When I was young, my verse was true
My derringer shot derring-do
I livened up the “I love you”
And so I wed at .22
Time passed, my love made bold to state
“You’re like a slug that’s put on weight
But there’s still hope you will be great
Despite your age of .38”
Now when I talk of love – amor
I hear my love begin to snore
I have become a larger bore
Here at the gauge of .44
A nod to Kierkegaard and Walker Percy: existentialist tomfoolery, political satire, literary homage, word mongering, a year-round summer reading club, Dylanesque music bits, apocalyptic marianism, poetry, fiction, meta-porn, a prisoner work-release program.
Søren Kierkegaard
Walker Percy
Bob Dylan
Literature & History
Letters from an American
Beau of the Fifth Column
This American Life
The Writer’s Almanac
San Diego Reader
The Stranger
The Inlander
Adoremus
Charlotte was Both
The Onion
From Empty Hands
Ellen Finnigan
America
Commonweal
First Things
National Review
The New Republic
All Manner of Thing
Gerasene Writers Conference
Scrutinies
DarwinCatholic
Catholic and Enjoying It
Bad Catholic
Universalis
Is My Phylactery Showing?
Quotidian Quintilian
En pocas palabras
William Wilson, Guitarist Extraordinaire
Signposts in a Strange Land
Ben Hatke
Daniel Mitsui
Dappled Things
The Fine Delight
Gene Luen Yang
Wiseblood Books
© Copyright 2020 Korrektiv Press. · All Rights Reserved · Admin
I’ve never laughed so hard at a poem. Well done sir.
Aw, you.
I’m submitting this to Scott Walker for consideration as the official State Song of Wisconsin.
(To be sung to the tune of “Happiness Is a Warm Gun,” of course!)
HI-Larious!
I’m sorry if your head hurts, though.
At .45, at the end of the day,
I pray this veritable Colt
will say and will see he’s not such a dolt
if even .12 readers get holt
of his Augustine’s Member
To be published the Fifth of November
Remember, remember that this is our plot
and don’t let the manuscript’s drive go to rot
Lest at extreme unction instead of sweet mots
you hear from the priest “O God please save this sot”!
progeny
It’s like the bishop said: “The comments are where it gets interesting.” Kudos for the use of “holt” and the Catholic conspiracy reference, and the boozy warning.
It’s a sin not to give information.
Sinatra sang once
(not his best album)
of wanting to sing
til he should die,
not knowing why,
really,
beyond confessing
that it seemed truer to sing
than to say a lie,
to sing, that is, til he should die.
He was a salooner who didn’t know why
better than most thinkers
who try best not to lie.
It’s what they do beyond the sky,
those souls that live beyond where they lie,
and singers hear the silent cry
that thinkers can only think
comes from that place where poets lie.
And, well, it’s what they do beyond the sky,
in that well lit place beyond the cry,
find the right word to sing,
that is to say,
they name the One beyond the why,
way over there beyond the sky,
that word that rises as dead it lies.
df
File under: if I had one wish, it would be for Christianity to be true. Thanks for this, df. I love “He was a salooner who didn’t know why better than most thinkers…” A cloud of unknowing twist on “he knew better.”
File under: What IS Sinatra’s best album?
I think that was a good one.
A poem so good that it makes me rethink my support of gun control.