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Poem by D.A. Boucher

 

Allen Ginsberg’s, “Howl,” epic statement that set the tone, and, along with, Kerouac’s, On the Road, a generation was born, the much lauded, infamous, Beat Generation, now into their, 80’s and 90’s and deceased, and yet, their works remain, fresh, exciting, inspiring, over priced; however, fifty-six years have ensued since the, Fifties, much has come and went, Beats, Beatniks, Hipsters, Squares, Hippies, Yippies, Dippies, Yuppies, Guppies, Dinks, and all the conflict in between, over those years, decades defined by increasing mass media corporate encroachment, with trend setting entertainment restrictions, CEO taste maker’s political correctness limiting popular acceptance, conform to their norm, straight edge images, home, family, stability, hilltop mansion glory, welcome to, 21st Century U. S. of A; in these short attention span times, Howl’s, three page plus length, is too long, ADHD-ADD-ABC-STP minds, annot focus for the minutes to read, Howl, all the way through, Haiku, Tanka, Limerick, those are the forms of, Poetry, for the current era, get in-get on-get off-get out-in under thirty seconds, television commercials were, 2-3 minutes, now they’re, 3 – 10 seconds, almost, subliminal; time is now for a new Howl, a, Howl, for these times, a, Howl, that is quick to read, one page, and is easy to read, not too many big words, obscure references, or images, one track for the 21st Century Mind, to be read, and understood, and passed on, and, I’m, just the, Poet to do it.

Let us, cease living in the past, let us now, move forward, into the, Twenty-first Century, let us, stop pretending that we have already, let us go-go-go-baby-daddio!

 

Howl (ing)
For the 21st Century
[Another Mother Tongue]

w/a tip ‘o’ da hat & a nod to, A. Ginsberg
04/25, 26/14

I’ve seen great, gay minds
of generation wasted,
lost, and wandering,
amid culture’s wreckage,
spoused-het’mo’d, example set.

Genocide’s victims
seek roots history buried,
goddess dieties
in ashes lay at man’s feet,
patriarchetypical.

Brother’s images,
injection-plastic molded,
reality camped,
social framework – pigeonholes –
confine – restrict, Ken’s, movements.

Sister’s visage,
blue-jean-print-landscape designs –
hips – breasts – butts squozed in
arboretum boundries,
hand holding – strolling pathways.

Holy erected,
corporate ad-ministers
popular unset,
mass media – underground
disinterns, Mother Culture – – –

Mother Culture, rise,
spread wide, gossemer embrace,
multi-coloured wings – – –

 

Howl (ing)
Epilogue

04/25, 26/14

Only in hindsight
do we see forward movement,
trail of features lost –
natural evolution –
cultural change ongoing – – –

Cultural change ongoing,
as wasted generation
is social wreckage,
lifestyle purchased regrets –
forward – only in hindsight – – –

 

Lament for, Nouns Past – Present
04/30, 05/02/14

There will be, no more, Morrison Poems,
or, Ginsberg Epics, or, Bukowski Poetry,
or, Kerouac Stories, or, Kesey Novels – – –

There will be, no more, Cassidy Wanderings,
or, Nash Wonderings, or, Dickenson Hymns,
or, Guest Rhymes, or, Steinbeck’s Perceptions – – –

No more, hitch-hiking across, America,
or, breakneck driving on the road,
or, hopping freights, boxcars locked – – –

No more arrests, or, obscenity trials,
or, Custom’s Quarentines, or, bannings,
or, plain brown wrappers – – –

There will be, no more, Powers Hosting,
or, Blue Improv’ing, or, Frank Depressing,
or, Coop Translating, or, or, Weiners Featuring – – –

There will be no more
for, they’re no more,
passed on to the great garret in the sky – – –

Memory’s influence remains,
body of inspiration entombed
between, Poet’s, back pages – – –

Dead rise like zombies
from musty shelves,
and roam, seeking brains – – –

Lay down, allow to be consumed,
digested, into literature,
to rise – renewed – reborn –

     There will be more – – –

 

Benediction for Nouns Past – Present
Reincarnation

05/02/14

There will be more – – – raised
voices – celebrating, Potes,
reborn within, Pomes,
metaphor echoes – singing –
silver syllables ring out – – –

Silver syllables
ring out unto etheral,
butterfly winged plaine –
colors – notes – shapes form – boogie –
bop – froog – there will be more – – – raised – – –

 

Illustration © James Conant
Illustration © James Conant

 


D.A. Da Butcha” Boucher
is heavily influenced by, Jim Morrison, Pete Townshend, Charles Bukowski, Jack Kerouac Novels, William S. Burroughs Novels, and Allan Ginsburg’s short Poems. He enjoys reading, Emily Dickenson live, accompanied by a band ripping punk riffs.

 

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3TV Presents: A Saint Dismas Christmas

 

Anonymous thief,
steals into merchant’s mansion,
helps self to riches.

Businessman returns,
catches burglar red handed,
rod holds from escape.

Snub covered prowler
realizes death at hand,
prays for forgiveness,
falling to his knees – weeping –
confesses sins – repents.

Lifter lowers loot,
tycoon holsters pistol, says,
“Joy Noel; now go.”

 

D.A. Da Butcha” Boucher is heavily influenced by, Jim Morrison, Pete Townshend, Charles Bukowski, Jack Kerouac Novels, William S. Burroughs Novels, and Allan Ginsburg’s short Poems. He enjoys reading, Emily Dickenson live, accompanied by a band ripping punk riffs.

 

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D.A. Boucher’s Tribute to Bill Barnum

Despite Bill Barnum’s longevity as a poet and performer here in Boston, his eccentric publishing history has ensured that there are more tribute poems floating around on the internet than there are poems of his. Oddball hopes to work towards rectifying this as much as we can by publishing  newer as well as  classic work from Billy the Bard  To whet  your appetite, we present a tribute poem that was written by D.A. “Da Butcha” Boucher and performed by Boucher with bassist Ethan Mackler (the two primary members of the spoken word/musical group Da Butcha ‘shoppe. This was recorded at Stone Soup Poetry on May 28th, 2012, marking Barnum’s 87th birthday. As Boucher explained, “This Poem is made up entirely of Billy’s lines, with some slight edits; even the title is his, all from his 1999 book, Of Rare Design, a wonderful book that is still available.”


Night is a Dog Seen Sidewise Looking Straight at Something Else
D.A. Boucher

A child,
gypsy,
tonight’s juggler!

If you look close,
only with a pure ether stare,
manacled visions still can see
wet valley from a darkened brain,
estuaries spill,
perplexing colors painting heavens skies;
think on sun like a rust-tipped brush
from summers rain green trees.

A horn strings notes as thin as silver rails,
silver train rails on infinity,
silver echoes from a year now gone,
rain around us fringes years.

Dance to the rag mans hand,
taste with fingers of our mind,
from fingers touching hearts;
a hand stirs, then stops,
a live thing, a lost hand,
purple knows hands that languish.

A hypnotist throws strangers,
thought will grow and what we’ll say;
we play at mirror games,
exchange one shoe,
God rides in a Cadillac.

The wire of infinite chance,
a dime crosses wires, connects,
voice, a leaf over wires;
a spruce springs up from silence,
playfully among ancient sycamores,
bark tall as night filling shadows,
laughter enters silence.

A gate opens,
grey day descends through night,
darkness tunnels night,
dark turns green into a deepness;
in darkness, what’s not seen,
silhouette cavity in the walls of night.

The Truth with stretch its line
over a night of lies
before time worn clocks melt down walls
while bees attack us
and our wide world
where we trace new lives.

This steaming ice inside skin,
swirling snow queen,
leaped into world nude,
moves through air that flows,
out into early morning dark…

Lone man standing on a bridge of time
in a city of dreams that wake,
a cockatoo of rare design,
afraid of nothing,
William J. Barnum,
stars and planets wheel ’round his mind
to crawl within our mind
and become the grass
we’ll never see again.

Photo © 2013 Chad Parenteau
Photo © 2013 Chad Parenteau



D.A. Da Butcha” Boucher
is heavily influenced by, Jim Morrison, Pete Townshend, Charles
Bukowski, Jack Kerouac Novels, William S. Burroughs Novels, and Allan Ginsburg’s short Poems. He enjoys reading, Emily Dickenson live, accompanied by a band ripping punk riffs.