Monday, July 27, 2015

Daniel Wilcox- Three Poems

One Dog Night 

After we drove


a ranch road into pasture
by the frozen stream,

I sat in the truck cab looking...


splotch-starred darkness,
through the cracked, pitted windshield,

while the ranch cook grimaced and cursed.

He jumped from the driver's seat,
back to the pickup bed,

shot the pensive dog,
and dumped him
into a snow bank

—for vultures and the rot of spring.

And, me, sitting in the cab,
feeling like Lenny.

First pub. in Unlikely Stories 2.0

Film Over Our Eyes

We ‘dry’ Baptists
Got guts and minds
Immersed in
The ocean of no-nothing,
New ‘cawled’
Wet with innocence
In the dawn of don’t;
Y’u no know do knows
Of both spellings
Including no film
Except (“see no…”)

Over our youthful eyes
Not only did we no fast
Moving… but picture this:
No poesy, no do-si-do,
No rolling rockabilly,
Only Billy the Graham, “Just
As I Am” that is,
Not the Graham of Fillmore’s
“White Rabbit”;
No Slick, but grace, yes.

Oh, the film over our eyes


My first date
Wanted to see Hailey Mills. Wheeling,
Dizzy (not Walt or Dean) with worry
I walked her down
With trepidation
Under the glaring marque
Into that pit wallow of wrong

(“Abandon hope, all who enter here…”)

Only to find the Disney film
Summer Magic,
Rather moving, a picture
Of overly decent fun,
Not dangerous at all, not like
The images in my own mind
Mined deep into surging lava;

Oh, the film over our eyes

Fast frame a few
Years into our Medusa’d future,
And projectors gone wild,
R-shuttering eyes strange
Wide into
The restricted blazoned
Display, Beyond PG
(Pretty Gross), so graphic;

And many a theater
Became an ‘easy ride’
For this Bible belt boy
Into carnal knowledge,

Graphic blood-letting,
Words never Scriptur’d,
Negative nude scenes
Razing our senses,
And vicarious mayhem;

Oh, the film over our eyes

Gazing (“see no, know…”);
I been through the mills
Thrown too many times down
Into the sea,
Those millstones around our necks;
Next stop,

(Not Hailey’s picture show,
Or that last one down
Texas-mixed way,
Nor Cecil’s 'B' Mills),

But the brain(swine)wash
Of a ‘Last Tango’d’ mind--
Been ‘Brando’d’, thanks Simon,
(Not Simple, but the Paul’d one)
Down the starred Walk of Fame,

Oh, the film over our eyes

Glazed, cataract-vague vision
Unholywood’d, Ash-shamed
Y’u know,

First pub. The Camel Saloon


She said, Never
Have I a single evil urge
And argued urgently, so ardently,
Yes, really sincerely
In her secular innocence.
Or was that self-chosen
Ignorance, blind-sided?
The bar so minimally debased
That only the vile need apply
For infamous, wicked status--
The debauched ones
An open conduit to debouch
The pit?

He said, Always
Have I had a mingled evil urge
And grieved urgently, so dejectedly,
Yes, really repentantly
In his sacred guilt.
Or was that self-chosen
Obsession, blind-sided?
The star so supremely zenithed
That only the pure need apply
For exalted, righted status--
The chaste ones
An open conduit to deliver
The peak?

First pub. The Camel Saloon

Brief Bio: Daniel's wandering lines have appeared in many magazines in the United States, Canada, and overseas including Contemporary American Voices, Write Room, Static Movement, vox poetica, Fish Food, Poetry Pacific, Counterexample Poetics, and Unlikely Stories IV.

Before that Daniel hiked through the University of Nebraska, Cal State University, Long Beach (Creative Writing), Montana, Pennsylvania, Europe, Arizona, and Palestine/Israel. He now lives on the central coast of California with his quilting wife.

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