|Posted: 25 May 2004 15:26 Post subject: "Left Handed Summer" BPP poetry award
|I just ran across this, while Googling around... I never knew, being
out of touch with my friends at the BPP:
"ANNOUNCING: THE 2002 BPP AWARDS RESULTS!!
The results of the voting for the very best BPP publications
(2001/2002) are in! Congratulations to all the winners, and here they
Best Poetry-Left Handed Summer, Deep Poetry II, Pumpkins Italiana-
First Place Tie!
Best Poetry Writer-Steve Keeter-First place winner!
William Dockery-second place winner!"
Yep, the award winning poem:
Left Handed Summer.
Left handed Summer,
Alias Uncle Hugo,
I step out into this night.
Those parasites know of the light that failed,
imploded in the center of op bop,
in this shadow made by blooming springtime.
In this shadow, next to this last temptation,
I walked into your door,
will I never see her no more?
I see two little red boxcars, I think of her,
I hurt inside, a hallowed ache.
Games people play,
one game on the house,
dark angel in green.
Every little trick she plays, scarecrow straw Janie,
there are three names now for Lady Katherine,
I saw the way...
remember the living lotus in her paste up hell,
I am the clown on the hill,
she still plys her trade in the sportin' house grocery.
I read the bio of her husband, the ogre,
his world, his fame, his flame.
And I think of: star money, secret star, sweet Jane, superstar.
Star mama, some glad morning you are my sattelite soul mate.
On Vinegar Hill, mariage a la mode, a case of need,
the bottom line, in deep Summer,
We hunt the spirit mammoth somewhere below the salt.
This is the story of a secret state, in this left handed Summer,
in this valley of vines,
sweet Lasher went swimming,
in the dark river with a bad man, in the big heat,
tigers in the smoke, she rides the red dragon.
Too many cousins dancing naked in La Grange,
she's one of 7 born again virgins,
she steps out, she is lost to me,
that strange woman, she's into sould bonding, soul bondage,
where is my red curled poltergeist, she's clocked,
boom boom in my ear.
Some Japanese thing,
Lone Wolf, I snarl at the moon.
watercolor in the rain ---
you poor little kidnapped angel...
my poor little clap trap angel.
My soul like riptide water,
this abundance of witches,
you living lotus bitches.
Uncle Hugo is in Eden,
the old folks home of joy and poems,
deling with this ever present danger,
to the magic store on some blinded date.
Into her labyrinth and back out again,
sweet soul pilgrim, I know, my love,
I can hear her battle cry.
She returns to life, cries for the angels,
a word shogun,
my daddy went blind at 40
but my will is good on this glorious morning.
Bless your fuzzy little heart, baby, go sow your seed of mischief.
The doomsday ladies hide and go seek,
as they work their science,
I asked my love, Dark Queenie,
will you talk in this left handed Summer?
Hard facts, a woman run mad,
in the caves,
on the hill,
under the sheets experimenting with the moon.
I keep the search light burning.
Face to face with the misty tiger in the smoke,
she rides the red dragon,
orphan daughter of the philosospher,
for common good,
a fiend in need, she is a perfect whirlwind.
Inhuman condition, I am alone for days,
I am nothing to her now,
the ongoing silence is driving me mad.
Her mirror mirror on the wall,
my fingers in her soft places,
her modern methematics,
her pager number,
I light the candle for her
and this big old world of people.
Silver leopard led astray from a magnificent destiny,
I am the foolish virgin with my magnificent obsession,
law of the lion, I'll find her.
Bright feather, hot leather,
magicians of night and sittin' ducks,
she is there in that secret shadow valley,
sweet adultery under the moon.
The Dark Queen's gift, a riddle.
Please speak to me before the sun goes down,
the children of the rainbow do the dark dance.
-Will Dockery, 1998 (c)2004
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