Imagine you’re the new (Post Wave) Poet Laureate of the US.
It’s your first gig at the (western) White House.
You’re reading from your first epic bit, entitled, ‘The Disappearance’.*
Gimme what you got, poets, it may be your only shot at mass market publication.
And don’t be too upset if I totally cut and paste your couplets in with somebodyelse’s.
Like William Burroughs used to do.
* For those poetically incline coming here from Twitter, the Disappearance is wot happened in my last book, Without Warning. One day, everyone in Nth America just Disappeared. Much post apocalyptic hilarity ensued.
Quick JB, close the trap now.
Just got my copy of WW so I’m studyin’ up!!
Did anyone read Ray Bradbury’s Poem America in the latest edition of The Saturday Evening Post?
http://www.saturdayeveningpost.com/2009/06/25/art-literature/fiction-poetry/ray-bradbury-america.html
You know, that poem fits the bill but you’d have to sell off quite a few of the hovercraft in order to get that into the book.
Respects,
Murph
On the Outer Marches
Laughing and weeping… well here’s an attempt:
Letter To My Vanished Mother
Dear Mother,
How are you?
I have good news.
I finally have that inner city apartment you wanted me to get,
With good parking facilities.
In a quiet neighbourhood.
Close to the city centre, yet away from the hustle and bustle.
I’m eating less these days,
That’s what you said I should do right?
I’m not seeing my ex-wife so much these days,
Or the kids,
Or you.
I miss you all,
In America.
Not seen, deeply felt
did the Wave strike,
The blow snatched my loves away.
The night wind did blow on a silent and burning land.
Cities bright, glowing red in the dark,
drowning the sky with poison.
All that was left of you, my love-
a smoking little pile of goo.
And I, whom was away, yet I still remain
grief my refrain.
By my own hand did I nearly die -
for Alone shredded my heart.
Somewhere though; however faint, still remained some spark
that bent my will to live.
Through the long months We all worked (to forget my pain)
striven to survive to return to our land,
as Chaos and the Four Horsemen rode the wide world
leaving wrack and woe in their wake.
Til we reached the end of wait, the Wave standing no more.
Now we begin again, from west to east
wrest from sorrow’s feast our dreams -
and to love once more,
as the Eagle becomes Phoenix.
First draft. I’m not sure I like it though.