—Poetry by Josh Crummer, Zilwaukee, MI
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
RAT RACE GHAZAL
After Martin Scorcese’s The Wolf of Wall Street (2013)
After Martin Scorcese’s The Wolf of Wall Street (2013)
I left my wife my kids my college friends—
Goodbye, hometown; I’ve got to sell this pen.
Show me a seventy-thousand pay stub and I work for you now.
Write your name down on that napkin. Oh you don’t have a pen?
There’s no nobility in poverty. Rich man, poor man,
I choose rich every fucking time. Pick up the phone and sell these pens.
Look at us, a bunch of sleazy salesmen, right?
Moving money from the client’s pocket, replaced with this pen.
This transaction won’t make you poor but serve
as a benchmark for future business. You feel comfortable with pens?
If my kid was retarded, I’d drive it up to the country, open the door
and say you’re free now. No cribs, no carseats, no pens.
Cocaine and hookers, my friend. Coffee’s for closers only.
You and me, the brokers, cold hard cash—and this pen.
I knew God’s true name: Fugazi H. Christ, Esquire.
Silent partner, dormant investor. Loves a good pen.
For awhile we created real market value for our marks.
Porsche, Rolex, Gucci, Hermes. And we’d do it all over again.
she didn’t see you in the water
After “What the Water Gave Me” (1938) by Frida Kahlo
instead saw her entire life
trapped in a hemisphere
of porcelain white—
red-painted toes
treading muddy water
as shapes emerged
from its cloudy depths—
floating sparrows,
ancestors behind a fern,
her nude pregnant self
choked and chained
by a beachbound Rivera
casting a line
for mosquitoes and flies—
from green smoke
one great volcano belches
The Empire State Building
so stoic and tall
even her strong soaking feet
inch for the plug—
if you were hoping
you might be a footnote
in her naked
most vulnerable reflection
I have bad news for you
REFUSAL TO MOW THE LAWN
Unmowed, untrimmed, unhedged, unbroken.
This lawn won’t conform
to peer pressure from aging stewards
any longer, claiming neatness
with their checkerboard cuts,
high and tight yards,
neat mulch barren as a frozen pond.
If it were a quiet neighborhood,
you might hear their pulses quicken,
engines rev on a Saturday afternoon
waking children wishing
for one more hour
before their parents usher them
to the store, their grandparents,
a suburb like this one.
But it’s not a quiet neighborhood,
and black squirrels continue darting about
with their afterwinter snacks,
chipmunks weave their tunnels of grass,
a stray cat scans the brush
from beneath a peeling deck.
It silently judges two-cycle techno,
black smoke belch and blade chop
attempting to slice faceless birdcalls above.
They can’t help but celebrate
that here, in this city,
is one last bastion of a world that was
where nature’s motto wasn’t stay alive,
but live.
Unmowed, untrimmed, unhedged, unbroken.
This lawn won’t conform
to peer pressure from aging stewards
any longer, claiming neatness
with their checkerboard cuts,
high and tight yards,
neat mulch barren as a frozen pond.
If it were a quiet neighborhood,
you might hear their pulses quicken,
engines rev on a Saturday afternoon
waking children wishing
for one more hour
before their parents usher them
to the store, their grandparents,
a suburb like this one.
But it’s not a quiet neighborhood,
and black squirrels continue darting about
with their afterwinter snacks,
chipmunks weave their tunnels of grass,
a stray cat scans the brush
from beneath a peeling deck.
It silently judges two-cycle techno,
black smoke belch and blade chop
attempting to slice faceless birdcalls above.
They can’t help but celebrate
that here, in this city,
is one last bastion of a world that was
where nature’s motto wasn’t stay alive,
but live.
PHOSPHENES
And I believe this mighty gift is real:
when caught between awake and slumber dark,
the cosmos lets its secret sights reveal—
a purple weave unfurling heaven’s stars—
kaleidoscope of shapes adrift in black.
I press my eyes with open palms again,
return to tread its charcoal depths abstract;
release my hold; reflecting; feeling Zen.
My only wish: it’s more than vessels, veins,
my own observant eye surveying me—
but Truth: a secret oneness sought in vain
by clergy, prophets, priests from sea to sea.
I want so badly to believe we’re one—
the veil between our lives may come undone.
And I believe this mighty gift is real:
when caught between awake and slumber dark,
the cosmos lets its secret sights reveal—
a purple weave unfurling heaven’s stars—
kaleidoscope of shapes adrift in black.
I press my eyes with open palms again,
return to tread its charcoal depths abstract;
release my hold; reflecting; feeling Zen.
My only wish: it’s more than vessels, veins,
my own observant eye surveying me—
but Truth: a secret oneness sought in vain
by clergy, prophets, priests from sea to sea.
I want so badly to believe we’re one—
the veil between our lives may come undone.
THE RAVEN (Album Version)
Title: The Raven
Title: The Raven
Artist: Edgar Allen Poe w/ Beastie Boys & Dolly Parton
Album: The Telltale Experience (1989)
Track: 6
John Waters: Coming at you live from Baltimore—
John Waters: Coming at you live from Baltimore—
The Hitchcock of hip goth
The live MCs of hip-hop
And queen Dolly Parton herself
This is…The Raven
Poe: Once upon a midnight
Poe: Once upon a midnight
Beastie Boys: DREARY
Poe: While I pondered,
Beastie Boys: WEAK
Poe: and
Beastie Boys: WEARY
Poe: Over a curious volume of forgotten lore,
Poe: While I pondered,
Beastie Boys: WEAK
Poe: and
Beastie Boys: WEARY
Poe: Over a curious volume of forgotten lore,
nearly napping,
Suddenly there came a
Suddenly there came a
Beastie Boys: TAPPING
Poe: Some visitor rapping at my chamber door,
only this and nothing more!
(quick turntable solo)
Poe: Open here I flung the
only this and nothing more!
(quick turntable solo)
Poe: Open here I flung the
Beastie Boys: SHUTTER
Poe: With many a
Poe: With many a
Beastie Boys: FLIRT
Poe: and
Poe: and
Beastie Boys: FLUTTER
Poe: In stepped a Raven of saintly days yore,
beguiling
my sad fancy into
Beastie Boys: SMILING
Poe: What’s thy lordly name on the Plutonian shore?
Quoth the Raven—
Beastie Boys: NEVERMORE!
(guitar shreds overlayed with raven caw noises)
John Waters: For your pleasure… Mike D, Ad-Rock and MCA
Poe: In stepped a Raven of saintly days yore,
beguiling
my sad fancy into
Beastie Boys: SMILING
Poe: What’s thy lordly name on the Plutonian shore?
Quoth the Raven—
Beastie Boys: NEVERMORE!
(guitar shreds overlayed with raven caw noises)
John Waters: For your pleasure… Mike D, Ad-Rock and MCA
Mike D: Yooooooo
Beastie Boys: Bird with no meaning, no living being
ever seen this raven on their bedroom door.
Only one word from its soul outpoured
Ad-Rock: Coast to coast it goes “Nevermore”
Beastie Boys: Another morrow like my hopes,
a friend flown the coop
but the raven refuses to leave our troupe
rocking velvet seats like an inner tube
watching all the girlies come and go
Poe: But none can replace my angel, Lenore
Beastie Boys: Only one word this bird adores
Beastie Boys: Bird with no meaning, no living being
ever seen this raven on their bedroom door.
Only one word from its soul outpoured
Ad-Rock: Coast to coast it goes “Nevermore”
Beastie Boys: Another morrow like my hopes,
a friend flown the coop
but the raven refuses to leave our troupe
rocking velvet seats like an inner tube
watching all the girlies come and go
Poe: But none can replace my angel, Lenore
Beastie Boys: Only one word this bird adores
Grim and ghastly omen of yore
Fiery eyes staring through our souls
Number one on our label’s payroll
We don’t know if it’s a bird or
All: DEVIL
Beastie Boys: All night staying on the
All: LEVEL
Beastie Boys: Beastie Boys partying in Baltimore
kickin’ live with the Raven, cawing
All: NEVERMORE!
(guitar riff)
John Waters: All rise to the floor for Ms. Dolly Parton
Fiery eyes staring through our souls
Number one on our label’s payroll
We don’t know if it’s a bird or
All: DEVIL
Beastie Boys: All night staying on the
All: LEVEL
Beastie Boys: Beastie Boys partying in Baltimore
kickin’ live with the Raven, cawing
All: NEVERMORE!
(guitar riff)
John Waters: All rise to the floor for Ms. Dolly Parton
Beastie Boys: Helloooooo, Dolly!
Dolly: Workin’ 9 to 9 for a man whose eye is
Dolly: Workin’ 9 to 9 for a man whose eye is
Poe & Beastie Boys: CREEPY
Dolly: That’s why I decide to assault him
Dolly: That’s why I decide to assault him
Poe & Beastie Boys: WHEN HE’S SLEEPY
Dolly: But his heart still beats
Dolly: But his heart still beats
in the floorboard where I set it
It’s enough to drive me
All: CRAZY IF I LET IT!
(Absolutely sick guitar bridge)
Poe: And the Raven, never
(Absolutely sick guitar bridge)
Poe: And the Raven, never
Beastie Boys: FLITTING
Poe: Still above my chamber he’s
Beastie Boys: SITTING
Poe: His shape morphing to a demon
spilling on the floor.
My soul shall be lifted
Beastie Boys: NEVERMORE!
(instrumental rock fade out)
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Ravens are the birds I'll miss most when I die. If only the darkness into which we must look were composed of the black light of their limber intelligence. If only we did not have to die at all. Instead, become ravens.
―Louise Erdrich, The Painted Drum
______________________
Put on your patent-leather sneakers today to welcome new visitor, Josh Crummer from Zilwaukee, Michigan, whose first poetry collection, We Are the Raiders, was released in January of 2022 by Alien Buddha Press (www.amazon.com/We-Are-Raiders-Josh-Crummer/dp/B09R34XGSG). He is currently a corporate writer by day and an adjunct professor by night. He says, “I like to write about the Midwest and relationships and twist around works created by others into remixes.” Welcome to the Kitchen, Josh, with your poems and playlet, and don’t be a stranger! (Forms! Josh has sent us a Sonnet and a Ghazal; Form Fiddlers’ rejoice!)
Today, there will be an Open Farm Day at Wakamatsu Farm in Placerville, with poetry, holiday crafts, journaling, and a naturalist-led hike. Also today, a Buddhist Workshop: Writing, Creativity, Poetry. and the Dharma with Laura Rosenthal in Sacramento; and tonight the Forestiere Underground Gardens Fall Festival takes place in Fresno. Also tonight, there’s a Zoom reading/book release by El Dorado County Poet and Ohlone Desendant Stephen Meadows, with opening performances by Patrice Vecchione, Kim Shuck, Sharai Mattias Smith, Lucille Lang Day, and Lara Gularte. RSVP and event details here: https://fb.me/e/1UZoGxCpq/. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about these and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.
Congratulations to Lee Herrick, who was named California Poet Laureate yesterday (Friday) by Gov. Newsom. Go to https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/books/story/2022-11-18/lee-herrick-california-poet-laureate-gavin-newsom to read all about it. To learn more about Lee Herrick, go to www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/lee-herrick/. His poem, "My California", is at www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57228/my-california/.
______________________
—Medusa
Poe: Still above my chamber he’s
Beastie Boys: SITTING
Poe: His shape morphing to a demon
spilling on the floor.
My soul shall be lifted
Beastie Boys: NEVERMORE!
(instrumental rock fade out)
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Ravens are the birds I'll miss most when I die. If only the darkness into which we must look were composed of the black light of their limber intelligence. If only we did not have to die at all. Instead, become ravens.
―Louise Erdrich, The Painted Drum
______________________
Put on your patent-leather sneakers today to welcome new visitor, Josh Crummer from Zilwaukee, Michigan, whose first poetry collection, We Are the Raiders, was released in January of 2022 by Alien Buddha Press (www.amazon.com/We-Are-Raiders-Josh-Crummer/dp/B09R34XGSG). He is currently a corporate writer by day and an adjunct professor by night. He says, “I like to write about the Midwest and relationships and twist around works created by others into remixes.” Welcome to the Kitchen, Josh, with your poems and playlet, and don’t be a stranger! (Forms! Josh has sent us a Sonnet and a Ghazal; Form Fiddlers’ rejoice!)
Today, there will be an Open Farm Day at Wakamatsu Farm in Placerville, with poetry, holiday crafts, journaling, and a naturalist-led hike. Also today, a Buddhist Workshop: Writing, Creativity, Poetry. and the Dharma with Laura Rosenthal in Sacramento; and tonight the Forestiere Underground Gardens Fall Festival takes place in Fresno. Also tonight, there’s a Zoom reading/book release by El Dorado County Poet and Ohlone Desendant Stephen Meadows, with opening performances by Patrice Vecchione, Kim Shuck, Sharai Mattias Smith, Lucille Lang Day, and Lara Gularte. RSVP and event details here: https://fb.me/e/1UZoGxCpq/. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about these and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.
Congratulations to Lee Herrick, who was named California Poet Laureate yesterday (Friday) by Gov. Newsom. Go to https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/books/story/2022-11-18/lee-herrick-california-poet-laureate-gavin-newsom to read all about it. To learn more about Lee Herrick, go to www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/lee-herrick/. His poem, "My California", is at www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57228/my-california/.
______________________
—Medusa
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