Archive for the ‘Steve Gulvezan’ Category

Four Poems by Steve Gulvezan


Visited the Alamo
In San Antonio
So much smaller
Then I imagined
The citadel
Of my youthful
Valiant fantasies
Shocked when I saw
The interior
Was a gift shop
It seemed so much
More real
On the big screen
With John Wayne
In his coonskin cap
And his valiant comrades
To the very end
Against the overwhelming
Of Santa Ana’s army
Now that was the real Texas
And that was the real America
Dream on, Steve
Dream on while you
Wade through
The overwhelming hordes
Of tourists
Struggling to purchase
A remembrance
Of old glory


After six months
Working the screen
I finally made
A righteous connection
On Facebook
As of Valentine’s Day
Monday morning
I am “friends”
With Linda King
Yes, the Linda King
The beauty
Who stole the heart
Of Charles Bukowski
With her high
Quick wit
And fantastic tits
I’m pleased to say
That after viewing
The photos of Linda
On her Facebook page
That she has not lost
One inch
Of her sublime appeal
She remains
And I wonder
Is there a possibility…?
But no
That is too much to hope
I know that no one
Living or dead
Could match
Hank’s expertise
In certain aspects
Of human interaction
The things he could do
With a typewriter
Drove many a woman
And man
With naked lust
And envy
And left them
Always wanting


A sixty year old hipster
Pushes a song into my hand
Every time I leave the bandstand
To try to go to the can
I’m standing there peeing
While this lost soul is bleating
Words he wrote to a lover
Who dumped him a lifetime ago
“I’m the next Bob Dylan,”
He looks at me, vaguely,
His eyes unglued
“All you have to do is write the music,
Sing my words and record it,
And we’ll both soon
Be number one with a star”
My long night finally finished
I head for my chopper
He jumps out from behind a dumpster
“I’ve got a .38 in my pocket –
Sing my song or I’ll kill
Myself, I swear!”
“Grandpa,” I say, “back off, you fool –
And don’t touch my bike, or…”
He puts the pistol to his temple
And pulls the trigger
And splatters his brain junk
All over my machine
I kick off before anybody
Comes out to investigate
Maybe someday I’ll
Write a song about him
“Death of the Next Bob Dylan”
But, then again, he was such a pest
Maybe not


Yoko Ono won’t leave me alone
She keeps calling on the phone
She wants a piece of my ectoplasm
To hang next to her djinn
A pastiche of her old man’s last clothes
Ringo Starr harangues me
Old bugger follows me around
Begging for a hand in my new magic land
“I can still peel the skins,” he says,
“I want to perform as the clown in your show”
Back home from the Jordan
I find pretty Paulie kneeling at my door
“I hear you’re talking to Ringo and Ono,
What’s wrong with me?” he says,
“I need you to give my jingles backbone”
I gather the three together in a circle
Around my cushion – I levitate
For them, remove my head and
Replace it for them, turn the world
Upside down for them
I say, “Do you see the powers that
I possess?  Do you understand
Who I am?”  “Yes!  Yes!” all three exclaim,
“But when, dear brother, oh when
Are you planning to restart the band
And place us back up on the throne?”

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Two Poems by Steve Gulvezan

A Way Out

Money sex power Jesus genuflection
Eradication annihilation a fetish for
Small gray objects Port-au-Prince
Paradise vacation destination human
Sacrifice duty vocation education hard
Work hard living hard drinking hard
Pure talent unbridled by the demands
Of the marketplace this is a joke
Smashing down unpaved roads with
Your headlights black and screaming
For somebody somewhere somehow
To kill you and to save you



This is my new poetry hat – how
Do you like it?  Red fez – cool –
I saw a great poet at the Old Miami
Wearing one just like it – I put it on my head
When I sit down at my machine to
Spit out the terrible truth about humanity
That is burning up my soul and also
My tender love songs of loss, hope,
Fulfillment, regret, inspiration –
You know, all that stuff poets
Write about – I wore it to mass once
And the priest gave me a dirty look –
I swear – Father Jerry thinks I’m some
Sort of antichrist or something –
Or maybe he just doesn’t like poets –
There are people like that – I learned
My lesson the hard way
At a Detroit Tigers game – that beer
Sure does make a mess when they pour
It all over you – sticky, too – I had to clean
My red fez with kerosene – but I’m going to
Show them – I’m going to wear it next year
To opening god-damned day – no way, no how –
Will they turn this poet into a clown

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