Friday, October 29, 2010

cheeseburger soup

cheeseburger soup 
by Murphy Clamrod


I'm starting to see the connections here
most of my stories start with beer
so I'll set this one rolling with
the talk I had with the dude
behind the counter

 "Are these things really eight ninety nine?"
    "Sure are."
 "Got any cold?"
    "Check down there"

      old milwaukee..natie ice..mgd..
                             mgd..
                          mgd..

 "No man, ain't seein' any...
    mind if I check in the coolah?"

             "well, ah, nobodies suposs.."
   "yeah, yeah I'll just be a second."

    it wasn't any colder in that box
    than it was under the street lights
I grabbed
     two of the last three
                             eighteen
           packs of pabst blue ribbon
             gave dude a twenty told
    him to keep the change  &
    try to have a greatday

 
I'd been here a few times in the past
four-story conversion w/a smokestack
where guests needed to be buzzz'd in
luckily for me
                   she knew
                  the right
                    buttons
                           to
                              push


Two strangers
standing on
the 3rd
floor
brick
timbers
couches
music&incense
thick fragrance
of apprehension
who was I
I was looking
at the art
created
from
               spent
pharmaceutical  
containers

I sat in the armless chair
set to the side both 18pks
ripped into one offering the
first to the host he asked if
I wanted to put them in the
fridge I explained that they
were already cold and opened
mine the other stranger fridged 
the beer while I took my coat off


Her & I would sit at the bar
or with wine and tell tales
to each other about
then & now & how
we'd want it to be
if we had the say
& she'd say from
time to time that
she had this
friend that
I just had
to meet


I pleaded with the barkeep @
the bowling bar to stock some
blue ribbon...
he complied


Obama been sworn in bout a month
it was cold in New England
I was huddled tight to the door
when the owners son unlocked it
he smiled at me though the glass
as wind blown
snow blew all      
               around

I stepped inside
he said "hey man,
we don't open for
like twenty more
minutes!"

I stomped the snow from my boots
on the carpet and assured him that
I would wait right there till he was
ready to sell me a cup of coffee
or a shot of jagermeister 


It was a Thursday 
cheeseburger soup
at the soda shoppe 
I would have to hike
the length of lake
winnisquam if I 
wanted some so
I suited up &
headed out bout 9:30
it snowed last night
so the road between
here and where I was
headed would be banked
just about high enough 
to get a hitch-hiker killed
so I stuck my feet in wool
socks & plastic bags and
headed straight for the tracks..
might add an hour or two but i'd
be alive


I arrived around 12:30
we'd text'd so she knew
to meet me for a bowl on
her lunch break
we decided we'd go
watch the bowlers 
giving me a reason
to stay in-town 
she went back to work till five
I started looking for an open bar




we were all
sitting
around
telling 
the this' 
the that's 
laughing
drinking 
getting to 
know one
another 

he was cool


she was right


the other 
stranger
was strange
and the 
tension
quickly
shifted 
to him 
       but
no one said
anything


The host asked 
what I did for
a living
I explained 
that I'd listed
Bullshit Artist
on my myspace
handed him a beer
and asked the same


we talked about the 
same people we grew-up with
same friends we cut our teeth with
same parties we'd attended     yet
never met
so I was busy telling the other-haves 
to lots of tales 
time stood still
in that four
story brick
monster along 
the merrimack 
where you need
to be buzzzzed in


The owners son gave me
a strange look
I was standing
red faced 
he waved
his arm
saying
he'd
put
on
a
pot
I
offered
that he
not bother 
that a beer
might be better


they had a half dozen or so
pool tables so I got a rack
and knock'd balls as he got
ready for thirsty Thursdays


one buzzard 
 then another
  two buzzards
   at once start
    to stumble in 
     it seems with
      every shot a new
       someone was bellied up
by five I was feeling good
about my pool game and she
came in just full of smile


we broke twice 
 before making
   a break for
the bowling ally 


                     it was a
                    20 minute
                     ride but
                     worth it


we pulled in when her phone rang
she hung up and asked if I'd mind
meeting her friend who I had to meet

                  "sure."


what I didn't know was he lived 20 minutes
in the other direction from where we were
shooting pool
she wouldn't let me drink in the car
she said it wasn't far
she claimed we'd get beer
      before we got there
 I
  got 
      thirsty






The night was far from young
we'd done spun every tale
we'd cared to tell and I
was coming down quick


The host dug into this crate
that had seen some good times
he pulled out a journal 
he pulled out an empty moleskine 
handed it to me
 told me to fill it
  I laughed
 told him he'd better
keep it that I wasn't
one for writing
stuff down
he insisted 
I'm not rude
so I accepted 
and headed off
having met HJF

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

penstruating

penstruating
by Murphy Clamrod

looking back on my past
it's easy to see I lived
without a future and now
I reflect 
wait
what's that sound
wait 
stop 
look around you

did four kids dead
kill the spark of
revolution 
stop and look around you
reflect

Every great nation
marks a spot in history
a rebirth
for better
for worse
best of times die
and others are worth
remembering
a definitive mark
when one way of doing it
gives way to a new & now
is as good a time as any

why not try a state run system
call D.C. fifty-three 
 and move on

everything is in place
reappoint 
oversight to the people
thus returning 
accountability to politics 
fostering forced lowered
dependence of foreign fossil fuels 
killing the age of the dinosaur
berthing the dawn of ingenuity

for the first time using our power
of habitat manipulation to brighten 
tomorrow 
turn long-term into right     now

Build a fucking train 
to run on methane
turn waste-management
into our robber barons 
gladly 
at least for now

till the sun & wind
 figure out how to be
 forecastable    wait
stop look around
everything is in place
green peace

We have time zones cause 
of our star and a need to
keep track of our rails &
if the sun does not shine
or the wind don't blow then
this west coast ass will have
to eat Idaho instead of Maine roots

energy spent
where
energy is needed
forcing a change
in how we do it!

so embarrassingly simple 
it will take marshal law
to make 
it work 

 blood
  remorse 
   reflecting 
then the change
even when it is so obvious 
unable to embrace the inevitable 
it is sick and that is what history
will tell of me and my era
 the war mongers of resources replaceable

 Bleed in the fields of shared crops
 aim at game
 waste nothing of life
 maintain sustainability
 through the means of NO supply 
 sever the head of demand 


Stop
everybody
look at whats going down


we have an opportunity for
the revolution that brings
light to the end of every 
human tunnel

strip-mine the sun
forevermore stabilize
our ozone with wind &
thermal supplements

choose to have no choice
but to adopt a hybrid greyhound 
if family has migrated cross continent 
return thanks to the gatherings of generations 

celebrate your neighbor
harvest humanity 
set the bar 
apply logic to logistics
renege on our deal with the devil
remove the finish-line from our human-race

let the starry-eyed dreamer 
we have yet to imagine
marvel at the majesty
that is existence 

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Long Live The Lizard King



I see them like a not-so silent film
 this talking slide-show of the mind

Morrison
whipping
 a girl sense-less
     bare breasted
          bleeding
           begging
          for more

filth is everything about this room
 
             swimming in      

                   tears                 

                 waiting
                 to want
               something

 road wearied
riding harder
             scares
                   trash
                        a rash of
             whiskey
                    semen
                          sweat &
                    leather pants

empty/turned-up-side-down/punished

       whisper nonsensical screams
 
 the dogs are awake
packs of hungry beasts
 their bellies ready
  their teeth sharpened
on dreams of another time

                           they're
                            coming
                            she is
                             he is
                          we could
                            all be
                           cumming
                          together
                            as one
                       unite
                    under
                  the moon
                    the sun
                      the roofs of
                       our prisons
                          & scream
                          like her
                           & bleed
                          like her
                          & breath
                          like her
                           alive &
                           witness
              "the American Night"


 an empty stage
 an empty throne

Long Live The Lizard King

Friday, August 20, 2010

Henry who?

my friends 
call me
murphy
i am a
writer 
a poet
i like
to say
because
it sounds
so much better
than bum 


i love poetry
but i am no
Charles Bukowski 

i truly 
like to 
drink &
fight &
fuck but
Bukowski
i am not

i use simple words
in my work and try
not to hide behind
some grandiloquent
vernacular however
Bukowski & me not
the same

i find myself 
staring out
depressive
hot
california 
window as 
did he but

i am a young-man
mid-thirties and
ready to drink &
drug 
fuck
fight
till the sun 
changes the mood 
he lived it once
& now he is dead
Charles Bukowski
is dead
and i

i call
internet radio
shows to breath 
a little life 2
words written 
before i was
the sperm that
could
Charles is dead


i have many 
things in 
common with
the late great
Charles Bukowski
we are two very
different
animals


he is a notably 
published author

me a recluse who
spare-changeless
for beer & smoke

i have internet porn
Bukowski didn't even
own a word processor 

i write sometimes on my
antique royal typewriter 
staring at naked maiden
lying in wait beside me
i get to fuck her later
and Charles you are dead

So here is to you
Charles Bukowski
may my words ring
from wherever they
are being read all
the way to your 
grave letting you
know one of your
fans
a poet
will fuck tonight
and remind you
that you are
still dead   

Friday, August 13, 2010

zealousness

zealousness


   I
brought 
    out
    for 
    you 
some of
my mind
breaking
off bits
to share
  little
   looks
  inside

the economy 
is   shit
the job markets
tanked
the ways
I am use to 
to get by
     gone

  oil is
spoiling
the Gulf
   major
media is
 telling
    lies
politics
     are
business
as usual

the economy 
   is shit
did i mention
that before

hey
  is
this
thing
on
can you hear me 

  oil is
spoiling
the Gulf
the job
market
has
tanked
people
   are
upset & politics
are business as
usual


we have 
printed
paper dollars
with no backing
money less useful
then the page that
this was written


are you listening
can you hear what
i am saying


i ain't 
never
ate
at no
place
named
Pete's Fine Foods
off highway 66 in
Gallup, New Mexico

i damn sure
never tried 
their Char-glo
chops or 
broiled
steaks
not
 once
have i sat
to enjoy a
cocktail in
Pete's Fine Foods
 Cocktail Lounge
 open 5am till 
 midnight down
 in Gallup, NM
off highway 66


major
media
is telling
lies about
everything


people
pretending 
that it will
be okay just
for a moment
of rest 
because

  oil is
spoiling
the Gulf
the economy 
 is shit &
 i can't
find a job

hey
is this working
are you people
able to
hear me  




     B
     A 
     N
     G
     !


    From out 
  of nowhere 
 he explodes
  collateral
      damage
unmeasurable
heads turn to
evaluate but
conscious
rendering
is futile
you run 
the image 
sticks
to you 
like
napalm
     melting
you stop
drop and
roll but
the drugs
haven't 
kicked
in & you
may have
just landed
in dog shit
so all i am
saying is

  media lies
 politicians
misrepresent 
money means
nothing
unless
you have
none & i
can't
find
a
moth
erfu
ckin'
 job