dumpster

by chuck leary

illustrations by roy dismas

i remember when men were men and women batted their lashes and that was a world, a great world but now it has turned to ashes i remember when men were g i joe and krauts and japs were patsies and the g i s stormed the beaches and saved the world from the nazis i remember when john wayne roamed the jungles of iwo jima and died like a hero at the alamo with other gallant old timers and dirty harry asked all punks if they felt lucky today and the punks were grateful he let them live because that was the american way but none of that remains because everything has changed now men are women and women are men and the world will never be the same again where are the mad scientists the vampires with their kisses the werewolves howling at the moon the heroes defying fate and doom they are only a little way down the road in history’s big green dumpster i see you there on top of the bridge but there is no need to jump, sir! every world that ever existed is down there in the street and if you listen to the clouds you can hear their dancing feet

understanding

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

i wrote a poem and explained everything real good but nobody paid attention nobody understood i told them what was wrong and how to make it right but now i sit alone in my little room at night i hear coyotes howling or maybe they’re just cats or people banging garbage cans with baseball bats whatever it is they make a lot of noise and show a great indifference to simple peaceful joys the world is a symphony of self-generating altercation the train is off the tracks but people wait at the station maybe if they all listened to my message of love the oceans would vanish in a puff of smoke and the skies cave in above

i got a right

by jack dale coody

i got a right to sing the blues i got a right to stay in bed i got a right to stand on the sidewalk and let the rain fall on my head i got a right to walk the streets i got a right to say you’re wrong i got a right to look in a window and sing my little song i got a right to be happy though you deny my name i don’t want to hear your sermon but thank you just the same i got a right to tell the president he is not what he seems i got a right to an ice cream sandwich i got a right to dream my dreams who are you to tell me what i can and can not do you have a police force and an army i know that that is true i could go on forever numbering my woes as the clouds roll by above us and time’s sad river flows i got a right to sing the blues i got a right to say you’re wrong so i walk the roads forever singing my little song

poem for the lost and the damned

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

this is a poem for the lost and the damned the people who never get a great big hand the ones who will never reach the promised land because they are buried up to their necks in sand this is a poem for the sorry ones who wish they had bombs and machine guns to avenge themselves on the people from hell who keep them locked up in their cells all the people in strait jackets who have never held a tennis racket or a long stemmed glass with sparkling champagne the ones who get taken again and again by the smiling entrepreneurs in their cashmere scarfs and furs stepping from taxis in perfect sync with the golden gods who never blink blink … blink … blink give me a minute to think what was i trying to say? i think i have lost my way o yes, the damned and the lost who have no price, but only cost who fill the shadowy spaces between the smiling faces of the ones who were born to rule who went to the very best schools… i had something i wanted to say… maybe some other day…

the planet of yu

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

on the planet of yu, nothing ever grows. nothing ever begins, as a seed or anything else, blossoms, goes through changes, and declines and disintegrates before disappearing. everything and anything just is, and then it is not. heroes, princesses, dragons, witches, wizards, castles, trees, rocks, flowers, swords, tankards of ale, holy books, legs of mutton, oceans, rivers, stars, horses. campfires, cats, dogs, butterflies, worms, monkeys, vultures, hangmen…. all are just there and then they are gone. no one is ever “sad” on the planet of yu. it is not known whether anyone is ever “happy”.

a child is born

by nick nelson

illustrated by danny delacroix

george was born. he was born in a hospital, which is where children were born in the time and place where george was born. george’s father was waiting in a waiting room for george to be born, and smoking chesterfield cigarettes while he waited. george’s father had been george washington in a previous life, and genghis khan in a life before that, and he was kind of a jerk. a nurse entered the waiting room and told george’s father that george had been born. she did not say “george has been born” but “it’s a boy, mr johnson”, because in those days it was rare that it was known before a child was born whether it would be a boy or a girl. but george’s father had assumed that the child would be a boy, and he took another puff of his cigarette, and asked the nurse, “is it white?” “excuse me?” the nurse asked. “just my little joke,” george’s father replied. “oh.” the nurse had been the empress maria theresa in a previous life, and did not have much of a sense of humor and did not like men. the nurse thought that one man in a hundred was kind of sad and pathetic and felt some pity for them, but that the other ninety nine were jerks. now you may think that george’s father’s little attempt at a joke was disgusting, and that it was disgusting that he was allowed to chain smoke cigarettes - in a hospital! - but that is the universe’s way, what seems perfectly normal in one time and place is disgusting or ridiculous or both in most others. after being born, george grew up. he worked for thirty-eight years as a sales representative, at first for a company selling typewriters and cash registers, and then for a company selling blenders and vegetable slicers. george had a heart attack a month before his fifty-eighth birthday, and died four days later. he died, as he had been born, in a hospital. he was survived by two ex-wives, and three children, all daughters, who despised him.

the stranger

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

if you see a stranger stealing something help him get away he may rule the world tomorrow and then what will you say? if you see a stranger laughing by himself in a doorway dark he might be father noah catching animals for the ark if you see a stranger weeping by the side of the highway broad he may have won and lost a kingdom is that so very odd? if you see a stranger walking on the surface of the waves though the ocean not devour him he may still wish to be saved if you hear a stranger tapping on your window late at night he might be judas iscariot trying to make things right if you pass a darkened window and see a demon in its depths run to the nearest mountain for the demon is yourself