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Gary Blankenship is a
sometime poet, editor and judge from Bremerton WA , who is much too fond of
poetic series based upon whatever crosses his path. He is the author of
A River Transformed
poetry based on Wang Wei’s River Wang poems and available at He is
currently working on a long
series based on Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself.” Part may be seen at
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After Howl I
Stray dogs and Convertibles
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg. —Allen
Ginsberg
down on
all fours like a stray dog
caught with a frozen steak beneath his teeth
(except dogs do not walk on their knees)
they saw an oil leak
nasty enough that if the truck
was driven another block or two
its engine would blow
and in their examination of the stain
missed shells dropped from a Corvette
on its way to New Jersey
missed the rattle of the compressor
that kept the steaks between
the dog’s teeth frozen
their load starting to thaw
before delivery to the plump housewife
in 4C of a brownstone walkup
on the Lower East Side
missed the Easter Egg hidden
in the Word 2003 software used
to write this strophe
missed the Sunnyside sailor
hitchhiking under the Queensboro bridge
an unused condom in his wallet
missed the ex-Ukrainian baron
selling egg crèmes
and wooden dolls to tourists
on their way to the Statue of Liberty
missing spring wheat on the Dnieper
missed the howl of the stray dog
as he bit into a frozen steak
as he fought to keep the steak
against a pack of his mates
as Moloch laughed
After Howl II
In Celebration in the Release of Boxcar Willie’s Last Album
who lit cigarettes in boxcars
boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in
grandfather night
—Allen
Ginsberg, Howl
boxcars full of apples from Wenatchee
pears from Hood River
dried grapes and shelled almonds from Fresno
bluegrass seed from the Willamette
box cars full of t-shirts from Thailand
(or was it American Samoa
Made in the USA)
lumber from Millinocket
coal on the way to Liverpool via Sault Ste Marie
toys and cat food recalled from Singapore
boxers in the boxcars
Matchbox cars
and bullocks bound for Boise
cattle cars littered with homemade cigarettes
flat cars bleached in the panhandle sun
dump cars emptied of Portland cement sand gravel
container cars for milk and window cleaner
box cars to haul boxes
hat boxes (but who wears hats
even pillboxes out of style)
shoe boxes
gift boxes wrapped in holiday cheer
cardboard boxes
and boxes made of lumber from Eureka
the racket of boxcars
whistle after whistle
on rusted rails that run
by the barn chicken coop
boxcars
down the ravine
past alfalfa soybeans canola
past the bedroom window
so close you could touch it
as I touched you
boxcars
I’ll return come spring’s melt
and your grandfather’s box
is no longer empty as a clouded sky
After Howl III
Rockin’ The Ages
who loned it
through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who
were visionary indian angels,
—Allen
Ginsberg, Howl
east of boise they find a cultist who prepared kool-aid for a
jim jones
when sister Sylvia saw the Virgin Mary in the pond behind the
hen house no one paid any attention to her
south of soshone they locate a survivalist who sells cranberries
in a fruit stand on highway 93
when mama saw Mother Mary in grandpa’s fried egg, they turned
the kitchen into a shrine
ketchum is all weed dealers who tithe to a clapboard church in
mountain home
Uncle John is still in the attic
they leave orofino where every man woman child stray goat is his
her its own prophet
Christ walked across Lake Coeur d’Alene the day of the parade
in honor of President Reagan and no one noticed
in the lewiston they come across the holy slots sacred decks
hallowed bones mammon’s offering to the state
the picture of the Garden behind Grandma’s bed only cost her
$125 in 1973
in soda springs they hit upon a two dollar gal who nightly prays
to baby jesus at least twice an hour in an alley behind the suds
and pack
when the tent revival came to town everyone was there, two
members of the cheer squad were visiting relatives the next fall
the idaho falls temple is being repainted in a new shade of
temple white
I dream my guardian angel is on strike
the buddhist gate is locked
on cable Italian suits beg
moloch sings when the roll is called up yonder
First place winner of the Interboard Poetry Competition, August
2007
After Howl IV
Wish You Were Here
who vanished into
nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture
postcards of Atlantic City Hall
—Allen
Ginsberg, Howl
under the boardwalk
down by the sea
needles
used rubbers
dead fish
discarded Polaroid’s
you pray
I pray
when we play
all the lines in the penny machine
the monkey appears
to spin the prayer wheel
for the bonus round
and round
and round
around
the world’s largest ball of string
largest bat and ball
largest bong
largest cat
(left over from a VFW parade
urging a boycott of RJ Reynolds
for selling smokes made
in communist Albania)
boards littered
with flyers
for 50% off
two for one
another for a penny more
six for five
a baker’s half dozen
a group of preppies
sneak under the boardwalk
with a handful of French postcards
half pack of Kools
Mark’s hard cranberry
as I hit the jackpot
while you pray
for a bonus round
After Howl V
With Sauerkraut, Hold the Chili
who wept at the
romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and
bad music
—Allen
Ginsberg, Howl
on the corner of 5th Avenue and E. 26th, a one-man band rings
cymbals beneath his knees as a street preacher shouts repent,
repent loud enough to scare all the seagulls in San Francisco
Bay to Utah in time to devour a plague of locusts and the BYU
football field in Provo
library pigeons discuss the meeting of the Bryant Park Tuesday
Afternoon Book Club and why every book is discussed either after
it was made into a movie or a Classic Illustrated and banned in
Levitown
Prudence swears at the delay in fixing the elevators to the top
of the Chrysler Building
Patience yawns bored at the shallow pretensions of rats with
feathers
a few tentative trumpet notes drifts down Broadway as the last
zoot suit manufactured in the USA dances across the bridge
to Queens in search of a mime and a man with a peg leg
the aroma of sweet peppers and onions invade a pizza parlor on
45th, the garlic objects
the scent of coleslaw goes nowhere
the Beatles are due in the city in three months, they won't play
the Apollo or a remixed Rockin' Robin
bottled water comes in 137 flavors, Nehi is sold in only 3
a couple meets under a sign advertising Dave Garroway's next
show; he offers her a ring, she offers him a child
down in the subway never makes the charts until it is rerecorded
as under the boardwalk
a weed grows next to the stoop of a house with a dog locked in a
Village apartment for a long working day
Miles, Duke and Dizzy jam to the beat of Allen's typewriter
clicks
a padded cell makes no sound
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