Luciole
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Scott Wannberg      Contributor -- Oregon

 


                                                      Scott Wannberg, all rights reserved
           





Scott Wannberg, Kid Mingo, is the real deal. He is the headwater from which
everything spectacular flows. The grandest poet you could ever hope to know.  

His books includes Mr. Mumps; The Electric Yes Indeed; Juice, the Musical;
and in collaboration with a few other knuckleheads;
Harvey Keitel, Harvey
Keitel, Harvey Keitel;
and Rockets Redglare.
 

In 2010 Rose of Sharon Press will bring out his long awaited, not-yet-titled,
full-sized opus. You will need to be sure to buy two copies, one for yourself,
and one for your mother.
 

Wannberg used to be an excellent dancer, and is still a terrific swimmer.     

 

 


 

 

 

 

Regret city doesn’t live here anymore


the polar ice caps bid you good night
turn your cheek's other
regret city doesn't live here anymore
abide papayas
reign those manic horses
soon the door prize
will be admitted
just keep going down that long ever loving list
count your blessings' change
sometimes the cashiers are far far away
must be the hair
trigger
something's brewing in the kitchen with dinah
the alarms are unsound
the posse's thighs chafe
burrow in deep for the winter surely will ask you to dance
hard to tell the antidote from the war
make it a tall one
i don't need to be anybody in particular for a spell
there used to be a game plan
hanging on the towel rack
so much mendacity in my eyes
row row my leaking boat
someone stole davy jones' locker
guess he'll have to relocate to some other street
to find his clothes
call the wind anything you need
just don't call it a blowhard
sodom and gomorrah
just inked a major deal
to star in a series of big budgeted
epics
soon we'll reach port
all your restless natives
will find peace
grab your surfboard
heartbreaks up


scott
florence,oregon
12/10/09













the kindness of buffalos



the world ended this morning.
nobody was there to see it.
they had all gone to the party of the decade.
the one you and i weren't asked to come to.
sometimes the buffalo
aren't wintering where they told
their press agents
they could be found,
given an emergency.

they just brought home
the oldest exile ever recorded.
he tried to sing the song that gave him his birth
but the lyrics had been dubbed
badly and hurt all ears
within hearing range.

men and women
tell each other how unique and different from one another
they truly are
but when the lights explode
and the dark moves in
everyone's breath
sounds similar.

the rain's been caressing the tin roof
of my soul
for about five months.
i remember
the younger skies
how they swore we'll never age.
i don't know how much drinking water is
left in my canteen,
but i know damn well
you come from the capitol of dehydration.
sit a bit
don't gnaw at your scars
i'll show you the latest top ten google searches
you might actually laugh
with bewilderment.

everyone's been nervously mingling
at the depot
awaiting the train out,
however
the latest fashions all confess
in
is best,
and no cab goes to that end
of that moment.

the world tore its final exam into little shreds of paper,
angrily walked out of the classroom,
where it got an acting job
in an obscure remake
of a story
that once
meant something
but now
when i go down the theater aisle
i can't tell friend from foe
can't discern down from up
maybe it always was the same thing
the rooms all have different numbers on their doors
but the decor repeats itself
a cd stuck beyond redeeming
come over here, please
i need your ability to witness
i need someone to duet alongside me
sure, the temples all crashed
from assuming too lofty a pose
but that just means
don't you know
we can see more sky
judgment days come, go
some sound more important than others
i can't judge them, really
i left my critical ability outside
with the bone marrow
and the ongoing argument,
come here, if you feel it
there's a warm spot in this freeze
it actually wants to get large
come and tell me your tallest tale
i will gladly become a member of your chorus
i can't hold a tune
but we've danced way beyond that
it's down to two howling coyotes
discovering one another
escaping the encroaching
giant fist
with a smirk
hovering
in the
air.


scott
florence , oregon
11/23/09

 









Previously published here:




rose's body...for karen bowles and her mother rosetta


rose's body needs clarification city to be audible
rose's body is where we live
the long long doctor drumming
sometimes it falls to the floor
pick up your species
sing a river all the way to its core
all health insurance companies
turn into jazz trios
wandering highways
that will still allow you
to come in
i ate a big mean looking burger
rose she sings
rose she knows
all those aliases
in the moon
rose she dances
there's your light



scott
florence,oregon
april 14 2009







Scott has immortalized Luciole Press and Editor Karen
along with brother Bob in a true to life poem:





where'd my travis tritt video link go????  

 


seemingly yours truly can muddle through multitasking while
held prisoner by facebook
am in the process on sunday evening of responding
to link thread comments when the phone announces itself
my brother bob in nevada
i put a video link on my profile page
somebody complained and they took it down
hmmmmmm, said i
what kind of a controversial video did you post?
travis tritt singing a good song about the world
the world needs some good songs, i said
what was the complaint?
i don't know,he says,i can't find out
well maybe i'll post it on my profile and see what goes
i mean if it's on utube anybody can access it on their own
it's not one of those country western right winger type odes is it?
the love it or leave it school of lyric writing
no...and i don't even like country music
it's just a good song and there's a lot of different videos of it on utube
suddenly my facebook chat box pops open
it's karen b. from the lovely luciole press
wanting to see what condition i supposedly am in
hold on,bob,i got a tiny box in front of my face
and email the link to this tritt thing so i can explore
i tell karen with one finger
am busy on phone with brother
brother bob? karen chats back
you want me to come back later?
no i enter on keyboard i can do you both
hold on bob i got utube coming
and karen's talking at me in the chat box
i'm juggling you both
SPARKY GET YOUR ASS IN HERE AND HELP ME
(sparky must be sleeping dreaming of milk bones)
the tritt vid seems innocent enough
no erotic morrison moves whatsoever
i go to post it on my profile
bob is fretting about his taken down vid i tell karen
the vid does not show on my profile
something with the word embedded arises
lemme see if i can get it onto my space
i hardly ever drop in there anymore cause facebook's too encompassing at times
i go to log in with my space and at first my password is rejected
damn i chortle just hold on bob trying to climb onto my space
karen how's the magazine coming you should get some rest
karen says don't freak out bob
i'm not freaked, just wondering
i'm going back and forth
phone call to chat box
i should be reading more of jonathan strange and mr.norrell by susannah clarke
which is loving me with every turn of the page
the link info shows on my space but not the actual vid
the problem is utube not facebook i tell bob
otherwise it'd play on my space
copyright thing karen suggests i've had links removed
call utube tomorrow i tell bob
i dunno why they won't let you post that particular video
seems he can post other tritt vids
and no money is being made from anybody
you can see the damn thing direct on utube
i posted some olneys today i tell bob
it's his birthday monday
lemme see if they're still on my profile
i recall trying to share some videos from utube and
the only things that showed up were the link info
some things you just gotta go direct to utube
all these roads go to utube
chill out bob,play with your grandson
karen,get some rest,looking forward to the mag
i hang up the phone
i close down the chat box
SPARKY WHERE ARE YOU?
shut up,i'm trying to sleep,he snarls
i close down the computer
i stumble into the next room
i never did do any more reading that evening

scott
florence,oregon
march 23, 2009

 

 

 




















all copyrights belong to Scott Wannberg





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