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| next massive poet and we've got him!
Our first realization that a new American phenomenon in poetry had arrived to redefine Everything came at an open microphone event in Chicago last autumn. There was a static crackle as a confidently stubble-bearded, hewn-featured fellow of indeterminate age, who had been listening in the corner all evening while diligently acquitting the Dionysian vinic communion, took the mic. "My name is Jonah Shirley Purr," he told a suddenly hushed room, "and I'm a worrier-poet. I worry you-all ain't gonna like my poems. Although not liking them is a part of understanding them, too."
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| What followed lifted poetry to its next evolution. We threw ourselves into securing a commitment to publish some of these stunning archetypes in this Journal. Jonah Purr will be called the father of modern verse, nor will it avail the modest genius to deny paternity. The DNA evidence is in. |
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| The following day, a sober Purr called us up and expressed doubt about publishing his poems in what he called their unpolished condition. We assured the reluctant poet that his talent is prodigious and repeated emphatically our conviction that his poetry will make him a very rich man within a year, "poet's-economy" or no. Market woes do not impact the top-top talents. We reminded him that polish is but half the winning formula of spit-and-polish, and pointed out that there's more than enough spit in these lines to make up for whatever degree of polish he feels they are wanting. Read now, thrill, read again, and emerge from the experience fundamentally changed. |
| ______________________________________________________ |
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| Jonah Shirley Purr |
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As his poems attract investors, Purr expects to drift away from this day job |
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They'll Ride
by
Jonah Shirley Purr
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They run up aginst me
Like it's to test our respective metals
Their gold
My steel
Only it aint no test
Just fanning their notion of superiority
In line with their own outlook
They come-on all formidable
Or as I heard exclaimed in France, formidable
But they fall down on closer review
And have secured theirselves in the refuge of systems
That are way more arbitrary than anyone is admitting
They think they have wore me like a old shoe
And heard my last squeak
But them heels who tread upon my resilient soul
Who fill their eyes with a deep shine of spite
And lace with hate the slobber of their vicious tongues
And would clog my arteries with the breakdown sludge of my will
Them dogs I won't show no quarter
As I done showed no hint of the insolence inside
Where a big foot lays waiting
To sock it to them
Stepping out sudden-like
And giving them the boot
So don't come with your shaller routines, you cracker-jacks
And the litanies you've imbibed like liquor from the standard decanter
Thinking they empowerize you to high-horse
And deceive yourselfs to believe
That it's a matter of me not being up to understanding
These things that in your fantasy make you precious
And give you the sanction and the say
Over anyone that don't buy your brand of toilet paper.
I think a lot, for a man of steel
And insults I could hit you with
Come boiling up out of me
Tempting me to ride you off on a rail
Like a locomotive sprung from a tunnel.
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The James Doohan Autograph
by
Jonah Shirley Purr |
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When James Doohan was alive
I paid five bucks for his autograph.
I was asking fifty for mine
So of course he moved more Hancocks.
I got the economics of that. I did.
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Living By The Numbers
by
Jonah Shirley Purr |
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Glorious was the day
That brought my sixth new job
Sixth new house, sixth new wife
Six cats, six kids, all new
Pub six minutes away
With a six-piece jazz band
Six friends dropped in at six
Six-hour card game left me
On the pea-green couch that
Cost somebody six large
But sleeps more like six grand
When you've drained a six-pack
My sixth cigarette fell
Out of my six-toothed mouth
At six bathing beauties
lining the summer lane
Oh, what I got up to
As next six weeks whizzed by
A six percent chance that
My number wasn't up
It came up on my six
And what went 'round came 'round
Caught with my hand in all
Six jars lining the lane
Glorious sixes soured
Hell six ways from Sunday
And last six teeth knocked out
Sixth wife, six kids, six cats
Looking to deep-six me
Six blinks and I was gone
Six months to recover
Time to get serious
About starting over
And time to bump my number
Up to big lucky seven
And meet that lucky lady
And go tie that seventh knot.
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Weigh all Options
by
Jonah Shirley Purr
Time has come to test my methods
Time to see, raise, or fold
Time to get the heat out of the kitchen
Time to get the hell out or dodge
Time I tried winning without trying
Time I just bide my time
Till there aint no more time to bide.
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Popsicle Reflection
by
Jonah Shirley Purr
Purty purty popsicle
Melting in the sun
You could be a meta-for
Everything I've done
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| Copyright 2009- WJ Schafer & WC Smith - All Rights Reserved |
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