Sex and Death

Sunshine

Blueberry wine

Sex and death

Summertime

An old farmer friend

Who once sold it in

One gallon jugs

Has gone legitimate

750ml

Fancy labels

Lower alcohol

Higher profits

Motherfucker

Other Ideas

 

 

Teenage hoods and

Their girlfriends

Around a small fire

On a hot August night

Near my place

Cops have tried

To chase them off

For years

But the teenage hoods

And their girlfriends

Have

Other

Ideas  

 

 

Some people scoff

When I tell them

I have been to see

A rock show

Put on by some geezer

Old enough to be

In a fucking home

Like Lemmy from Motorhead

Go ahead and scoff

I

Ain’t

Dead

Yet

First Base

 

I am

Liking

This century

More

And more

Every day

It is like

A new girlfriend

You have only

Gotten to

First

Base

With

A New Road

I like

A new road

Every rock

Tree

Curve

There for me

To carve with

My jeweler’s eye

Like I was just born

Screaming

Into what John Cale called

The bright light of day

Phoned My Dad

 

Phoned my dad

In Newfoundland

His old lady

Answered the phone

hello there beer

She got my dad

He sounded good

For a man

The doctors operated on

Three days earlier

His sister and her husband

Are celebrating their 50th anniversary

Sit down dinner

A band for the scuff

In a church hall

That once

Was the church

My dad

Operated a film projector

In the basement of

Before he joined the army

Fucked my mom

And made me

After we talked a while

He had to let me go

He had to take a pork roast

Out of the oven

He did not even mention

The riot

Insert Poetry Here

Now that the Dope City Free Press has cloned itself, resulting in this Word Press version of the original Google creation, I have been trying to think about just how to use this space to communicate with you, communicate with you on different level if possible.

First, I thought, maybe I could make this Word Press effort Anne Murray all the motherfucking time. That would take one fuck of a lot of creativity. Anne does not do much besides her charity work, golf, drink whisky, listen to Elvis records and cheer for the Boston Bruins these days. Not that much to work with really.

Other ideas, even less well thought out, came and went. Do all my horse racing writing that most of you slot playing assholes do not read anyway; write a boring as fuck civic commentary – that seemed a little too grown up – the mayor is a shithead, blah, blah, blah; nothing I could do well when I am drinking beer.

Then it came to me – do something I am already doing but only do it here. Think I am going to make this the place I write my poetry. That should keep 99% of you away.