Posts: 1,139
Threads: 466
Joined: Nov 2013
On the sixth day of Christmas, the Pig Pen gave to me
six postgrad students,
five diamond rings,
four fairy tales,
three French towns,
two bare fists,
and a lampstand nearly all lit!
"Couldn't miss this one this year...." Following the Waitresses' Christmas Wrapping, describe a fortuitous holiday reunion.
Posts: 952
Threads: 225
Joined: Aug 2016
I was definitely crazy during the time.
I was working for my dad
at St. Anne's Catholic church,
media technician, recording audio / video
lectures and duplicating them
on CDs for public access.
I had dropped out of confirmation classes
before they even started, hiding
in the playground...
I met Jesus at a retreat center
hallucinating through my troubles,
met him again at another.
It was after those retreats,
working at the church, saving
money to journey to Nashville.
Only two months in, they found
I was never confirmed, never
been to the classes. They asked
if I wanted to, and I said sure.
The only day available was November 1st.
All Saints Day.
I was ushered through so quickly,
completely unqualified,
but I could feel all the saints
present, approving, yet all I can think,
is fuck the system.
Thanks God
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
Posts: 894
Threads: 176
Joined: Jan 2021
There’s the holidays
and then there’s the Holy Days,
moments when I first or last caught sight
of one of my muses,
one being Kathy, who I christened the Faun,
a little red-haired girl,
she grew up in the East Texas oil refineries,
fled to Austin to become a poet’s girl.
I tried to peel her away
from an English snob who treated her
like a girlfriend, instead of the mystical female
that she was. The last time I saw her
was a chance meeting on Guadalupe St.
My backpack was filled with Proust
and we stopped in out of the rain
to have a cup of tea. I didn’t know
it was the last time I’d be seeing her
else I would have held her back
when she got up to leave.
Failing in that, I’ve carried her with me
for forty odd years. But that’s how it is
with muses, they come and go as they please,
leaving their lonesome poets
with the indelible stain of song.
