Thursday, February 7, 2013

Alan Catlin- Three Poems

Alan Catlin worked as a barman for thirty-four unbelievably long years.  His latest full length collection of poetry is “Alien nation.” A companion volume is in the works under the working title, “Beautiful Mutants.”
I could see

him outside in the rain
standing on the double
yellow lines, calling me out
of the bar, his face
contorted by some
in explicable rage, made
visible by wicked flashes
of jagged lightening
& car head lights,
horns blaring as
they slow to pass,
his voice lost to
all who might care
to hear, a lone
channel bell in an ocean,
a light house that
 invites the storm.

She acted as

if she'd bought a one way
ticket to hell a long time
before settling herself at
the bar for what could be
the duration, however long
that took, tried to focus
both lazy eyes for one last
hurrah before the banshee
wailed, asked for something
that would warm the soul
on this dark and cold night,
Neat. Made her a stinger
for the ditch she would never
crawl out of.

Thunder Beyond Popocatepetl

that's the name of the group to
end all super groups he was
going to form once he had all
the lyrics fine tuned, all the elusive
chords tightened.
I'll be like the Aztec Gods,
a hurricane in a Mexican
desert, topping the charts,
no sacrifice too great,
except maybe the double
dime a day habit or
the booze it took to bring
him down from those astral
plains where his imagination
roamed, and his life drained away.

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