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Duke, Ford & Chaos

by POETS' BASEMENT

Come Here

by DONNY DUKE

 

They drain you.

They punish you.

Not everybody on the boat spoke English.

I dunno,

Everyone in the class was talking about it,

Your grandpa,

Close relative.

I’m a little deaf,

Don’t remember.

I told you:

Let them come.

It’s unbelievable,

At a time like this

On earth.

You know,

Bottle opener,

There’s hope.

Muslim,

Problem with you:

You have a long tradition.

I was just readin’ it.

Muslim,

Things are complicated,

Somewhere over there.

 

Actually your office is one of the best.

Bradford likes it.

Now here he stole:

I ask you,

Celebrate,

Poor fellow,

The death of

Non-Muslim?

It’s a book of evidence,

Definite bush,

Within the

“Nurse driven”.

You can do it:

A revised book of art.

Gentlemen please,

Don’t you think?

Definitely leaves

Golden tree.

This is a nightmare

For loved ones

Your death struck.

Thank you.

It’s the only way

Avoiding

Continued ex-president

Extensive long arm –

I couldn’t see out the window

There were signs that said

Keep this

Speech art.

Help me out agriculture.

He’s my cousin.

A gun belt,

He’s not wearing one.

How does who whoever look?

Grab you

The novel of textbook.

It’s here you count oranges,

Your beautifully crafted diagrammed poem.

Hand him the clue.

Did you use my print conflict

There on the front survival?

Mohammad asking.

Pricilla Presley

Needed shaving cream she didn’t use.

Truth seeker,

We’ll come back to this.

I lost him.

 

I need a Sunday.

Come on,

Everyday.

A nuclear bomb

To those playin’ the game.

You know not that popular

You know what that means.

Kinda heavy

Isabella.

What do you guys

Think about the world?

Do you know what?

It’s stupid,

Our kind,

Our people,

Babysittin’

All around the world.

The odd approach.

Almost everybody

Would like that.

We’re gonna make him.

Oh you make us?

Get out of here!

Uncle,

You can’t blame them.

Force them,

Leave a comment.

What is that sir?

All freewill,

You don’t find it in God.

Of course,

I wanna know about

The non-Muslims.

Your spiritual philosophy,

How goes that song?

Many things.

I’m just concerned

With who American

Not Muslim.

Does he wanna be,

And join us?

Conversations with a gathering bow.

Now that’s

Religion.

Did you get that

Young man

Born a few Christians?

That’s what I’m telling you:

That’s human.

 

The truth is

Allowed,

Definitely.

You wouldn’t bother me with it.

Use a carpet

To understand its loveliness,

A plastic liner

To adapt to situations.

Oh you don’t?

There goes

Kenny does it,

Accepts you.

True religion

A spontaneous outpouring.

Not so concerned

With the parrot.

Nobody likes the

Noise

Grandma makes

Carrying the newspaper

To grandpa,

And she wants him

To cut the grass.

Yeah open it:

Change his girlfriend.

I’ll do it.

There are people

(Careful)

King of a version.

We’re gonna

Flip it,

See where it lands.

It hits on you.

You are the person

That makes

Your organ.

Find it here:

You’ve always known

You have some of that suitcase.

Okay, lock your door,

Give ‘im your privacy,

The inmost voice come in.

Constant,

Powerful,

Coming down.

I was over things.

I was things over.

Stands up

Your soul

And tailor this to you.

You gotta go

Hear the tailor.

This is deeper than skin,

Than the world blows up,

Than a pocket full of aliens

Massachusetts,

Than you furnish gravity.

Put ‘em up.

What happened?

An earth change.

To do it

Funny and easy

Everything

Copenhagen.

Huh,

Would that

Mean wide and flexible?

You’re quite right.

 

Tryin’ to cut up short on the internet.

Why did you come to America?

I thought this was about freedom.

Get ill-fired

Cause we meet the story.

What about the railroad?

Big pressure –

Could marry you.

I do an island.

Starrin’ ‘em

With lots of discrimination.

Here sir burn his milk.

In your face

For creatin’

Body and sense.

You have no business over here.

Lockin’ the door.

Guns without borders,

That’s hungry.

Of course

Someone might go with her

Causing the disturbance.

Is that America’s honor?

So much it’s pitiful.

How much more big power?

Find me the tree

Where all this is put to sleep.

Foot another reason.

Don’t do it.

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Y’all get your act folder.

What about rising to weep

Hand custom made?

Alert the security council.

I love slow your uncle.

Whichever state you want.

I have a free wedge.

Quick to judge

Plagiarism is played

Terrorism.

She does just fine by herself.

There’s a beer thirty miles up the road;

Would you get that?

What’s goin’ on?

Jim Crow legislation,

Even racial discrimination.

 

I’m doin’.

There we go.

It’s funny,

The file you’re watching

Got bulletin board by

A wind-maker,

Fire also,

Only seen as a deterrent to his society.

Bravo.

Where are you?

See how close you are,

Extremely.

You don’t have present conditions

Much longer.

You got about

My last day of troops.

Today wants to talk to yah:

Emergency overthrow

Honor boy.

Richer

The eyes of humility.

Definitely that one

Right now.

What are you starin’ at?

A bump in the road

Much bigger than any other.

I’ve got an account

In a civil service grassroots program.

Nuclear

Regular

Medicine

Name us all.

You had a bad dream.

The nicest dream

That can be done

Walk this way:

Look at the face of the earth.

The volcano

Leads us to it.

Are you serious?

Where are you?

The bottom door.

I’m done.

 

Donny Duke grew up in Texas and has done a variety of things on both ends of the spectrum of life, or that spectrum as an American would see it – conservative and liberal.  He was in the army and was a horse soldier and rode the Texas rodeo circuit, was a Green Beret and was on a tactical nuclear weapons team, parachuting into Europe with his team and a nuke.  In the university he studied English, History and Classical Greek, earning an undergraduate degree.  Since, he has been a Jerusalem peace activist, a South American and European vagabond, a spiritual seeker, and a number of other things.  Through out he has been a poet, taking a lifetime to develop his personal poetic style.  He now lives in India and writes poetry and studies yoga, not the stretch variety – the yoga of realization and enlightenment.

 

 

Yavash

by FRANK FORD

She guesses, skip-
ping absolute steps
that lend requisite

rigor. “Say! Why hurry so?
You’re being paid!”: co-
researcher. In Bursa,

family had begged
Yavash Yavash. Slowly.

She sped to Cambridge, where
that melody persisted. Thence

MIT, who wanted her the odd way
they cultivate some disparate nuts.

(Men? you’ll ask. Well, she speaks
when something to say, and

misses their wit by dreaming
a story where nothing adds up

to the admiration
they demand.)

At any rate, she’s slap-
dash-ditz to fellow profs

at Cal Tech now. Worth a laugh
to actual genius at the least.

How COULD they anticipate
an offer from Hamburg

with the salary of a footballer
and a lab to die for? Life not
merely unfair, but insane!

The Germans sullying themselves!
Besides, a yellow pad at Starbucks
the only lab required for the moment.

Afterwards hopping on her Harley
to let chaotic figures dissolve
rushing trees above. What

lingers? Will she ship it
to Stockholm, eventually
riding to the ceremony

in vulgar show as
fellow scientists

lay in
hay?

Yes.

 

Frank Ford lives in Florida, where “Moorish” villages have transformed swamps.
But pipedreams of developers are on hold till the suckers again get flush.

 

 

A Moving Staircase in Deluth Remembers Rainstorms

by ZORBA HASSIUM CHAOS

 

An estimated 1.3 million species

have gone extinct during my lifetime

and I never even had the decency

to say good-bye

 

20 synthetic elements

have been synthesized,

all radioactive, all unstable

and I never had the decency

to say hello

 

My manners are deplorable.

Hello. Good-bye.

 

Zorba Hassium Chaos was born. He smokes a corncob pipe and is the only living practitioner of the Way of the Mist(sic)ical Temple of Moses Om.

 

Editorial Note: (Please Read Closely Before Submitting)

To submit to Poets’ Basement, send an e-mail to CounterPunch’s poetry editor, Marc Beaudin at counterpunchpoetry@gmail.com with your name, the titles being submitted, and your website url or e-mail address (if you’d like this to appear with your work).  Also indicate whether or not your poems have been previously published and where.  For translations, include poem in original language and documentation of granted reprint/translation rights.  Attach up to 5 poems and a short bio, written in 3rd person, as a single Word Document (.doc or .rtf attachments only; no .docx – use “Save As” to change docx or odt files to “.doc”).  Expect a response within one month (occasionally longer during periods of heavy submissions).

Poems accepted for online publication will be considered for possible inclusion of an upcoming print anthology.

For more details, tips and suggestions, visit CrowVoiceJournal.blogspot.com and check the links on the top right. Thanks!

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