The Scum Gentry Poetry Hole

just another old man with a ponytail and a beard in san francisco on a saturday night

just another old man with a ponytail and a beard in san francisco on a saturday night

Poetry
John Grochalski
they come into vesuvio’s cafe
right after my wife and i order our second beer
.
otherwise we would’ve left
.
there are twelve of them
cramped around a table meant for six
.
they look like a fucked up last supper
.
or the type of shallow trolls
who have to go out drinking
with their dozen closest friends
.
it’s saturday night in america
and i’m not made for saturday night anymore
.
but i’m ...
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Official Radio One

Official Radio One

Poetry
Kevin Higgins
That time of the week
when bachelor farmers decide,
on balance, not to string themselves
up in the outhouse, bravely
switch on the wireless instead;
.
on Official Radio Marion the defunct
feminist-to-a-moderate-extent
has a few old pals around
for two thrilling hours
of cream tea and general
consensus. Last month
one critic unfairly hissed
.
that the show increasingly sounds
like the occupants of a mortuary
in one of the more horrible parts
of Donnybrook, each ...
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The Crusty Old Man

The Crusty Old Man

Poetry
Name
hushed confessions
screamed into the
pillow each night
before you cry
yourself to sleep
.
no one wants to
become the crusty
old man
.
it’s much more
romantic to die
young, full of
promise and
potential
.
but on the other
side of those
myths are
nothing
.
a vast crease
of time built
on nothing ...
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To Georges

To Georges

Poetry
David Piersol
Dear Georges,
Dearest sweet mystic of mine, you saint.
My boy Venus, philosopher of purest love.
I’m cute so you’ll feed me lesser animals,
& that makes you the animal-killer here.
You talk about “violating” this or that,
but you’ve got it backward: killing is
the parody of fucking, and you are
just a pervert. But latter-day libertine
of mine, don’t repent of your delusions,
your petty sickness and obsession—
kill, if you can indeed, by fucking.
...
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Robert

Robert

Poetry
Kurt Newton
ROBERT lies behind leaves and grass.
I drive by on my way to work and offer a glance.
ROBERT lies beyond the pavement’s edge,
at the foot of a stone outcropping—
a natural shelter from the rain.
It used to be I’d wonder who ROBERT was
and who put ROBERT there.
Someone who needed not to forget?
Someone special? Someone caring?
I used to wonder what unfortunate event
led that special someone to care enough
to put ...
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Tin Man’s Lament

Tin Man’s Lament

Poetry
Kevin Higgins
In memoriam Tin Man Ó’Tuathail esteemed
literary critic & political commentator

.
You weren’t, like others, born
of Babycham and contraceptive malfunction
but emerged fully realised
—someone else’s brilliant idea—
during an editorial conference
of a magazine that went on to be
important; your hands clean
as mild green Fairy Liquid.
.
Your intellect keen
as the Leaving Cert exam
in which you gave exactly
the answers they wanted in precisely
the accent they were looking for ...
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