lazarus
Blue Crack Supplier
currently reading the third book in John Dos Passos' U.S.A. Trilogy, set during WW1. After reading this a few times, it seems the three stanzas represent childhood, adolescence, and finally the loss of innocence during wartime (all explored in the novels). The stream of consciousness style at the beginning, while something I've been experimenting with more, is definitely influenced by Dos Passos, who was really breaking new ground when he wrote these books back in the 30's. While I'm describing a much older America, there are parallels to more current conflicts...
WALLEYE WALTZ
cat's in the jammer
kids will be all kinds of trouble;
the walls have eyes
and the eaves have ears,
dropping in on tin-can telephones;
though you can't uncover
each skinned knee and fancy free,
scores of mud-tracked floors,
borrowed boats/spilled root beer floats,
uncap another bottle o'
pop goes the we's all in the backyard
doin' nuthin' no good up to here
beneath the pecans--
or were they willows?
a gal for every freckled fellow,
hands in hands--
the wandering ones are slapped away,
held back until that whiny day
when the capital capitulates,
to swarm over the balustrades
and sow the seeds of suppress
arms in arms--
"To Arms!" the dripping headlines dry
and then the heads on shoulders cry,
they wave off at the docks and gates
and hide that hint of traitor's hate;
and old tale wagging still for sure
decks of dog years later:
more moths in the projector beam
of newsreels spinning out of air,
negatives in a darkroom dip
o'erexposed and undeveloped.
laz
WALLEYE WALTZ
cat's in the jammer
kids will be all kinds of trouble;
the walls have eyes
and the eaves have ears,
dropping in on tin-can telephones;
though you can't uncover
each skinned knee and fancy free,
scores of mud-tracked floors,
borrowed boats/spilled root beer floats,
uncap another bottle o'
pop goes the we's all in the backyard
doin' nuthin' no good up to here
beneath the pecans--
or were they willows?
a gal for every freckled fellow,
hands in hands--
the wandering ones are slapped away,
held back until that whiny day
when the capital capitulates,
to swarm over the balustrades
and sow the seeds of suppress
arms in arms--
"To Arms!" the dripping headlines dry
and then the heads on shoulders cry,
they wave off at the docks and gates
and hide that hint of traitor's hate;
and old tale wagging still for sure
decks of dog years later:
more moths in the projector beam
of newsreels spinning out of air,
negatives in a darkroom dip
o'erexposed and undeveloped.
laz
