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Poetry by A.D. Winans Print E-mail
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By Pat King, on 17-04-2007 20:32

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Published in : OW! Site Content, Lit Circus


A.D. kicks ass.  He's awesome.  A ton of information about him can be found in our Outsider 'o the Month section.......

REMEMBERING BOB KAUFMAN

 
He was first class in a class-
Less world, walking the streets
Of north Beach
An ancient warrior with hollow eyes
That seared the dazzling lights of the
City by the bay
His eyes boring into you 
Like a drill
Carrying decades of heavy sorrow
On his back 
like a bent-over hunchback
Overcome with the rust of time
Flesh stripped to the marrow
The mirror of his eyes doing a slow dance
Up and down Grant Avenue
A dark shadow riding clouds of
“Ancient Rain”
His life measured in hot jazz and verse
A surreal mirage where hip cats
Wailed in precision rhythm
As he walked an imaginary zoo
Looking for tigers to talk too
Runaway poems blaring in his ears
Like a stuck car horn
The Ancient Rain falling
            falling
                        falling
Washing away his wounds
 
 

POEM FOR JACK MICHELINE

 
There’s class and then there’s high class
No academic education
The streets his classroom
A high note of a wailing saxophone
The spark that ignites a fire
 
He was a fifth of Jack Daniel’s
A glass of imported beer
A shaman
A vagabond poet shuffling words
Like a river-boat gambler
 
Ravished by illness
Ravished by time
He painted his visions on canvass
In parks in bars and coffee houses
His poems singing out across the
Streets of America
Pure innocence
Pure genius
Spinning words that hung in the air
Like a hummingbird drunk on the
Pollen of life
 
 

DIGITAL AGE

 

I told you not to take a snapshot
I don’t photograph well
But you did nevertheless
A real class act, sending it to me
As an attachment
And there it was on the screen
In black and white the only colors that matter
And it split into two parts on the screen
Neither of them doing me justice
An injustice I am sure not intended
This faceless face staring back at me
Smashed into a thousand lines
This snapshot more like an empty face
Stuffed away in a shoebox
In the far corner of a closet
Like a series of quick winks lost
In cyber space
A.D. Winans

Last update : 17-04-2007 20:34

   
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By: Michael Grover (Registered) on 17-04-2007 21:35

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By: Michael Grover (Registered IP 70.149.104.164) on 17-04-2007 21:35

Bob and Jack were two of the best ever.

 

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