Gary Turchin

Gary Turchin is the author/illustrator of the wondrous, If I Were You (Simon DeWitt 2011, and the award-winning Ditty-Ditty Doggerel; A life From Bad to Verse (Simon DeWitt, 2012). His newest collection of poems, Falling Home, is just out from Sugartown Publications. Gary is also performance artist, poet, and illustrator. His children’s poetry show, Gary T. & his PoetTree, has been performed in more than 300 schools and libraries throughout California. See the documentary film about his life’s journey, The Healthiest Man On Earth. See www.garyturchin.net for more.

 

The Poet Laureate’s Bald Spot

The poet laureate’s bald spot glowed like magma
in the hollow gray auditorium
where he held court to a clucking flock of poets.
No,
they weren’t actually clucking,
more: held in quiet reverence,
but this isn’t a reverent poem
so let’s go back to a clucking flock of poets
at two-fucking o’clock
in the afternoon—
and why weren’t they working? Deadbeats!—
And I took my cluck and rode his volcano of words
out the door
and into the most perfect day ever created—
I know this
I keep records
since the beginning
(yeah, that beginning)—
And the sun beamed like a proud lion of fire
through a cloudless blue sky
that the laureate
would have used the perfect descriptor for,
one that would have separated it from all the other blue skies
you ever saw,
trust me,
he’s that good,
without being dense, or obscure,
but not so simple as to not cast a spell of poetry,
and the air was now warm enough to kiss
and cool enough to blush in
depending upon whether you wandered through the shade of the sycamore trees,
that the laureate would have known the genus-species name of,
say: sycamorous pity-poor-us,
or walked in the bright light of the sun.
And everything seemed alive again
back from the dead lands
which have been too long a homeland
even the stoplights
flickered like green and red stars
and the cars streaming by
weren’t metal robots
but herds of antelope
and buffalo—
genus/species names go here—
roaming the wild turf
of life
that the laureate
could induce in his sleep.

 

GaryTurchin_Poem

 

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