Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry
Poetry of the People
Johnny Depp. Today, June 9, is his birthday. He is 49! I am writing this post to see how many hits I can get by putting his name in it. Johnny Depp. Just tagging that. . . . Well, not really. Here’s Johnny Depp and poetry in America:
Johnny read Jim Morrison’s poetry in the documentary about the Doors When You’re Strange. I haven’t seen it, but it came out in 2012. Have any of you seen it? Continue reading “Johnny Depp, Poetry Man”
The trucks are either white or red.
Alliance, the white ones say.
Cowboy, the red ones.
An occasional blue one appears,
All driven by men except one,
whose driver calls in her mission
and adds, Have a nice day.
Pugged aggregate base. Rip rap.
Screenings. Bedding. Crusher run.
The language of rock.
Make a bridge, build a road,
Lay a foundation. It all starts
from a hole in the ground.
–Shaun Perkins
One of the reasons poetry hooked me at an early age was because I admired its efficiency with words. People talk too much. They write too much, text too much, listen to too many other people talking, watch too much TV with people talking. Talk. Talk. Talk. Words get cheap. Poetry tries to help them keep their value.
My recent European tour reminded me of this. I found, however, that hearing people talk too much in a foreign language was not nearly as irritating as hearing it in English. I could imagine that what was being said was of more import and occasioned by the sublime. I could imagine that, at least. Fact was, the same kind of chatter was probably going on. Continue reading “People Talk Too Much”
I am taking my son on a college graduation trip to Europe. During that time, I will be leaving “Cheery Chirper” cards (see photo) with a line of poetry and the Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry web address. If you happen to pick up one of the cards (or just want to comment!), please comment below–something about where you found the card or your own line of poetry or . . . whatever.
–Shaun Perkins
UPDATE: The European extravaganza tour is over! Thanks to those of you who found a card and told me about it here. If you have a card and haven’t commented, please do so! You can be anonymous!
–after Ann McCoy’s Pyramid for Martin Hurson
Owl with wings spread
Enveloping the night as only
A nocturnal creature can
Slipping into the passage
She creates out of darkness
The moon not a place
Of silver but airy blight, Continue reading “Out of Darkness”
She has been alone for twelve years,
Remembers only the birthdays of dead people.
She shared one with Birdie, her brother’s wife,
who spoke in questions and smiles,
and said of the only daring skirt she ever made,
“Interesting pattern choice for you, Montie,”
while blowing cigarette smoke past her ear. Continue reading “Birthday Skirt”
Rural Oklahoma Museum of Poetry 