
of copters.
Incoming!

Billy left Nothing, Arizona
after the cops
coaxed him down
from the trailer's roof-
they took away his gun.

Now he's back in Blue Rock;
on steamy summer nights
he lurks in the lagoon
of the forest
face painted
ready.

- Paint



96
unmarked

Behind the store, in the field
where the dogs run
each night barking
barking
there's a stick and a stone arranged
just so.
And sometimes when the wind blows so hard
the shutters bang in the night
like gunshots,
the next morning they are back in place --
the stick
and the stone
and a handful of flowers
plucked fresh from someone else's yard.

- dclary



97
Beatrice Coleman

Beatrice Coleman stopped for a beat
Folded the apron and dropped to her seat
Glanced at the paper, always her bet
There's never good news inside the Gazette

Over the fireplace, she laid a warm hand
Smooth heartless metal, nothing too grand
Old High school sweetheart who once she had spurned
Now the lost husband, just ash in an urn

Beatrice Coleman's son Ray hung near by
An eight-by-ten memory that just made her cry
A Rhodes Scholar prodigy taken by fire
His final smile hanging behind glass on a wire

Her daughter, Fair Helen, nowhere to be found
Took Blue Rock One Six, Hollywood Bound
Casting chair promises, debt, greed, and fear
You think she could call just once in five years

Beatrice Coleman found her red sweater
Or maybe the blue? No, the red is much better
Clicked on the porch light, filled the cat's bowl
Locked the front door, and started a stroll

First past Mendoza's, then stepped past the school
Waved at Jim Hamilton as he closed the pool
North ‘cross the Creek Bridge, to the edge of the trees
Stepped into the forest, then dropped to her knees

Beatrice Coleman felt wind in her hair
Stars filled the galaxies at which she did stare
Each passing gust, it called her by name
Not so much with loving, she thought more with blame

Reduced to just crying, poor matron, she wailed
Decades of pity and loathing unjailed
Tears in the soil, her reason did shatter
The former Miss Blue Rock had little that mattered

Beatrice Coleman's hand stopped short at first
Then reached for the pistol inside her purse
Snugged it up firmly to the ball of her eye
Pulled once, air popping, then Beatrice died

"Grandmother of two, a widow of one
Old woman's suicide has little town stunned"
A headline, for sure, that soon will be set
There's never good news inside the Gazette

- jst5150



98
Blue Nichols

Blue Nichols, she was named after the town
It seemed all her life that name had kept her down
She lived a childhood full of tears and woe
She wanted out, but how, she didn’t know

She grew up and became a wife and mother
And yet her heart still belonged to another
She had so much and married though she was
She occasionally got lost in thoughts of Buzz

Her first love, he was the center of her life
Deep in her gut she knew there would be strife
For he worked for Ol’ Glory and Uncle Sam
And she cried the day they shipped him off to ‘Nam

He’d given her a promise and a ring
That he’d return, they’d marry in the spring
But every season came and then it went
Blue withered on the day the news was sent

Her hopes, her dreams, her lover, he was dead
She’d never love another, so she’d said
Her youthful gleam and spark, it was no more
Living life for her became a chore

She met Fred Nichols the day his car got stuck
It was mired down in a ditch of mud and muck
He was a tall and handsome man, if only slight
Was it possible from this town she could take flight?

He wasn’t from Blue Rock, as she could plainly see
And she knew if he would marry her she’d be free
Free to leave the sadness cares and sorrows
Free to finally look toward tomorrows

She set out to flirt and win Fred’s heart that day
She planned to marry this man and runaway
She could not anticipate what he had planned
When he bought a house and a little piece of land

They settled on the outskirts of Blue Rock
She felt under heavy chain and lock
Babies came and Blue’s life took a different route
But now she had no time to cry or pout

She was sure without a doubt the town talked
As each day she took her evening walks
“Poor Fred” they’d whisper in a hushed tone
“Her love for him pales next to that stone.”

Her behavior piqued folk’s curiosity
As she headed down to the cemetery
To sit in quiet solitude beside the rock named Buzz
And dream of the life she should’ve had, that never was.

- scribbling butterfly



99
Lessons from a Headstone in Blue Rock Cemetery

A granite stone on which penned
“Here lays a father, son and friend;”
Marked the place my brother slept;
A simple plot but neatly kept.

And gazing on the stone, I knew,
How certain things were always true;
That time, (once spent), is lost and gone,
No matter how we wish and long.

So, fighting back my harsh regret
Of how my our lives were poorly set,
I gazed upon the colored blooms
That lay about my brother’s tomb.

And then, at once, a thought did rise;
Of how I lived, and if I died;
Would friends adorn my solemn grave
In thanks for all the love I gave?

What would they write upon my stone
When I must make the journey home?
Would they be kind? Would they be sad?
Would they say brother, friend and Dad?

That pause for thought had cleared my mind;
My brother’s lesson, sharp but kind,
Is one I live to share and tell;
That life is short so live it well.

Now ask yourself “What will they say?”
Your time is spent. You’ve passed away.
How did you love until the end?
Your father, brother, son and friend?

- LimeyDawg



100
Save Mendoza's

Town Meeting
Saturday 3 pm
at Mendoza’s

junie nailed posters
every where she could fit them
pounded the nails hard

one on each doorpost
of the town’s bars and café’s
two for erika’s tree

like hell if she’d let
that old place get flattened
and watch her momma
lose interest and go crazy
like auntie fancy

- P.H. Delarran



101
Sestina on the Battle for the Souls in Blue Rock

Pastor Steven Levaer fights for the souls in Blue Rock,
counting those in attendance in his little church.
He knows all the names of the worshippers of Christ
and has baptized the heads of many of their children.
When the plate passes ‘round, people offer their money,
but Pastor Steven wishes they would give of their time.

On the famed Sunday of note, Pastor Steven preached, “The time
has come for us to gather the folk of the Rock.
Many souls have been lost to worshipping heathens. Their money
means more to them than attendance at church.
We must drive to save the souls of the innocent children
and bring our sweet brothers and sisters to Christ.”

Pastor Steven Levaer launched the great Festival of Christ
and filled a list with volunteers who offered their time.
The games and the rides wooed all of the children
and an entire town arrived with quarters in hand. The folk of the Rock
inspired Pastor Steven, and he lit tears for the work of his church.
But most of all he thought of all the good money.

The following Sunday, he counted the money
and sung praises and joys to the most holy Christ.
At this Sunday’s count there was standing room only, his church
no longer large enough for all of the faithful. This time
he was sure that the battle was won. The souls of Blue Rock
were safe in his flock, for he saw so many faces of smiling children.

For weeks this went on, the solid attendance, the children
came out and didn’t stay home. They offered their money
that they earned in allowances, waiting for the next Festival in Blue Rock.
Pastor Steven felt proud that he brought more to Christ
even though Father Evan was out of a job. Perhaps time
would be kind and would build up his church.

“Our Lady of Sorrowful Benedictions” lost. The church
closed down because no one showed up. The children
laughed when Father Evan arrived and cried out “This time
you’ve gone too far. You’ve damned them to hell, stole all their money.”
Father Evan hiccupped and swung around. He fell on his as$, yelling out “Christ!”
but Father’s last words before he passed out were “You’ll never win the war for the souls of Blue Rock.”

The souls in Blue Rock formed one solid church
and Christ got his souls and all the children too, but
time showed the Father correct, when the Pastor disappeared and the coffers too.

- emeraldcite



102
I remember

I remember

Blue Rock lake. That first warm spring
kiss and blushing rushing touch
of her. I remember Blue Rock lake

when practiced summer passion burned
our skin like beach sand. Scratching the cloth
wall between us. I remember Blue Rock lake

when fall colors spread like hips. And children
tumbled like tree leaves, spiraling-
laughing down. I remember Blue Rock lake

when winter with its sour lips turned to
ice. And frigid winds swept the leaves away
with bitter recriminations. I remember

Blue Rock lake.

- whistlelock



103
Town Gossip

Have you heard?
That middle Schefke child
-what do they call her? Mack?
silly name for a young lady;
she ought to more cultured -
they say,
she looks at girls,
under the brim of that cowboy hat.
Tchk.
Her poor mother.
Speakin' of mothers,
they says Junie's ma's mind is slippin',
just like her sister's,
on account of the trouble
at Mendoza's.
They say old Eunice is dyin' from the drink,
and old Eva's got another cat.
Tchk.
Mark my words, it'll be
cat scratch fever soon,
or somethin' just as nasty.
Blue Rock just ain't the sweet little town
it used to be.

- Eveningsdawn



104
Nervous Tobias Watts

thumbing his glasses,
Nervous Tobias -
too smart made
plain folks uneasy;
made Tobias nervous.

loose pages
splashing;
binding’s capacity
reached.
Stepping lightly -
with harried pace
up in front.
Nervous had something
to say.

“Mycteria Americana”
sighs,
“Linnaus”
swallows.
what?
“Mycter…wood stork!
Blue Rock’s got ‘em.
long-legged, white,
(pond gannet -
you coulda said)
endangered –
they are –
on this list, see.”

“Ms. Mendoza,
never fear,”
gulps
“Counsel’s back
progress’ll…well,
just have to wait.”

“we have a family
of Myct...wood storks!
their habitat; Blue Rock Lake”

Tobias sits…
nervous.
orders coffee,
sips and sighs.
they can’t take his
nature away…
not his favorite diner -
not his home.
he needs them.
Blue Rock must
never change;
change
makes Tobias
Nervous.

- Trish (Stew21)



105
Hope

Along life's twists and turns, along the seaside ocean churn
Along a little girl's walk in the park, along the man loving his dog

Along a country road in June, along the virgin under the moon
Along a smile from a pretty girl, along the dream of the miracle mile

God created the human game
In his image, in his name
Although, maybe we've lost his trust
He still hopes that all of us love

- billythrilly7th



106
Dep Verd

Scully, sullen night
stars asleep
moon hanging by a thread.
Dep Verd was in the forest
with his tracker-dog, Whatley.

Whatley was on the scent
hot for Billy Fortune
Verd would lay to rest
the ghost of
Lil Johnny Bluenose.

When the dog got to baying
and splashing through the lagoon
big flat feet splattin up the mud
Verd knew it was a hit.

The deputy pulled
crazy Billy up by the hair
took Billy's empty gun
and hit im up the side of the head.
Slapped him into cuffs
mumbled a Blue Rock Miranda.

"Yur caught by God
there is no escaping
yull pay for the hurt
ya done the town
and lil Johnny!"

Billy, caught in a Viet Nam haze
screaming his name and number
to no one who could hear.

- Paint



107
A Cantor's Blessing for Blue Rock

Time to sit and rest a spell
to gnaw on life's sweet bones
time's fast presence fingered me
a pointed metaphoric chant.

I stood to sing a Godfull song
to reach and let them love
to understand that His stern love,
a canto for their heaven lust,
would fill the guts and feed the souls
with pointed metaphoric chant.

They came to close my Godfull pleas,
to hand the Star of David's needs
on hate, to spite their love
of pointed metaphoric chant.

His lambs gave milk to siren's song
a laugh to live another day
a hope a prayer and hate denied
the truth of Satan's love
which woo'd the faithful children
with pointed metaphoric chant.

I sing no more this starlit night
of Godfull song and soul's delight
but rather sit and listen not
to pointed metaphoric chant

- davids



108
Darryl and Barbie Lou

I once knew a towns boy named Darryl
Who sipped once too much from the barrel
He boasted and swaggered,
And toasted and staggered,
Then fell off Blue Rock Cliff to his peril.

His best gal was brash Barbie Lou
Who he met at the town barbecue;
She took note of his end
When she rounded the bend,
Saying, “That’s a fine how-do-you-do!”

She mourned him a day and a week,
Then went out in her Cadillac sleek;
She swigged down some rum
With the Blue Rock Bar bum,
Then ran off with that geek Billy Bleeck.

- Pat (pb10220)



109
The Postman's Collection

Ring the bell happy
mail in hand
just hours ago, was
Male in hand
thinking of this one
strapped down and
tied tight
answers in silk
"Good morning, mrs. crayton."

Just a slight gap
Between two buttons
peer into her blouse
see the white lattice
the smooth satin steadying
but bulging soft flesh
two overfilled prizes
smile
hand her the mail
labeled "Blue Rock 17534"

Over to Grand where
majorie goldberg's
got cleavage for miles
nothing but smiles
as her 56-years
let's Me look in
"Sign for the package"
My crotch tingles with the words
Which one would she grab?
"No. Coffee? I couldn't"

Lunchtime
Mendoza's hot plate's named gracie
buttons poke through her shirt
each time she sees Me
"chicken salad on white"
She should jump on Me, legs free
Instead, catch another
secreted look
as she's kitchen bound
Maybe the postman
comes more than once today

Last stop's way too easy
Deliver eBay to the door
Ring once
Swings open
like a movie premiere
ladies and gentlemen:
Priscilla David-Myers

Gotta be F's
or maybe thick D's
pointed at me like a stickup
she's beaming like I just
bought her a shiny rock
lips pursed and blue eyes bright
jumps like a cheerleader
It's always about the mail

Creamy brassiere's barely
holding her in
Watch them sway through Rayon
Chest scent pushes up my nostrils
My Hands extend as
she takes the box, Me slurping her in
"Bet there're some real goodies in there"

she giggles, she's trash
something to be bent over, controlled
FILTHY HALF NAKED HOUSE
SLUT JUST NEEDS TO GET FUH ... !
"You ... you have a nice day, mrs. d-m."
reined it in ... lucky Man, lucky Man

Lock the hussy slide show away, for
something after frozen pizza
and a night of 'Magnum' reruns
lights out, clamped on
male in hand
then, a final breath before
dreams of bullfrogs and
falling into Mom's cellar

- jst5150



110
The Perfect Word

The old man sits at the counter, hunched
a bar stool molded to skeletal hips
that once walked proud.

She nods, he thinks, for what once was
and tops off his mug, steamy black
no sugar, no cream, no dream.

Burled knuckles struggle to surround the cup
ignoring the ring that can no longer be grasped,
its heat a distant memory.

From his jacket pocket, hanging limp
he finds the pencil, less than a finger
the eraser chewed to metal.

Words still scratch from the blunted tip
on napkins so thin they hold his scribble
with a precarious caress.

Through background chatter his head lifts high
and his spine goes twenty-something straight.
The word hovers, angelic.

From his breast pocket his numbed fingertips
carefully withdraw a crisp-yellow sheet
creased in an ancient fold.

He smoothes the paper by his half-empty cup
and touches the pencil to his puckered lips
and lays the word in its perfect place.

The page folds itself around the poem
and he slides it, with a dollar, under his cup
twenty-five years too late.

The bell over the door commands the sun
to warm his face with the softest glare
so dimples peek through grey stubble.

He smiles, he thinks, for what once was.

- NeuroFizz



111
Kevin Dennis Turns 50

"Fifty's not old, not if you're a tree"
I remember clearly when you said that to me.

That was last year, some twelve months ago
When you thought you were young, but maybe not so.

You've reached the age when you have begun
To think of your 40's as "when I was young".

Girls in their twenties may still look, for sure.
More often than not though, they now call you "sir".

Your belts have all shrunk, your shirt buttons pop
Buying such cheaply-made things has to stop.

"That's my old man", your kids' friends are told
But you notice the emphasis now is on 'old'.

Your baby's a teen; your daughter's in college,
And life's where you got the most of your knowledge.

You've been out of school more than half of your life
People now say you're almost as smart as your wife.

She makes excuses and changes your plan
[Doesn't want to be seen with a "much older" man].

You still think you are as suave as a Parisian
But your formula for success is now labeled "Grecian".

Still there's one thing I can say, and no other
You'll never be as handsome, smart, witty, wise,
respected, esteemed, trustworthy, kind, obedient,
cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean or reverent
as your older brother.

- Don Magin (dobiwon)



112
Gene and Damon

Slid straight in
Blade bumped bone
leaned in like
cutting Christmas ham
Hand smashed rib
Point jabbed shag
hadn't realized
what I'd done

Right gripped knife
left cradled head
Face stretched taut
Mouth gaping wide
Tears welled 'round
green frightened circles
as he exhaled the
last little insult
I laid a kiss
upon his cheek

Seven years lost finger pointing
trouble enough partners have
moved here thinking tolerance
didn't expect trouble from within
Cackling crazy cries my companion
earns grisly end with four dumb words

Stained in crimson, made the call
Union's over
ending not so civil
Simple silence should have
brought more minutes
but verbal cross-stitch
sparked sheriff's gumball lights

Domesticity defiled
said goodbye, wrists steel bound
leaving Rafi Perez' canvas and
Olin Mills on honey walls
passing TV blaring Bravo "Blowout"
flowering garden's freshly wetted
like bedroom carpet's little bath

Booking begins, slurring starts
Scribbles all the details down
Macho ignorance, polyester pride
Blue Rock's finest fields first question:
"You the b1tch ... or the butch?"

Change of clothes, white drab cell
silence save the buzzing lights
hands shook, room boiled
mulling intended consequence
Tears welled in my straining eyes
head on pillow, pulled cold sheet
slid straight in
then I realized
what I'd done

- jst5150



113
Peerless Peter Pasternak

Peerless Peter Pasternak
Trousers gray, shoes jet black
Sold insurance, Life and car
Adored by clients, near and far

Corner office, leather chair
Big oak desk, ice-cold air
Worked the phone, oh how he'd jaw
Big fat numbers he would draw

Convention time, hey, Pete's the tops!
All hail his slick sales chops
Hundreds clap, oh how they cheered
Proving Peter had no peers

In the speech, he thanked the boss
On sales figures he did gloss
Martini's dry, the BS thick
The stories grew, the jokes came quick

Finally, applause subsides
Pete comes home, then takes a ride
Appointment time was set for eight
Best cancer doc within five states

Biopsy's bad, blood test's worse
Diagnosis none too terse
I'd say six months, perhaps a coma
Blastic NK cell lymphoma

Tears for hours, pain for days
Depressive lonely helpless haze
Then one morning all came clear
Found his remedy for fear

Pulled his office shingle down
Word gets out: Pete's leaving town!
Drew his money from the bank
Hugged his friends, said his thanks

Blue Rock buzzed with want to know
Where the heck did Peter go?
Upped and left without a warning
On a crisp September morning

Before he vanished, Pete did say
Live and love strong every day
Give up nothing, fight like hell
Defy the final tolling bell

Days and weeks and months did go
Leaves turned gold, then came snow
Sipping coffee, town's folk thought
This mystery that Peter wrought

But what those people never knew
Is that he soared, he surely flew
New smile broad and never false
Off with Matilda he did waltz

Peter on Kings Canyon's back
Died embracing warm Outback
In Kata Tjuta, taking stock
Buried close to Ayers Rock

Took weeks until the town found out
Shocking news left most in doubt
At the wake, two-hundred head
Here's what Pastor Ludwig said:

Peerless Peter Pasternak
Trousers gray, shoes jet black
Sold insurance, Life and car
Adored by clients, near and far

- jst5150



114
Gleam Blue

When the light's right
And God's hand rubs the river so
Golden coins jingle across her surface
She roars like a triumphant lion
As trees around her hiss with steady aplomb
Lungs fill with dewy residuals
Pollen released falls tender to my tongue
And stones beneath her waving thin skin
Really do gleam blue

- jst5150



115
Hal's Hardware Emporium

I came from the woods,
And went straight, not round,
To the alien landscape,
Where odd shapes abound.

I'd memorized the symbols,
From the saw on the ground:
Hal's Hardware Emporium,
The mission, I was bound.

Carved into Lover's skin,
Those hated symbols, I found.
Hanging over dead friends,
Made flat from round.

The man inside never saw me,
As my limbs wrapped around,
He timbered rather quickly,
Dead away to the ground.

I left it not standing,
No more evil to be found,
Back to the woods I went,
Feet back in the ground.

- My-Immortal



116
The Wanderer

He places importance on his beliefs
As does any other man
His philosophy unhampered
That life is good
And life is discovery
For him
That is all

He comes through when the wind is right
His pack kisses his back softly as he walks
The dirty red cap
Its origins lost in grime
Hold down the tangled icicles
Of dark hair

Each time he arrives
There is always one
Naive and hopeless girl
Wishing for an embrace of passion
Romancing a nameless stranger
Making love to a lost prince

For he is handsome
Even with the sweat and the dirt
Even with the stubble and the cold sores
Even with his eyes
The icy color which freezes a person's soul
So that they can examine the life thus lived

He is the bedraggled wolf
His tracks vanish before him
And soak into the earth after his coming
He stops by a restaurant
Or two
And finds sustenence
Rests from his trials

He disappears
Leaving for another place
Leaving for other hearts
Breaking hearts wears his boots
Their love is a shattered glass
And as he moves
His weight crunches more

- Akuma



117
Priestess

at the hour when all is forgotten
between the dark and the dawn

she leaves her slumber
steps out into the black night
with bare feet
to feel the vibration
of the earth as it turns
turns, turns
climbs to the top
of the rock the town
was named for.

her white muslin gown
whips around her ankles
pain here,
caress now
snowy hair thrashing
its storm on her crown.

Arms raised, reaching
fingers stretch to
point in all directions.
Calm
calm in her mind
so she can hear
the voices of ancients

she can feel
under her
lifting
standing in the light
unity for a moment;
opens green-blue eyes,
the town is healed
for a day.

- Paint



118
scattered Polaroids

scattered Polaroids
from fallen albums
lovingly litter attic's floor
disconnected pciture trail links
significantly shallow boy toy friends
lies down where her regret
mixes with her darkest fear
of living a life unloved, but
Seven sunsets 'til nuptials
Jacob's lost kisses like echoes
lingered
along electrified axons
while she readied
to take vows with Conner James

Twenty-something bride-to-be
spilling sour mash 'cross
satin strapless corset
frightened from the hallway closet
huddled sniffing dust and
Naphthalene keeping
winter clothes fresh
mixed tears with whiskey
(am i on the rocks?)
anxiously ruminating on
days mightily lost
in arms of other beaus

Wincing face, embarrassment flashes
in multicolored daily prayers
she's draped as someone's backseat bounty, but
all roaches run when lights go on
illicit playtime passed, stows the feelings,
push them down past chapel train
sliding down the skin of
"becoming a new woman"

Headstrong high school debutante
gobbled Conner from trailer's doom
Unring the bell with him for certain
no more secret shadow kneeling
to please a male friend's young loins
but would it, really, clean her heart?
two golden rings?
God's Stamp of Approval?
could make maudlin memories moot
but scattered Polaroids
from fallen albums
live forever
in her mind

- jst5150



119
Cat of Dead

It's been said with wonder
It's been said with dread
That nightime on Darcy Street
Brought the Cat of Dead

That Black ol' cat
Her green eyes catch all
She never made so much noise
As through the winter and the fall

That ol' ghost Cat of Dead
Queen Black Cat of Eyes
She sure knew everything
Their births and their demise

She saw the golden rider
She saw the bully, too
She saw him put dead in his grave
While a salesman did dream skew

She saw the old man worker
She saw the broken dreams
Actress, poet, and careful men
Turn to silent screams

There glides ol' Cat of Dead
To look at her should curse
They speak of her with fearful prayers
Before their lives get worse

- Akuma



120
The Football Hero

Dreams
The foothold of memory
Gold-filled shelves gather dust
Promises unfulfilled, broken

Home
Once inviting, now empty
The smell of sadness, of must
Family gone forever, broken

But...
Friday nights the load less heavy
An audience full of beer and lust
Sheriff Rollins, Bill, and Kevin

Remember
The years gone by, now past thirty
Yet still the tale, hear it they must
Of greatness, triumph, a game at seven

Alone
He stood, the backfield was empty
A God whose powers would never rust
The pass, the catch, he won again

Hero!
But the crowds were gone
He wandered home to his dreams

- Rob (robeiae)

****CONTINUED BELOW****

121
Silvia Blake

I’ve had it with this town
simple folk/simple lives
Same bar every Friday
Same stupid little lies

Same church on Sunday
The pastor and the choir
Same stock in the pews
to be saved from the fire

So what my voice is whiny?
Sure I know the deal
The same complaints every time
makes this repetition so surreal.

Same stink on your breath
of cigarettes and beer
Same bull**** from your mouth
crap I don’t wanna hear.

I’ve had it with of this town
So I’m saying goodbye
You keep your little world
I’m going off to find the sky

- laurel29



122
The Lumber Baron

We Indians gathered
the scent of sweet grass spiked
as women weaved baskets

my, mixed breed, great-grandmother laughed heartily
as a hand carved pipe, filled with pungent tobacco, passed around
to Lumber barons, white people

My, white, Grandpa was such a flirt
he pinched flesh
so many born without his name

red onion dyed threads attached to the baskets
as the umbilical cord twists, giving life
too many adopted

my mother was born, out of the mystery of these unions
many whispered how she had high cheek bones
We are one, weaved into the tight sweet-grass baskets

- Ganesha



123
Fragments of Haley

I am loose change and aware that the only way to remain desired
is to expand into November. I spend my days walking around
in stockings and paper dresses. I show a little flesh;
I part my hair down the middle, I dream crows taken from me;
crows dispensed from the restrooms of discarded buildings.
I touch them. My wings are rotting. My mouth is empty.
Lately I've been thinking about my burial ground. Lately
I am hungry, and I took a nap on someone else's mattress.
I woke up and my pockets were empty. Where are the others?
Where's my loose change? I have a blessing, but I am waiting
for the priest. I feel a little bored, a little cold;
I sat at the bus stop and scripted a letter to Haley:
................I love your finger bowls made of summer silver,
................set out on uncertain days; a figure trembling,
................pleading for redemption, like an alter boy’s palm
................cupped over the cross. I love verandas that blow
................with an ersatz wind. How do you feel?

- colpo di fulmine



124
Peggy Woods- The One Legged Bride

Wall flower, small tower, every girl has her day.
Something borrowed something new, it seems she has lost her best shoe.
Torn lace, Peg’s in a bad place, in her chair on the porch she rocks.
The guests will be mad, the turkey will be had, at home is where she’ll stay!
Peg is so angry, in the wind her words are carried, not on this day will she be married!
She limps to the shed to fetch a saw and a shovel; her veil lies lifeless in the dirt.
Back in her chair, Peg rubs knots in her hair, Grudge, her dog runs away.
This woman is crazy; her thoughts are hazy, as she proceeds to saw off her other foot.
“I’ll show you, you missing shoe, who you’re messing with!”
She crawls to the yard, thought it is hard, a trail of blood behind her.
Peg digs a hole, buries her soul and Grudge shows beside her.
In his mouth from under the house, he grins and drops her found shoe.
It doesn’t matter they hated Mr. Hatter.
What is a girl to do?

- writerterri



125
Abandoned Temper

She wasn't normal
The temper child of Blue Rock

She wasn't sweet
Like all the other little girls

She wasn't bad
It's just others misunderstood her

Temper made her parents leave
Not her misty eyes
Or the way she regarded them with her cold gaze
It was her temper

Her temper was the only thing she ever had
Loneliness took it away

The others of Blue Rock averted their eyes
When she walked passed on her way to her abandoned house
But she held her head high until she locked the front door
And then she cried

Some said she was like lightning
Harsh and killing

Some said she was like wood
Unchanging and cold
But they were wrong

The earth wasn't the place for the temper child
Behind the walls of her house
She yelped in pain and fury
As death took hold of her abandoned heart

No one came to her funeral
It was bad luck to look upon the temper child
Even with her misty eyes closed
And her body silent and quiet

The grave diggers never showed up
In fear of touching the temper child
Her body never rotted into the earth
And her soul never brought to heaven or hell
But rather stayed on earth

People of Blue Rock still see her today
Floating through the streets
On her way to her abandoned house
Holding her head up high

She wasn't simple
Like other people

She wasn't pretty
But beautiful with her misty eyes

She wasn't perfect
But Lily
the abandoned temper of Blue Rock
didn't want to be.

- dancingandflying



126
The Wishing Well

The penny gleams, coppery bright
Polished hope, dreams to ignite
Tell me true, tell me dear,
Will I find my true love here?
Will he be handsome, will he be strong,
Together will we sing our lives like a song?
May I wish, I may, I might
Fling my penny into the night
Watch it sink, watch it drown
All my hopes following down, so far down
Vanished, gone, never more in my sight
In my heart the wish stays
In my heart wishes take flight

- TheIT



127
The Town Founder

In the middle of the court-house square
an old bronze statue stands
of a noble man, with a lofty brow,
and a book and a quill in his hands.

Some say it's old Abe Lincoln,
but saying don't mean it's true.
and it's not a mistake that the old folks make,.
just the strangers who're passing through.

For 'William Haskins - Poet'
is what it reads on the plaque.
Some say he was a genius.
Some say he was a hack.

Some claim that he was a kindly man.
with a soul as white as snow -
but others claim he outran the law
when he murdered his daughter's beau.

But whether all - or none - of it's true,
there's nobody left to tell.
Or whether he went to glory.
Or whether he went to hell.

But one thing the townsfolk all agree -
if you're passing, you'd best not mock.
Better tip your hat (or they'll knock you flat)
to the founder of ol' Blue Rock.

- arrowqueen



128
Meadowview Dance Hall (The Flapper)

In the Twenties
they called her a Flapper
Dancing with reckless abandon
Sequins and Sharp Heels clicking
seducing young hipsters
with heat of a blowtorch
across a smoky
Meadowview Dance Hall

little town blues forced a fever
caught a train to Big Shoulders
looking for a Good Jazz cure
where Petting Parties and
One Hundred Crushed Cigarettes
made a weekend's fancy
brightly shine nine years
and never looked back
to catch it again

suddenly black thursday
Gotham's big crash
Hedonic Rich Friends finding
sanctuary in long jumps
from skyscraper windows
all the Joints closed
Booze Bottles broken
what's a Flapper to do?
shuffle down State Street
get in line
ask for bread
bum a Cigarette
leave town

bumbled through depression
served diner fare through the war
decades like clouds
rolled 'cross her lifetime
wandering wondering
what she should have done
until the one place
she shunned like spooned Castor
lured her from restless days
of Lucky Strike Lazy
in gray lancaster living room

However, folk said, she
never really came back
town tramp denting mattresses
flapping her gums
wrapping shaped thighs
‘round whomever blue rock
offered up

Finally came up coughing
after ninety-nine candles stayed lit
wrinkles, respirator and blood
eyes slowly opened and closed
she longed for a Cig
and the Taste of a good
Whiskey Sour

with one final smile
pricked her ears up
on the gurney
where she would die
in a blue rock general
hospital room
where the orderly's feet
clicked like sharp heels
on a hopping, small town
Meadowview Dance Hall

- jst5150



129
The Schefkes (Final Chapter)

Mackie's leaving town tomorrow -
Blue Rock finally got too small,
minds too narrow for the way she lives.
Clothes all packed, goodbyes all said,
gas in her car and money in her pocket.
She's heading West in the morning, she says,
as far as she can go.
Golden's leaving too, even earlier than Mack
on the rodeo circuit (semi-pro),
to ride broncs and rope calves.
For a change she takes the lead;
she's heading out at dawn tomorrow,
in her cowboy-boyfriend's chevy truck,
hauling a three-horse slant-load trailer.
Only cruel-eyed Dusty's staying;
his momma says he's a homebody,
her first-and-only baby boy,
that he'd never leave her and daddy alone,
unlike her wanderlusting rambler girls.
But the whole town’s thinking what she is,
wishing that he'd leave instead of Golden -
instead of Mackie even.
But there’s nothing they can do,
the girls have got their hearts set on leaving,
on clearing out maybe-forever.
Mack’s looking for a girl to call her own,
a town with open doors and minds,
where the water tastes of salt.
Golden’s seeking the open road,
the dust and dirt smell of rodeo rings,
freedom from her brother and her home.

The night is growing old around them,
and Golden has to be up early,
but they are reluctant to leave each other.
Town and parents and brother and their old lives
they will put behind them in the morning
with barely a second thought or care,
but they have had only each other for years,
and letting go is hard.

- Eveningsdawn



130
Dozer

Snorting and bucking
the big yellow dozer
makes ready to work.

Blue Rock is coming up
-or down, locals say-
gonna get a facelift
gonna get generic.

They're pulling down
the old town,
juke joints
and the Elks Lodge.
"We'll make it look
like Vale, Colorado!"
the contractors say,
counting their money
rubbing hands together.

There's talk around
town meetings
some think it would be
o so cool
to change the old town's
name to Glendale.
I can hear the founder
spinning

Starbucks is coming
Walmart too
Condos line the hills.
the old blue rock
yes the true rock
rolled down
to the forest
marks the head
of ducky new bike trail.

Good bye to Blue Rock,
a town we all knew
and loved.

- Paint



131
The Trashman

Dirt conceals the vivid blue of his never-washed jeans, grimed with
someone else's discarded somethings;
his brown eyes narrow with interest and he rolls a cigarette between
his aged fingers as he views another find,
another trinket, a new treasure to take home
to join the mountains of rubbish that circle his home on
the far edge of Blue Rock.
In summer his stench rises from his clothing like dense fog but in winter
he still smells rank, unwashed but bundled into his Army surplus coat
it is not as noticeable as he drives
his 1967 pickup through the streets to beat the city garbage collectors
from beating him to the next fine find.

- johnnysannie



132
Town Hound

lying is what I do best
inhaling dust
pretending to sleep
while the town
goes through it's motions

flies in my eyes
an occasional boot
in the butt
but everyone knows me
as Buster

it's giddy dreams
of rabbit chases
that consume my time
and while I keep my post
at the sheriff's door
nothing goes unnoticed

I earn my keep
and though I sleep
I wail at every beatin'
small town justice
will prevail
and always be a secret

- kdnxdr



133
The Rhymin' Man

he lays down tracks
kicking up dust
like hot rods
dragging on a country road

his guitar twanging
gravelly voice caresses
the melody,
bending the rhyme
to fit the time

spinnin’ dreams
tappin’ rhythms
on the back porch of the world
the rhymin’ man sits rockin’

- QueenB



134
Me and Paddy Murphy

Me and that Paddy Murphy fought
just about every single day
we'd face off in the old school yard
crowds would gather to watch the fray

So afternoons we'd wander home
ignoring our cuts and bruises
it seems we simply loved to fight
it wasn't about who loses

Now after almost twenty years
this old village looks much the same
and Paddy and I passed on the street
so I called to him by his name

We were grown now, and wiser too,
so we sat down for a few beers
to laugh about the schoolyard scraps
and talk about life and passing years

Now men, its said, are bigger boys
There's not too much difference than that
And past is past, just let it go
So there we were, just me and Pat

But beer and Paddy don't mix well
(to be honest I'm that way too)
we quickly traded angry words
and soon the kicks and punches flew

Our blood was spilled and we got bruised
Some things, they say, will never change
then home we went with cut and scrape
and none who saw us thought it strange

So in my chair I nursed my wounds
and raised a beer to Pat that night
'cause even though boys grow to men
we still enjoy a damned good fight

- LimeyDawg



135
Blue Rock's Scheme

Come with me, if you will
And sit with me upon the hill.
Take a gander down 'toward my town
Get a load of the silly clowns!

Now, I must say old Blue Rock
Is full of one horse dirty socks
Cause Mabel never turned a washer on
Or filled a bathtub with her thumb!

Old Clem sits there, his mouth is full
Of chaw terbakkie; spillin' bull.
Smackin' down a swig or two
Tellin' yarns on me and you.

The sheriff hides when Mabel screams
Cause he knows she's a nightmare's dream.
He's been there more than once or twice
Pullin' her down; she's swattin' the lice.

If only she would clean her house
She wouldn't have the dirty louse.
Now I'm not talkin' about the nits
It's her husband, the dirty twit!

Her cousin George lies like a dog
Couldn't tell the truth; he's lost in a fog.
Staggers round from room to room
We all know his name spells doom.

Lookie there, why it's the twins
Can't tell'em apart cause of their grins.
Gotta be careful, tho, they might explode
Been eatin' them beans; a whole truck load!

Over yonder, it's the Flippin's house
Never know next, who's gonna crouch
Outside their windows all blacked out
A smellin' that smoke...sure is stout!

Now, I'm not one to poke and prod
Don't care 'bout them stupid clods.
Jist leave me be, let me do my thing
While I sit here watchin' Blue Rock's scheme.

- Joyce Rapier (BeeBomb)



136
The New Family

It never mattered much
that the Angelos moved here
Before their first child.

Even after their fifth,
they were still called
The New Family.

It never mattered much
that they kept their yard neat
or painted up the old Johnson home pink.

Because they were foreign,
Because they were Catholic,
They were always the New Family.

One day, their third child got sick.
Or was it the forth?
She swoled up like a yellow dog and died.

People brought by food.
They even came to the funeral.
They learned to say "Arestedamo" and ate spagetti.

The house got older and so did they.
Everyone called him Art now.
She was Angel or Angie, and they were okay.

They threw a picnic on the anniversary.
They invited the couple that just moved in.
I think their name was Rodriguez.

- SherryTex



137
Sailor's Daughter

Blue Rock’s a long way
from the ocean.
That was the way momma
wanted-needed it
after daddy died.
She couldn’t stand
the smell of the ocean breeze -
said it reminded her
of the scent of his hair.
Me, I can’t stand it here.
I was born on the water,
born to ride the waves;
the sea is in my blood.
The only water here
is the quiet river that runs
into, through, and out of town,
with its single slate-blue rock
(shaped like a great whale
rising slow for breath).
I swim out, or walk,
if the ice is thick enough,
every dawn and dusk,
to sit on the smooth stone
and watch the sun rise and set.
My father’s words
(the sailor’s creed)
echo silent in my ears:
Red sky at morning – take warning.
Red sky at night – delight.

- Eveningsdawn



138
The Visit

Aunt Rose came home today. Just for a visit.
She walks quietly, like a deer in uncertain woods,
stays in Grandma's spare room. She comes out
to smile at her children, not touching them
or asking questions about school.
No comments on how they have grown.
I stand outside the circle puzzled
by the look in her eyes, it is no look at all.
She moves her eyes around the room,
caught in memories of a time she dusted,
canned tomatoes, brushed her children's hair.

I really can't know. I do know that no one
talks of her when she is gone. We all know.
After a few days, her eyes begin to shiver,
her hands trembling, dying robins.
Uncle Eddie comes then, carries her canvas bag,
shakes hands with all the cousins, smooths
his sisters hair, straightens her sweater.
I learn tenderness from a missing button
he ignores. The hospital is only a few miles away,
a world away. The cousins move away from her.
They will not watch the car's dust fade.

Once, I heard Grandma say that there's one
in every family. One not meant for this world.
No one else in our small, lonesome town
lives at the hospital, comes for small visits,
leaves without looking backward. Sometimes,
I go to the bathroom and lock the door. In the
cracked mirror I look into my eyes. Comforted,
I see only green. At supper, I do not watch my mother.
I do not see her eyes, only the tremble as she
spoons gravy on her meat. There is a button missing
on her dress. A safety pin holds the fabric
against the words no one will say.

- JoyceW



139
The Town Loser

"F*ck child support," Jimmy said,
Thinking himself clever
As he fingers his track marks.
"She didn't want my kid, she shouldn't-a had it."
He never had no daddy, never needed one
As fars he's concerned.

A tattoo of a billowing Old Dixie flag sits
Emblazoned on his shirtless back bordered
By the sentiment, "The South Will Rise Again."

A cigarette dangles in the corner of his
Slackened mouth as he leans back into his
Mom's couch, staring ahead, disinterested
In the Gomer Pyle re-run before him.
Just something to watch as he floats through
His high.

- louisgodwin



140
Anna Faye

I stroll by most days
book of verses in my hand,
hoping to meet his eye,
afraid I actually can.

For what if he looks up
to see the book is his
and Alistair McGunn sees me,
Blue Rock's quintessential ditz?

Then he'd know the truth
about the mask I wear.
But would he even notice?
Would he even care?

- Saritams8



141
Crater Fathom Deep

In the end
No bird flu nor
flawed voting machines nor
attacking killer tomatoes
did Blue Rock in
Rather, seven hundred megatons
of Red Nation oppression
delivered in thirty-one industrial warheads
smashing into
Hal's Hardware,
the One-Room School House,
Mendoza's,
the Town Fair,
Brittney Holman's Nick LaChey wall,
Dennis Fraley's Scale Train Collection, and
scorching it all like an English Muffin
cooked too long
now all that's left of small town folly are
five-thousand two-hundred sixty-seven
nuclear winters raining down flaky charcoal remains
in craters forty fathoms deep
that was Old Man's Pitchford's
cemetery plot

- jst5150



THE END

it's pretty f#ckin' cool that you all have amassed such a collection in less than a week.

KTC said:

I have very poor retention skills. (I'll blame the meds.) I would love to continue, and incorporate other characters, but I think it would be best if I just remain a pedestrian...I would just jumble everything up. Maybe I will create a new character that doesn't overlap with any current characters?

Click to expand...

definitely don't feel obligated to intersect your poem with another. a self-contained narrative will infuse some entirely new blood and allow for even more fodder for those connecting their poems up with other characters.