Clint Frakes
clint.frakes@gmail.com
Bio (auto)
| Clint Frakes currently lives in Sedona, AZ. He has recently received the James Vaughan Award for Poetry and the Peggy Ferris Memorial Award for Poetry. He is a graduate of the Naropa Institute and Northern Arizona University writing programs and received his doctorate with emphasis in Creative Writing from the University of Hawaii in 2006. He is currently working on his second full book of poetry, entitled Citizen Poems. He has appeared in over fifty journals since 1987 and his recent work can be found in Nexus, Bamboo Ridge, Hawaii Pacific Review, Tinfish and Ditch. He is the former chief editor of Hawaii Review and Big Rain. He currently works as a free lance writer and editor. |
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The following work is Copyright © 2008, and owned by Clint Frakes nd may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Leaving California
“Burls and slabs on Thimbleberry Road”--
& the Jedediah Gorge rolls on to Gasquet & Klamath
under husky redwoods.
Siskiyou Fork: a gamelan of fir and camas lilies
wink from the mulchy haunts.
The forest’s breath steams & the gnarled stone walls
of Highway 199 bend to the seismic
folds of a feldspar corridor
aiming us north to Oregon.
Anonymous birds squawk from river thickets
& my chest tightens from chilidogs
at Denny’s in Crescent City.
The fog is thick in the evening limn
draping us like Miles Davis blue radio forays.
Orange poppies clustered on hillsides
disappear into the same evening glove
that took Japan yesterday,
& plucked Egypt like a waiting plum.
The passing roadside is replaced by a vision of Harry Smith
admonishing the Sphinx with raised cane.
This is the night of 10,000 eyes
amid wayward freighters’
grunting engines & burning brake fluid,
my nation steered into the fire by bandits,
my old Celtic heart pounding on its walls.
I Killed Johnny Rotten
Johnny Rotten stomped onto my porch
like an angry collector, jackbooted & drunk.
I hid all the valuables,
convinced my roommates to turn him away,
but he forced himself in as I pretended to sleep,
insisted on a fight.
He had a rash on his face,
smelled like an infection,
found the Wild Turkey under my work jacket &
jounced & taunted like a fool.
When he spilled bourbon on my good Balinese rug
I leapt from bed & kicked him hard in the nuts.
He tried to pull a knife as he rolled on the floor &
I knew I’d have to kill him.
Roommates & neighbors interfered,
rolled shopping carts at us.
Two party girls in tight skirts tried to distract us
by sticking out their round asses,
but we were set on blood.
......."I'm only trying to help you meet your demons,"
he said, holding his stomach & waving the blade.
This gave me pause for only a second
before I dealt him a roundhouse kick
right out the window,
three floors to the sidewalk--
all blood & leather down by the hydrant.
Drink my fucking whiskey,
Rotten, why don’t you?
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Douglas Richardson
bloodjet2000@aol.com
Bio (auto)
| Douglas Richardson's first book, Sugar Fish, was published by Sacred Beverage Press in 2007. A second poetry book, Poems for Loners, and a novel are in the works. |
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The following work is Copyright © 2008, and owned by Douglas Richardson and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Poems for Loners
23.
Loner’s hope is revived through freeway culture.
Speed through the future. A river flows.
Alone in the car. A cloud captivates.
Turn the radio dial.
Find a song that suits the cloud.
10.
One white balloon
in one blue sky
on one green lawn
my body does lie.
21.
Monday I watched the day disappear outside my window
napped on and off with my shoes on
didn’t go outside because the museum was closed.
88.
Thursday I was cloistered at the Getty in Los Angeles.
This museum is a monastery atop a hill.
This museum is a flight dream made of Roman stone.
I took the Appian Way to the sea.
28.
Notes from the Graveyard Shift:
There isn’t much difference
between night and day.
Both are lit by stars,
as any space traveler knows.
63.
Notes from the Graveyard Shift:
We are known to see faces in the clouds.
We came late to the facts of life.
In fact, we must maintain a list or we lose our way.
The list usually goes something like this:
What is a fact? A fact is not a theory. A fact is reality.
The facts of life are God, Love, Death, Hunger, Thirst, Sex.
Sometimes when we see faces in the clouds
we cross Death off the list.
64.
Gazing out his office window
one rainy day, loner thinks:
What does my computer have to do with those clouds?
58.
In this part of time be gentle.
Then comes pain.
In the next part of time, be gentle still.
60.
Because I’m a human being, for example,
I enjoy a fragrant bouquet of balloons.
I also enjoy the scent of a tire shop
and a bicycle shop.
I enjoy the smell of rubber;
gasoline, too.
69.
Loner went to the aquarium
and secretly cried
when he saw a frowning fish.
83.
The tallest tower is a glorious achievement,
but it stirs up the winds below.
93.
Whenever loner receives a kiss,
centuries of kisses flash before his eyes.
Awkward loners with melancholy eyes
and fear in their bellies, lashing out for affection.
Whenever loner receives a kiss,
it is difficult for him to maintain his composure.
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