A poem by John Yamrus
John Yamrus has been a fixture in American poetry for four decades. Since 1970 he has published 2 novels, 16 volumes of poetry and more than 900 poems in magazines around the world. Selections of his poetry have been translated into several languages including Spanish, Swedish, Italian, Japanese and (most recently) Romanian. His newest book is BLUE COLLAR and is available from www.barnesandnoble.com
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i really don’t drink much
“i really don’t drink much,”
he said,
“not like i used to, anyway.
but when i do,
it’s tequila.
straight.
i don’t do shots
like some crazy kid.
i’m smarter than
that.
i just sit there
and sip.
some days
when my cousin comes
to visit -
especially in the summer -
we’ll grab a bottle and some cigars
and sit out in the yard
all afternoon.
sometimes
we don’t even say a word.
we’ll just
sit there
and sip.”
you’ve got to admire that
in a man…
the ability to
relax
and ignore
approaching doom.
by John Yamrus
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Three poems by RD Armstrong (raindog)
Born in the obscurity of 1950s America, RD (Raindog to his friends), grew up to be a likeable, if not slighty dim bulb. He's spent most of his life in and around Los Angeles, working on his "PHD" (Post Hole Digger) making a modest living in the home repair & fix-it ouvre. Armed with limited education, a hunger for experience and a thirst for knowledge, RD has become something of a poetry maven over the last few years. Calling himself a "Road" scholar, the intrepid Raindog has gone to places that few ever dream of (unless you count nightmares). And yes, he's a Tom Waits fan.
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Sad Sack
The years are
Catching up with me
Even my casual
Friends are noticing
The eyes give it away
Mostly
Even when I look in the
Mirror
Those sad eyes
With the furrowed
Though slightly
Brow
There’s no denying
That the weight
Of so many sad years
Is now present
And so obvious
To anyone
Who wants to see
Me as I really am
I have no
Apologies
I am sad
Eternally so
There is so much
Sadness in this
Life – so much
Pain and sorrow
It would be stupid
To lie and say
It means nothing
Or is no big deal
And even if I
Could lie
My face won’t
Let me
by RD Armstrong
CHOPIN
What I remember most
Is this feeling of
Holiday
Knowing that
It would end
And the drudgery of
The world would
Soon return
So I savored the
Moments as best I could
Knowing that I was
Somewhat handicapped
By my lack of sophistication
In certain realms
We labored
Loved and
Lived within the walls
Of our respective hearts
Citadels really and
I do miss you
Miss your playing the piano most
So delicate and alive
A common thing for you
For me
The sweetest pleasure
Like a ray of light in the murkiest catacomb or
A soft hand caressing my grizzled cheek
My God
It was a sound that touched me
The clod
As deeply as possible
Making me want to climb
Mountains in your name
To worship you by
Loving you in the sweetest way
To lay at your feet
The sum total of my wealth
Your laughter
Your kisses
Your Chopin
This is what I miss
by RD Armstrong
All the Romantic Places in the World
Being part of a secret
Is a guilty pleasure
That in the beginning
Is deliciously sweet
And in the end
Is as bitter a pill to swallow
As was ever prescribed
If you’re good
You get to come back
If you’re not good enough
It’s just one of those things
But after the blush
Wears off
After you’ve gotten
A few affairs under your belt
You begin to long for
What you cannot have
And when you realize
That you cannot have what
Normal lovers have
A sadness overtakes you
Which almost certainly
Guarantees that you will
Always be in the shadows
Giving solace and
Receiving it in kind
Behind closed doors
Whilst true lovers
Laugh and kiss and
Touch each other in all
The romantic places
In the world
by RD Armstrong
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