Alphonse Wilson here,
jest celebratin’ a nice day with poetry. Yessir.
I thought I’d do some poetry today just to see if you’re in
the mood. Well, if
you ain’t in the mood, I guess you could go fix a cup of
coffee or something
and wait for me to finish, but that would hurt my feelin’s
exponential-like and
you’re not the kind of person to do that, are ya?
Thass right. So Windy,
you’re prollyaskin’ yourself, how do you go about writin’ a
poem? You were?
Good. It really ain’t so very hard, you know. You just gotta
sling yerself into
a artistical mood. You know, like them Dutch masters used to
do afore they died
and got made into seegars. You start out kinda easy, and
think about lilies and
daffodils and leetle fluffy cloudlets that might grow into a
storm someday.
Then you throw in a look that a puppy gives you … one a-them
looks of love like
just before he throws up on the rug. That’s how you do it.
Then you just get a
pencil and a piece of paper and have at it.
So here’s my poem
today. I call it “Circulational Quandary” by Alphonse
Wilson. But I still go by
Windy, a-course.
I
wandered lonely as a heart
That
sends my corpuscles through waiting veins
And all the might of pumping blood
Couldn’t hold onto them reins.
Bold rider, never, never canst thou
smooch
Lady Fair upon the mouth.
Nay I say
to you naysayers
Or just
keep ridin’ south
Oh beats my heart with laughing
At corporational cruds,
I right now feel like quaffing
A six
pack of good suds
And though you come out bleedin’
And need a tranfusional fix
It sure beats hell out of weedin’
The
garden out here in the sticks.
Well,
there it is … do you feel
transformationalized? Me, too.
-------------
Pick up
“Home Country: Drama, dreams
and laughter from the American heartland” www.lpdpress.com.