2 years ago I wrote a series of poems that was published in the Corn Hill Gazette here in Rochester.  I really enjoyed writing that series.  I would sometimes walk around the neighborhood, slyly sipping scotch from a flask or a coffee mug, trying desperately to look like I thought Kerouac would have looked like, looming around Lowell in the late 1940’s.

Ultimately, I was just trying to be entertaining.  I wanted the readers, who were pretty much exclusively from Corn Hill, to take a second look at their streets, and to just for second see them the way I saw them.  Mostly as funny.  I guess I was more Brautigan than Kerouac.

Here’s a few that were published anyway:

Down By the River

A river of whipped cream

Is surrounded by scoops of

White vanilla ice cream,

Glops of caramel sauce dot the

Chocolatey shore

And

Stark tree stalk straws

Shoot up towards fluffy mouths of

Clouds and blue eye skies.

That house could be a cherry!

Look at that flock of walnuts

Coming in for a landing!

It’s a typical

Wintry sundae

 

Little Blue Pancakes

There’s a little blue flower

Cowering under a broad red leaf

on Clarrissa Street.

I pause to look

My boots squashing the dew underneath me

I wonder if it’s thinking about

The sunshine in October

Or the blankets of snow in February?

It’s probably thinking about pancakes.

Hey!

We have something in common!

 

Now That Spring Is Here

Now that spring is here

And summer is peeking coyly from around the corner

I will no longer have to sell all of my belongings

Quit my job

Drive till I run out of gas

Walk until my feet fall off

Settle in a sandy lot

And sell broken sea shell necklaces to brightly dressed tourists

Near the equator.

But man,

I was close.