TWO GALLANTS - STEADY ROLLIN’

You might have seen me ‘neath the pool hall lights.
Well baby I go back each night.
If you got a throat I got a knife.
Steady rollin’, I keep goin’.

I don’t mind how quick the seasons change.
You know to me they’s every one the same.
The sweetest sunshine drips the drain.
Death’s comin’, I’m still runnin’.

Well I come from the old time baby,
too late for you to save me.
If I remain then I’m to blame.
But if you should ever need me,
I’ll go where’er you lead me.
It’s all the same, the same old game.

My lovin’ lady she’s a ball and chain.
I still can travel but my speed has changed.
I bring the money, I take the blame.
Steady rollin’, I keep goin’.

But I shot my wife today,
dropped her body in the Frisco bay.
I had no choice it was the only way.
Death’s comin’, I’m still runnin’.

Well I come from the old time baby,
too late for you to save me.
If I remain then I’m to blame.
But if you should ever need me,
I’ll go where’er you lead me.
It’s all the same, the same old game.

Out waltzin’ with the Holy Ghost,
from the Bowery to the Barbary Coast.
The land I’m from you know I love the most.
Steady rollin’, I keep goin’.

And everyday is just another town.
The more I search you know the less I’ve found.
Me, I’m a sucker, just a slave to sound.
Death’s comin’, I’m still runnin’.

Well I come from the old town baby,
where all the kids are crazy.
If I remain then I’m to blame.
But if you should ever need me,
I’ll go where’er you lead me.
It’s all the same, the same old game.

Sometimes, I really miss San Francisco.

no such thing

we are always searching for it
we are convinced
it will be
around the next corner,
afforded by the next paycheck,
wrapped in miracle and
happiness.

and it will be
holy and
safe.

maybe one more child,
one more drink,
one more night,
one more line,
one more hour,
one more
one more.

we pray,
but the
prayer
is
long forgotten.

  — christopher cunningham.

From Thru the Heart of This Animal Life, A Measure of Impossible Humor, from Liquid Paper Press. Copyright ©2005. For more of CC’s work, check out the Guerilla Poetics Project.

TO THE LIGHT OF SEPTEMBER

When you are already here
you appear to be only
a name that tells of you
whether you are present or not

and for now it seems as though
you are still summer
still the high familiar
endless summer
yet with a glint
of bronze in the chill mornings
and the late yellow petals
of the mullein fluttering
on the stalks that lean
over their broken
shadows across the cracked ground

but they all know
that you have come
the seed heads of the sage
the whispering birds
with nowhere to hide you
to keep you for later

you
who fly with them

you who are neither
before nor after
you who arrive
with blue plums
that have fallen through the night

perfect in the dew

                    September 10, 2001

  — W.S. Merwin (b. 1927), American poet, Pulitzer Prize winner

I HEAR AMERICA SINGING

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand
    singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or
    at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of
    the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows,
    robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

  — Walt Whitman (1819 - 1892), American poet, essayist, journalist and humanist.

THE WHITE ROOM

The obvious is difficult
To prove. Many prefer
The hidden. I did, too.
I listened to the trees.

They had a secret
Which they were about to
Make known to me–
And then didn’t.

Summer came. Each tree
On my street had its own
Scheherazade. My nights
Were a part of their wild

Storytelling. We were
Entering dark houses,
Always more dark houses,
Hushed and abandoned.

There was someone with eyes closed
On the upper floors.
The fear of it, and the wonder,
Kept me sleepless.

The truth is bald and cold,
Said the woman
Who always wore white.
She didn’t leave her room.

The sun pointed to one or two
Things that had survived
The long night intact.
The simplest things,

Difficult in their obviousness.
They made no noise.
It was the kind of day
People described as “perfect.”

Gods disguising themselves
As black hairpins, a hand-mirror,
A comb with a tooth missing?
No! That wasn’t it.

Just things as they are,
Unblinking, lying mute
In that bright light—
And the trees waiting for the night.

  — Charles Simic (b. 1938), American poet. From The Book of Gods and Devils, published by Harcourt Brace & Company, 1990. Copyright © 1990 by Charles Simic.

these quiet nights

after the storm
there is a hush.

a held breath
in moist silences.

after the storm,
these quiet nights
are all that remain.

we work hard all our lives
battling forces
we cannot defeat,

our voices mingling
with the roar of passing time.

but after the storm
there are
chances to wipe the water
from our eyes and
see with
uncertain clarity,
to rest our ragged throats,
to hope.

these quiet nights
refuel us

as
            dark clouds
gather

in
threatening
skies.

  — christopher cunningham.

From the GPP Reader: Selections from the poets of the Guerilla Poetics Project.

CC will have a new chapbook published by Kendra Steiner Editions within the next few weeks, as well as a limited edition broadside from 10pt Press. Both are bound to be outstanding.

BLINK-182 - ALWAYS

I’ve been here before a few times
And I’m quite aware we’re dying
And your hands, they shake with goodbyes
And I’ll take you back if you’d have me

So here I am, I’m trying
So here I am, are you ready?

Come on let me hold you, touch you, feel you
Always
Kiss you, taste you, all night
Always

And I’ll miss your laugh, your smile
I’ll admit I’m wrong if you’d tell me
I’m so sick of fights, I hate them
Let’s start this again, for real

So here I am, I’m trying
So here I am, are you ready?
So here I am, I’m trying
So here I am, are you ready?

Come on let me hold you, touch you, feel you
Always
Kiss you, taste you, all night
Always
Come on let me hold you, touch you, feel you
Always
Kiss you, taste you, all night
Always

I’ve been here before a few times
And I’m quite aware we’re dying

Come on let me hold you, touch you, feel you
Always
Kiss you, taste you, all night
Always
Come on let me hold you, touch you, feel you
Always
Kiss you, taste you, all night
Always
Always
Always