Thursday, October 16, 2008

Sunday Scribbling #133: "My Style"

They actually had to ask?

[as if desert was your last ending]


father wolf in the basement of the circle school

sucking on communion wine

wheeze of subterranean a/c

running fountain of toilets overhead

votive legions

he’s a papal fandango

papal bull

charlton heston without his pistols

he’s still a major motion picture

not your average bear

not your average Budweiser

earl abel’s éclair in krispy kreme disguise

father wolf in the basement of the circle school

ypsalanti michigan by way of jersey

victoria texas was definitely not in his visualizations of

the fall of rome

much less the basement of the circle school

but mary’s been his steady since 1938

upper peninsular sequined mary

he used to glue her face inside grape nehi bottle caps

long before folk art was capitalized

long before the advent of surface design

in the last daze what avatars of foot cheese

will spoil our fun?

not father wolf in the basement of the circle school

zz top beard spread across his luciano pavarotti chest

his gold tooth displayed

versace in papal black

he’s hot for lucinda williams or

at least mary chapin carpenter’s version of the same

passionate kisses on the stoop at our lady of perpetual help

before they kicked him out

nuns scandalized by his holy flame

sisters of mercy without an ounce of the latter

father wolf in the basement of the circle school

sez:

buck

hand me a slitz

buck the altar boy turned chauffeur valet

buck with his fine stash of Eurodollars

the envy of GPS

master carpenter master of disguise

jerusalem artichoke of worry

he sez:

you’ve been out of slitz for a week

which worries the good father in the basement of the circle school

slitz is the moral fiber a body needs

when you’re gluing cotton balls to your bald spot

when the elmer’s glue is running out

when st. jude’s your drinking buddy

and even the little flower’s patience is running thin.

gloom – feral gloom – invades the dark sanctuary of

the circle.

nusrat, good buck

sez father wolfgang amadeus jones

in the basement of the circle school

parochial bane of sorrows, poor clares, prompt succors

good buck fires up the lincoln continental

nusrat rumble on the box

nusrat fateh ali khan on the verve label

barry white of the pakistani set

you see the father in the basement of the circle school’s got a date with

dark mary over on beethoven avenue

two sword scars on her right cheek

from a street fight on rigsby avenue

on the ride over,

wolf sez:

can the nusrat, buck

gimme a sermon from 1959

from before the bald spot

opulent waves of papal fur

the envy of the entire coastal archdiocese

buck slips in a burned cd from the wolfman’s archive

155 of his own sermons downloaded from napster

this darkened pair cruising south new braunfels avenue

tortoises of autumn libido

progenitors of visionary bliss

aqualungs of vital despair

anarchists of the five and dime

cheesebearers of the ultimate queso

supplicants of vivid mescal

top down, buck

sez the good frere

as the first hail hits the vinyl top

calm the waters, buck

sez the good frere

as soggy cotton balls fall from his crown

as last temptation smiles down

as amethyst invades his memory

as the black madonna drowns his sorrow-ridden kiss.

Labels:

26 Comments:

Blogger Crafty Green Poet said...

This is compelling - I love the juxtaposition of zztop and Pavarotti, and the tortoises of autumn libido. Plus you mention my favourite Mary Chapin Carpenter song....

3:58 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Thank you, CGP: Make a poem long enough and you can just about mention everything under the sun. It was fun.

5:18 AM  
Blogger jsd said...

ah the master of inuendo and flowing words into a river a freebird waiting for the sun

11:09 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Thanks for characterizing the style: you did the assignment for me. :-D

11:31 AM  
Blogger Tammie Lee said...

My goodness, you either have a vivid imagination OR you take in every detail! I bet your wife knows & my guess is both!
I love the cotton balls, they paint quite a picture and having St Jude as a drinking bud, can I have him too!
Wonderfully fun and interesting poem.

12:58 PM  
Blogger keith hillman said...

Fantastic! I love the rhythm and the pace, and what a list! Terrific read.

http://keithsramblings.blogspot.com/2008/10/roseys-style.html

1:01 PM  
Blogger Granny Smith said...

Ideas clothed in the imagery of the ordinary juxtaposed with the grandiose. I'm just not quite sure what the ideas are. The flow is compelling - compelling me to read it twice.

2:49 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Tammie Lee: I loved making this poem, it was great fun. I would best compare my creative cerebrum to a combination lint collector and composter. I think I absorb more than I observe, if there is a difference. And, too, I am surely a magnet for the Father Wolf's of the world. Particularly if they are living in the basement.

Best to you, mi amiga de las montanas.

7:37 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Keith: Thank you for your words. I wanted the poem to have the sense of a sad but stately promenade down the east side in that regal, if also somewhat broken and shabby, Lincoln. Glad you caught the pace.

7:40 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Granny Smith: I was about to give you my knee-jerk "What? Me? Ideas?" but then I thought, no, there are ideas lurking here: off the top of my head: lingering devotion, even in the midst of loss, exile, despair, the cry for self-worth, and of course, plenty of Schlitz, when the good frere and Buck can make it to market.

Thank you for visiting again.

7:45 PM  
Blogger Devil Mood said...

This reminded me of Tori Amos' lyrics, in the Boys for Pele album. Father Lucifer, Blood Roses and Caught a lite sneeze (see, it's resembling your poem already ;)

7:47 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Well, Ms DM, you know what I'll be checking out next. After, of course, I pay you a visit over your way.

8:06 PM  
Blogger Tammie Lee said...

You made me laugh out loud with only my cabin walls to witness. 'combination lint collector and composter' I not only believe this but love the concept as well. And 'absorb more than I observe', yes sir there is a difference, a sort of wonderful one at that.

This comment list is a wonderful addition to your poem. A depth shared about and within what you have offered.

8:08 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

TL: Mil gracias again, amiga. A little more sanely cool down here today. Your gorgeous country and cabin feel like they're just around the corner.

8:19 PM  
Blogger SweetTalkingGuy said...

Dead good! I love the way you use your characters to tell the story..

Cool style!

3:10 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Thanks for the words, STG, and thanks for the visit.

3:17 PM  
Blogger anno said...

I lurk here each week, awed into silence by your magnificent cadences and the mesmerizing flow of your brilliant and wide-ranging observations. Heady stuff for my stiff old wine skins, and more than a little intoxicating.

5:21 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

anno, thank you for coming out from behind the hedge, or the Lincoln Continental fin, as the case may be. I appreciate your words and willingness to hop in the car with these two "disarranged" (borrowing from you) pilgrims. The intoxication is no doubt from the "S(ch)litz" cans rolling around in the back. Peace.

7:09 PM  
Blogger Linda Jacobs said...

Mesmerizing and delightful! Really delicious1

7:51 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Linda, thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed the ride.

8:25 PM  
Blogger anno said...

Well, I've always had a weakness for passionate kisses on the stoop at our lady of perpetual help. Not sure if it's a character flaw or my redemption. Anyway, I sure liked this.

Thanks for stopping by. Just so you know, there's no risk of incurring font trauma at my blog: you'll never see anything like Comic Sans.

And that you found anything of Mary Oliver in my poem? Made my day. Thanks!

BTW. When was the last time you were in Ypsilanti? I just had dinner there early last week...

8:52 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

anno: Busted I am: I've never been to Ypsilanti. Never, it now occurs to me, been to Michigan at all. No doubt, Father Wolf was tossed out somewhere along the way: his papal fandango only plays here in the sun belt: folks in the upper peninsula be way too smart for his Versace ooze.

Anything at OLPH is probably redemption. Our Lady of Prompt Succor is where you probably have to worry. They have post-it notes on their stoop.

I have no fear of font trauma at anno's place: it's clearly a classy joint.

7:28 AM  
Blogger paisley said...

so tell em then... you were raised a Protestant???? LOL!!!! this was soooo clever so well put together and what a train of thought!!!!!!

6:53 PM  
Blogger alister said...

Ooh, baby! Love dat Lincoln! She need a good pain’ job an’ god know’d whad unda dat hood, but man, oh man, she a mile-long beauty, sho nuff! She ain’ no Cadi, bud I kin pi’ture Fatha Wolf behine da wheel o’ dat fine automobile wid ‘is ZZ Top beard an’ ‘is gold toof display’d wid da nuns in da back playin’ barmaid to da betray’d. An’ when dey git to da seben-eleben, they too wasted to put dey hands on some slitz, neva mind some elma’s glitz. An’ well it don’ matter none anyhow, cause you know’d what happen’d to dem cotton balls by da time da joy ride was ova. And you know’d Miss A be ‘specially lovin’ dis pieca work, ma man. She done tol’ me she puttin’ it up in da Booker Hall O’ Fame, yessa!

8:51 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

paisley: I suspect it's Father W's and Buck's spiritual credentials that are more in question than their translator and his runaway trains of thought. Peace.

5:15 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Ms A: The jive voice of your Ninth Ward avatar is doing its own papal fandango in my head with the lovely thespian pix over at the construction site. Could she have channeled Ninth Ward at that age? I suspect that she probably could. I suspect that's what had Charley laughing.

The Slitz devotees and they translator be most happy to be in any hall of fame arbitered by the soul sister of a thousand voices.

5:28 AM  

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