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Lit 101:History
By Graham Peter King
“History? – could be a problem,” said the man. “It’s flawed.”
He was himself a product of history, so I doubted him.
Is there a History that goes right back – to before the flawed recounters of ‘history’?
Could it have grown with us, a continuing commentary – critiquing each generation afresh?
Could such an account prove by internal evidence its integrity, and – fertilising a few minds in each era with Truth – secure its own preservation?
Are the Flawed – or some pre-existing, overruling Veracity – ultimate arbiters of truth?
If the latter – if True History exists – who among us may believe it?
Lit 101: As Prescribed
As Prescribed
“Come in.”
I slink into the Doctor’s office, feeling low.
“What’s the problem?”
Words fumble out, slurred: “I… can’t progress. No structure in my life…. Everything’s so… difficult….”
“Undress, please…”
(I slip smoothly out of my clothes.)
“…up onto the couch.”
(More awkward. He waits, watching….)
“Ah,” mercifully lending his arm. Draped over it, I’m hoisted onto the cool surface, and flop there, inert.
He looks at me musingly, eyes narrowed – Intrigued? Blaming? Suspicious? – then, dryly:
“Yes, I understand. Here…”
(He turns away, scribbles a note, turns back, presents it)
“…I’ve prescribed for you -”
Softly, I read:
“A… skeleton?”
By Graham Peter King
Lit 101: Protest Song #2067
‘Protest Song #2067′
when the bodies are five high and a mile long
is that when we’re supposed to write protest songs
until then we just laugh at right and wrong
blink our bleary eyes and suck on that bong
it’s funny when the news is comedy hour
when we’re in their sights we’ll finally learn about power
who holds the recipe that turns sweet sour
the same slippery smiling salesman who sends the flowers
lucky us, banded as brothers in harm
polish up grandma’s lucky charm
a two step lock step plucked from the farm
five thousand feet falling is one sobering alarm
-By James DeLuca
d19jd@yahoo.com
Lit 101: This Could Be Different
This Could Be Different By June Smythe lutefiske@yahoo.comI went to see you, but of course he was there, the new patriarch, ruling over his ready-made family: punishing the kids, telling you what to do, keeping his hands on you wherever you went. Three weeks, and he was already in control.It made me sick, a flashback to those stomach-twisting Sunday mornings of my youth, televised NASCAR races the buzzing backbeat to my mother’s tears. Your rationalizations were the same- he’s recovering, he’s teaching them respect, he’s sweet when we’re alone….If I said, “I love you. This could be different,” then or now, would it change a thing?
THE HERMIT # 105
MAJOR ANNOUNCEMENT
THE HERMIT # 104
IMPEACH!
CONTACT YOUR REP:
in English:
http://www.house.gov/writerep/
en Espanol:
http://www.visi.com/juan/congress/
Poetry: Father
Did I say a new lit posting daily? Send us your lit entries and so we can do that: cwar.ncft@yahoo.com!
Father
By Michael Solomon
michael_solomon_jr@yahoo.com
He was her Father
and she was nothing to Him
unless she was His,
but she would not be His
and would not call Him
Father,
for she had not seen
or heard from Him
in quite some time,
and even then,
their exchanges had been bitter
and one-sided,
she being always drunk
or asleep
on the rare occasion
that He came around.
Truth be told
He had never said two words
to her,
even when she was just a child,
except to say in a letter once
that He knew everything
and was absolutely perfect,
and was everywhere, in all things,
even in the room,
watching and doing nothing,
as she was raped and beaten
by four men in ski masks
at the age of 10.
He was her Father
and she was nothing to Him
unless she was His,
but she would not be His
and would not call Him
Father,
and, in fact,
was terrified of Him.
His letter haunted her,
and His last words worst of all.
“One day,” He had said,
“One day you’ll come home
and I’ll be there
waiting.
And if you don’t call me Father then,
and sing Me songs about My greatness
I’ll burn your fucking house down
with you in it
and all the world will hear you scream
and the saints in heaven
will smile
and nod
as the flesh drips from your skull.
And you’ll know then,
but it will be too late,
you’ll know how fucking great I really am.”
THE HERMIT # 103
OPRAH’S VA-JAY-JAY, DENNIS KUCINICH’S _______?
