I wrote this book, or I guess parts of it from 2006-2008. It was published in 2010. The short story was a continuation of one of the characters in my first novel – The Suicide Cowboys. It was during this period I moved from Denver to Ft Collins and about once a week, my son Josh and I would drive up into the mountains to Estes Park and spend the day. We would park in town and walk up a nature trail past pools of trout and grazing elk to the the Stanley Hotel. The old hotel was where Stephen King got the story for The Shinning. We would have a drink at the bar and talk to the employees about their own supernatural experiences while they were on duty. Later we would retreat down the trail again and eat lunch at Lonigans Saloon, and Irish pub. I would go home with a car full of ideas and stories. This book holds some of them.
Just Me and the Night
Go away loneliness I want to drink Vodka
perverse drunken logic beckons me to the party
walk straight damn it the cops are watching I think
oh my God why, such a waste of the moment,
just then I girl asks me “what am I doing?”
we walk and she takes me someplace as sparks shoot from
her ass while she lies to me, what a performance!
4 am and I am at a 7-11 buying milk as a vast array of people lie
sleeping in old brick apartments. I hear a scream,
“Don’t call the cops!” I trudge home behind a black cat and let
myself in. Lying down I feel the rhythm of the night and wait
for the sleep fairies to close the gate of my mind.
Evening Street Lights
Walking along the busy sidewalks of the life soaked day
Autumn winds catches my collar and thumps my thoughts
My eyes go up to the third floor window and no lights shine
Loneliness shakes me
Damn!
I walk all this way and she is not home- Darker now
I shuffle around and go
To a corner bar and sit down
Blonde whore
Smiles
She wants a drink
I buy her one
Now what?
Her tale of woe, God
I pay
Walk out the door
Still no light
Where is she?
Cold, I stumble
What now?
The dull yellow street lights
They mock me and tell me to go home
I go as the street lights keep watch
On the third floor window
These and many more poems and stories are in Cowboys and Witches. This and all my books at Amazon.com/John K Bucher
In the late nineteen nineties, during a construction boom, several blocks of downtown Los Angeles businesses closed their doors to make way for high rise luxury apartments, organic grocery concerns, workout spaces, and coffee shops. One of the stores scheduled for demolition was an antique shop with an eclectic array of sundries for sale. Since it was the last of a third-generation family, when faced with extinction, were happy to retire to a sunny climate with a generous nest egg. They held a “going out of business sale” event in which every item must go.
Some large items were from old circus venues and sideshows such as authentic costumes, old swords, and historical documents. Stuffed animals sat beside prized period furniture. After the sale was over the shop was bare except for a stack of dusty old boxes in the storage area. The boxes were moved to the alley near the dumpsters and forgotten. That same night a windstorm attacked the city and blew the boxes into the air and all over the streets. One such box contained old photographs, some over one hundred years old. Asa they blew across the city and were picked up and wondered at, stories came alive and fired a few new, wild dreams. Here are those stories.
BAR FULL OF BIKES
BAR FULL OF BIKES
Happened again like it did years ago…middle of the night
dreams …heavy syrupy dreams with dark corners
strange faces – unknown places
I was – I think I was …
in a bar …a mountain bar
in the mountains – woody and taxidermy specimens on the walls
dar floors and loud music
smoky and in the dead of winter
Bikes – not motorcycles – not Harleys
bicycles …dozens of them
among the people
Happy – but excited with a purpose – they bounced
vibrated and danced among the drunk patrons
all different ages, sizes and colors
the bikes ( I mean)
the drunks were about the same …
big, loud, hairy and generous …
always buying rounds
What does it mean? Hell –
if I know …but it happened again
and again and again …
maybe – it’s heaven
for some – as for me …I was there
among the dancing bikes …drinking
madness it seems – but deep down it felt good
really exquisite
So …maybe bikes go to heaven – and
they like to get together …
in bars …and drink …with humans
if so …when did this begin? Because bikes haven’t
been around forever …if so –
Maybe all this happiness they brought to humans
caused this phenomenon
Heaven?
I look forward to another deep dream –
trip wired by a night of fellowship
and drinking – and a cornucopia of events –
from the day – followed by sleep surrounded
by city honking – or beach sounds
or something else …
Poetry is like a painting. It contains word pictures.
If you look too closely you won’t get it. If you stand back and drink it
all in – listen to how the words sound – not just what they mean –
you might hear and see something new. Sometimes you find a poem
you can inhabit – for life.
Old Photographs and Wild Dreams is my latest book and it came out
one year ago this month. It contains about 100 poems, anecdotes, thoughts
and dribbles. I will post another one next week. In the meantime you can have your own copy as it is offered on Amazon. Thank you!
Burned the tongue and some memories almost too much
Fires were lit so I sent for a crutch
The mind was flushed and ready for more
New thoughts tumbled forward into the floor
and the oopps…trigger guns fire hard to the gut and the nifty music plays louder until dancing Chinese ladies with their protracted grins and orange pumkins swoop by the leave- stand up! it’s late!
Another round or three and a new bottle is found
Cheers to the flag and those can still hear its sound
and…the sounds of raindrops pouring down in the alley outside and the coming of armed troops carrying swords and singing…
another day of winter gloom and memories of sandy beaches where the blue waves did lap and seduce our hearts-up and down the worn out shocks bounce across the freeway as the trucks roar and heave-hunger pains long for another In N Out burger or a Tommy’s breakfast burrito of 2,000 calories- my heart burns for another chance- calendar on the wall solemnly says “no”- tee shirt days and Birkenstock afternoons are just around the corner and then the sun sets just right- I hear a Charley Mingus horn accompanied by a snare drum roll with brushes- when my mind finally settles then the PURPLE AND GRAY JAZZ NOTES BLAST LOUD IN MY HEAD AND ALL IS RIGHT
