5 more poems

by horace p sternwall

pictures by rhoda

sad poem life is so sad sometimes you just want to cry and maybe even curl up and die and then you roll over and look up at the clear blue sky and st michael leans down and says, what's wrong little guy? so maybe things aren't really as bad as all that but i wish i had a press card in my hat and could visit the president of the united states for a nice little chat and eat hot dogs and ice cream all day and never get fat and could walk up to people on the street and just say hi and look them right in the eye did you ever wonder why it's not that easy, sweetie pie? maybe some things are just meant to be dogs bark, and birds sing in trees humans alone in the evening breeze watch the skies and scratch and wheeze and try not to be taken by surprise by fate's sly tricks and reality's lies each in his own pathetic disguise helpless as the waters rise the hammer of heaven is always raised and will surely fall one of these days no more devilish despair or prayerful praise and no one left to be amazed

bad beatnik bongo poem # 2 stalin had a cool hat churchill wanted one just like that but his regimental tie caught the marshal's glittering eye steel drums in the london night bongos in the dawn molotov folded the london times folded it with a yawn soft music through the kremlin played before the final alien raid ant men from a distant star finished off the caviar little angel midnight waited in the rain for raphael and st jerome hitchhiking from spain gabriel in the shadows watching bombers loading ike lit up a lucky with a strange foreboding

zoo i ain't never been to the zoo or the opera either - how about you? awww! when morning comes the little stars go hide in the embrace of dawn - the blushing bride bang! he shot himself in the head one wall turned black, the other red

est fleur

anyding else twinkhole in gnisping
resewerected ash keeps paper slip
shoe skirt frump clay wet firmnace
fowltering wishes temporhairy flint

“A Town Called Disdain”, Episode 19: Tip Bullock

Larry Winchester's great American epic continues apace, or at any rate, at its own pace.

Click here to go to our previous episode, or go here to return to the beginning.

But all you really need to know is that young Harvey has just gotten back from the army to his hometown of Disdain, New Mexico, and that during a somewhat riotous day and evening two men have been shot dead and Harvey has been hired by the somewhat suspect rancher Big Jake Johnstone to act as a guide for a couple of mysterious and glamorous strangers.

It's September, 1969...

(This episode rated R for lack of plot development and excessive use of stereotypical characterization.)

("I wish I had written it, but quite frankly I'm not that good." -- Harold Robbins)

On the previous day Harvey had slept until about five-thirty in the afternoon, and so he didn’t feel too bad when he got woken up by Tip Bullock turning his whole damn bed over and dumping him on the floor. That was old Tip for you. They’d grown up together, and Tip was Harvey’s only real friend in Disdain.

Tip had quit school at fifteen and gone to work for Big Jake Johnstone as a cowboy. He was thin like Harvey but he was a wiry motherfucker, and he didn’t take shit from anybody, not even Mr. Johnstone. He’d had his brushes with trouble but all in all he was just a good-natured cowboy who only wanted to ride horses all day and then drink beer and chase girls all night.

After they had knocked each other around the little bungalow for a bit, Tip sat and drank from the sixer of Piels he’d brought with him and thumbed through Harvey’s copy of I, Jan Cremer while Harvey took his shit, shower and shave. When Harvey told him his civvies had all got stolen Tip went and got him some nice worn Levis, a blue work shirt and a denim jacket, and his own spare pair of boots and a cowboy hat.

Harvey thought maybe he should check in with Mr. Johnstone, but when they went over to the house Chang the house boy said Mr. Johnstone was feeling poorly and didn’t want to be disturbed. Chang gave Harvey a set of car keys and told him Mr. Johnstone had said he could have the use of the green Corvair in the garage.

Harvey and Tip decided to drive around and drink beer and smoke pot, and they were on the road when Harvey remembered his promise to his mother.

“Shit. I told my mom I’d eat dinner at her place. You wanta come?”

“Why not?”

Tip’s dad was dead and his mother was living in New Jersey now, and he kind of liked the idea of a home-cooked meal. So they smoked a doobie and listened to the college station from Las Cruces, the first side of We’re Only in it for the Money, and then they drove on into town.



“Well, hi there, Tip, I didn’t know you was comin’.”

“Hi, Miss Doris, I didn’t know I was comin’.”

“Well, just set right here in the parlor and I’ll get you a cold beer and we’ll just set a bit before eatin’.”

Luke Asquith was sitting there, all herky jerky, watching an I’m Dickens, He’s Fenster re-run, and Little Cleb Parsons stood looking in from the kitchen, holding a big wooden spoon.

“Cleb’s helpin’ with the chocolate mash potatoes. Luke already ate, but I got plenty o’ good stuff for you boys.”


It went okay.

After supper Harvey went into his old room. It looked even smaller than he remembered. His mom had left it pretty much as he’d left it, his sports posters, all his plastic monster models and car models and the fighter airplane models hanging from wires, all his boyhood crap, except now there were also some cardboard boxes filled with Luke’s crap.

He bent down and riffled through the top layers of one of his three big boxes all filled with comic books, everything from Sgt. Rock to Sgt. Fury, from Superman to Jimmy Olsen, to Thor and the Antman and Giant Man, to Herbie and Archie and Veronica and Jughead to the Rawhide Kid and Kid Colt and back again.

All this shit had once been Harvey’s life.

He got some of his old clothes and stuffed them into his old gym bag.

Then they went outside and sat in beach chairs and drank coffee. Luke stayed inside and watched the Dean Martin Show.

Doris said she was real happy Harvey’d gotten work so soon, and that he was going to be working with Tip. She’d always liked Tip, such a happy outgoing boy if he was a little wild. Not moody at all the way Harvey could be. And damn good looking too if you didn’t mind that nose that Doc Goldwasser gave up on re-setting after the fourth time he’d got it broken.

The sun went down over the San Andres mountains and the sky got all crazy for a while and then it got dark, and cool. Harvey said he had to go, made up some crap about how he had to get to bed early to start work tomorrow.

Cleb had said hardly a word the whole time, but he had seemed content, and his eyes lit up in a greenish way when Miss Doris suggested that Harvey and Tip drive the boy and his bicycle home.

Harvey hadn’t ever been out to the Parsons place before. It was all out on the edge of the real desert near the bomb test sites, and you had to take a little winding dirt road through a clump of dead-looking patchy hills to get to it.

The place had once been a small cow ranch, but all the livestock had been dead for years now. Mr. Parsons eked out an existence doing odd jobs like repairing barbed wire fences, and he also fixed watches, specializing in repairing radium dials.

It was a plain simple old-style ranch house under the milky night sky. An enormous dead cottonwood tree stood to one side of the house, and an automobile tire hung unmoving on a rope from one of the bare branches. A barn sat dead-looking across the yard.

Harvey pulled the Corvair up in front of the house.

“Thanks, Harvey,” said Cleb, leaning forward from the back, his little hands on the top of the front seat backrest.

“Well, I’ll be seein’ ya around, pardner.” The boy looked so sad somehow that Harvey found himself adding, “Tell ya what, if your daddy says it’s okay we’ll take ya horseback ridin’ some day.”

The screen door of the house opened and old Mr. Parsons came out onto the unlit porch. Well, Mr. Parsons looked old, anyway. He was only about forty.

“Hey, Harvey,” he called, in his dry voice that seemed like it was coming from a lot farther away than it was. He leaned down so he could see who was riding shotgun. “Hey, Tip. So you back from the service, Harve.”

“Yes, sir.”

“God bless ya, ya didn’t get yourself killed.”

“No, sir.”

The screen door opened again and Attie Parsons came out. She and her father were vague in the darkness under the porch roof, with the yellow light from the doorway and the front windows behind them.

“Hi, Harvey,” she called. Just as her father had done, she angled her head down to see who was in the passenger seat, holding her hair back with one hand. “Hi, Tip.”

She’d only been a sickly little thing of fifteen or sixteen when Harvey had gone away, but she seemed beautiful now in the shadow of the porch. Somehow her green eyes picked up a couple of glints of starlight. Her skin glowed a milky white like the color of the desert and the sky.


Harvey waved weakly, and Cleb got out of the car, pulling his Schwinn out behind him.

Harvey pulled the car out and around, and drove off back onto that little dirt road.

“That little Attie’s some looker now, ain’t she,” said Tip.

He pulled a joint out of his Levi jacket and gave it a lick.

“Yeah,” said Harvey.

“Too bad about her though. They’ll all be dead from that radiation poisoning, another five years.”

Tip lit up the joint with his Zippo and sucked it in, then passed it to Harvey.

While Harvey toked Tip turned on the radio, and it was Jimi Hendrix, “1983...(A Merman I Should Turn to Be)”.

“I’d like to see this motherfucker play,” said Tip, and he took the joint back from Harvey.

“Yeah,” said Harvey. “Me too.”

“Too bad you didn’t get back a little sooner, we coulda gone to that Woodstock festival. “Hendrix was there, man.”

“Shit,” said Harvey, and he let out the smoke he’d been holding in.

Harvey had spent the famous Woodstock weekend in a succession of Frisco titty bars and massage parlors. He’d gone down to the Haight-Ashbury one night, but the hippies rubbed him the wrong way. He was dressed in civvies, but he knew he looked like an off-duty soldier. It seemed to him like the hippies were just in another kind of army with a different type of uniform, and if you weren’t in their uniform you couldn’t be in their army; but Harvey didn’t want to be in anybody’s army ever again.

They drove along, toking and listening to Hendrix work it on out.

“Motherfucker!” shouted Tip, pounding his hand in time on the dashboard and rocking in his seat.


By the time they got to town they were wrecked.

Harvey skidded the car to a stop out in front of Enid’s Cafe and they were both laughing and playing air guitar and drums because the college DJ was playing “Summertime Blues” by Blue Cheer now.

Tip paused and said, “Shit, this shit’s too intense, man.”

“Excuse us,” called this chick in the passenger seat of a 1956 Buick Riviera that had pulled up parallel to them. Some really clean-cut guy was at the wheel, and she was pretty clean-cut too with this kind of bubble blond hairdo. They had some stuff tied up on top of their car.

“Is there a nice motel in this town?” asked the chick.

Tip and Harvey looked at each other. Harvey turned off the radio.

“You got a halfway decent motel right down the road there, ma’am.”

“Thanks, fellas,” said the guy. “Burgers any good in that place?”

He meant Enid’s.

“Well, I guess they’re as good as you’re gonna get around here,” said Tip.

“Great! See ya later, fellas.”

“Thank you!” called the girl, and they drove off.

Tip and Harvey looked at each other again.

“Why did that seem weird?” asked Tip.

“I don’t know,” said Harvey. “But it was.”

(Continued here. Soon to be a major television series on the USA channel, starring Christopher Lambert, Kari Wuhrer, and Kieran Culkin. Also, coming exclusively to better Woolworths everywhere for a limited time only, a special budget-priced DVD boxed set Sidewalks of Fear: Ten Early Films of Larry Winchester, from Ha! Karate (Yokohama, Japan).

the drunkard: 2 poems

by horace p sternwall

pictures by rhoda

unrepentant comrades raise a glass with me in defiance of sobriety though some may deem it blasphemy i say that drink will set us free free from the stress of stroil and strife from squalling brat and scowling wife shall fate forever twist the knife or life be ever slave to life oh precious nectar that dissolves the endless cloud that e'er revolves around the weary wanderer's head from your embrace must we be led down duty's dark and dreary path or follow the illumined swath you cut through universal gloom to ease our unavoidable doom comrades raise a glass with me in defiance of sobriety though some may deem it blasphemy i say that drink will set us free body leaving blues when you leave your body your body don't leave you it drags you around like a comatose cow up and down the avenue well my body left me left me so sad and blue sitting on the sidewalk without a mumbling clue whistling policemen pass me by laughing schoolgirls too highbrow ladies with birds in their hats doing the old soft shoe seems the whole world has a purpose a reason to be up and about can't they see that my poor head hurts why do they have to shout? blinking in the sunlight i got the sidewalk blues world oh why did you break my heart and what scoundrel stole my shoes?

Out of My Depth

Charlie’s spooning garlicky broth into mushrooms. He closes the oven, slaps my back, lights a pipe, and hands it to me. “Borrowed a blender from Kitty. Piña coladas first and then tapas.” The kitchen opens to the outside from a half-wall. So we lean against a counter covered with food, sharing a smoke, and staring at the horizon’s colors mirrored in the bay.

“Emma,” I call up to her, “what’re you doing?” That’s how uncomfortable Charlie’s making me. Without her to deflect his presence, I’m ready to murder him.

(click here to read the first episode and here  for the previous one)

“Give me five minutes,” she calls down.

Maybe if I get high enough, the queasiness will let up. Charlie passes me the pipe. “You and Emma are made for each other.”

“Glad you think so.” I raise my voice. “Come on, Emma, we’re ready to eat.”

She calls down, “Let’s see you put eye make-up on in a rush!”

“Eye make-up?”

Charlie nods. “Tonight’s an occasion. We’re leaving in forty-eight hours.” He snorts two fat bumps off the back of his hand. “The thing is, now that you’ve found her, you wanna dump me.”

“Fuck, Charlie, no reason to go there. Why can’t you just leave it alone?”

“I’m being honest,” he says. “We’ve got a real ugly, real weird situation going on.” He’s tossing fruit and rum and crushed ice into the blender. “Before Emma, you and women were always like one, two, three. Nothing about them…what’s the word I’m looking for?…ever illuminated you.”

He adds an extra shot of dark rum to the drinks. “Emma’s different and I can see why you’re so overwrought about her. But that’s no reason to panic because I’m around. She likes me, Scott, so what’s wrong with you? I mean, you kept up this front even in Pavones.” He reads my face and holds up his palm. “I know, I know. You practically drowned, serious concussion, et cetera. But it only happened ’cause you were desperate to run away. Why else go totally ace past the black ball sign? When in Pavones everything’s frothin’ brutal for us anyway.”

“Black ball sign?”

“The kid, what’s his name, Hector said you were wrecked surfing out of bounds.”

“I never saw anything saying it was dangerous.”

“This little problem between us, Scott? The way I see it is, if you just drugged up more, you’d realize what’s happening. It’s not a conscious thing. Even that snake bite. It happened when you knew—at least you should have known—I was about a month away.”

“I’m flattered, Charlie, really. You think you and I are so goddamned tight I’m about to check out for a little distance?”

“Food for thought, anyway.” He hands me a piña colada and I swallow half of it in a gulp. He does likewise, but that’s how Charlie drinks. 

“Jesus! Emma!” Charlie staggers back like he’s shocked at how spectacular she looks.

She kisses his cheek and lifts the lone drink on the counter, her eyes darting between us, before, during, and after her first sip.

She’s wearing a dress that’s one shade lighter than her tan. Enough ocean; enough sky; Emma’s the only incredible view here. So while Charlie’s basting mushrooms, my hands slide over her till she puts her drink down.

“Hey, Scott.” She holds her voice half a notch up from a whisper. “Lighten up. We had this afternoon; we’ve got tonight. Why be rude?”

“I’m not rude, you’re entrapping me.” I pull her into me and she stumbles.

“So radical,” Charlie says, referring to who knows what. He hands me another drink. “Cheers!” and gulps down a fresh one himself.  

Emma puts her arm around me and says, “Nobody’s entrapping you, Scott. You’re totally free.”

“I am free; nobody freer.”

“We’re having fun now,” Charlie says.

“More fun than fun, aren’t we, Scott?” She nudges me toward him to kiss and make-up. 

If only I could.

(click here for the next episode)

mistress of malvern, chapter 4: written in the stars

to begin at the beginning, click here

by jennifer broughton

visuals by rhoda

"i would be only too happy to bring you some tea," daisy murmured. "that is, if you promise to do your best to undertake a commission for me." "and what might that be?" catherine answered evenly. daisy moved closer on the bed to catherine and lowered her voice. "have you ever heard of dick turpin?" "why of course. who hasn't heard of the famous - the legendary - highwayman?" catherine turned and faced daisy. "you know there are those who consider him merely - legendary." daisy laughed. "what do they know?" "be that as it may," catherine continued. "what has the real or imaginary mr turpin to do with you?" "i would like you to take a message to him." catherine glanced at the window, against which the wind-driven rain was continuing to beat. "oh, don't fear, you can wait until the rain has stopped. and until aurelie has had her way with you." "and until you have brought me some tea." "to be sure.' catherine narrowed her eyes. "do you know, everyone in this house has a decidedly familiar manner, from the mistress on down. i wonder at it , i really do." daisy lay back on the bed, and began twirling a lock of her hair. "oh, pish. there is no wickedness in this house to compare with some of the things you hear." "such as?" "well one does hear of houses where the servants are flogged every night, and where devil worship is decreed by the masters.'" catherine laughed. "yes, one hears of them indeed, but does anyone ever do anything but hear of them?" daisy seemed a little nettled by catherine's attitude. "yes, but one can't be in every house in the three kingdoms, can one? so how can you really know? how can you know?" "i believe things when i see them myself, that's all." "do you believe the world will come to an end in the year 18--?" "no, why should i believe such a thing?" "because it's written in the stars, that's why." catherine just laughed. "why," said daisy, "i thought we were going to be chums, and here you are already, calling me a booby and laughing at me." "why, can't chums call each other boobies? come, give me your message for mister turpin, or get my tea, whichever suits you." daisy continued to pout. "it's captain turpin, he likes to be called captain." "oh, he does, does he? well, mister, captain, lord or king turpin, how am i supposed to meet up with this fine fellow in any case? is he going to announce himself to me as i walk down the king's highway?" "no, of course not. if you agree to take my message you will proceed to the roaring rooster inn and ask for mistress take-your-time - she runs the place. you will give her the message and she will pass it on to the captain." "how very mysterious." "not so mysterious as all that. so you agree to do it?" "why not?" catherine yawned. "now - about that tea?" "but aren't you interested in the message?' "oh, yes - insatiably. but all in good time." daisy lowered her voice again. "it's about - aurelie." catherine stifled another yawn. "oh, so aurelie is involved with the gallant captain then?" "in her way. aurelie, as you may have surmised, does not care so very much for menfellows, but is not above using them for her own purposes." "i see. and where exactly do you come in?" "well, that's for you to guess, isn't it, miss?" daisy's eyes sparkled. "i think i have already guessed something about you." "and what might that be?" "that you are ticklish!" daisy made a lunge at catherine, but just then the door flew open behind them. "what is going on here?" aurelie demanded. "what are you doing here, daisy?" "i was just making my rounds, your highness. after all, i am -" 'i know what you are." aurelie gave daisy a smack on the ear that sent her sprawling off the bed. daisy got up off the floor without even rubbing the side of her head. "get out, daisy. and don't come back." "going to do your own laundry now, are you? besides, i promised miss catherine here i would bring her some tea. she might all her strength in dealing with you, don't you think?" daisy took a pillow off the bed and used it as a shield between herself and aurelie as she walked around the bed. aurelie took a half hearted swipe at daisy as she sidled out the door. "let me see as little of you as possible." "i am not your slave, aurelie. i shall come and go as please, thank you." daisy threw the pillow at aurelie and ran down the hall laughing. "do you know what i hate more than anything?" aurelie asked catherine as she tossed the pillow aside sat down on the bed beside her. "what?" "boring people. and that girl would bore the moss off a rock. i do hope she wasn't being too tiresome to you, pet." "i hardly had time to make her acquaintance," catherine answered carefully. "or to form a considered opinion of her qualities." "hah! insolence without spirit, and impertinence without wit. i think that sums her qualities up nicely." aurelie began fingering a lock of catherine's hair but catherine brushed her hand away. "please don't be quite so familiar." "not 'quite' so familiar?" "i have already had two people describe me to my face as your 'plaything'." "not the most polite choice of words, to be sure." "i did not much care for it!" catherine snapped. "ooh, spirited! cupid, how deep your dart doth strike!" aurelie put her hand on her heart and looked at the window. "but you will prefer my company to the wind and rain's, will you not?" "i suppose i shall." "good." aurelie stood up. "well, duty calls. it is growing darker. would you like me to light the lamp before i go?" "no, thank you." "there are matches in the drawer beneath the lamp if you want to light it." aurelie turned to go. "oh, one other thing." "yes?" "was daisy by any chance boring you with some nonsense about captain dick turpin?" "she did mention his name, yes." "and?" "and then you came along, before she could warm to her theme." "i see." aurelie sat down and gave catherine a quick kiss on the cheek, which she did not resist. "i will be back as soon as in can." captain dick turpin reined his horse in under the eaves of the back wall of the roaring rooster inn. the back door opened immediately and mistress take-your-time started out but thought better of it on seeing how hard it was raining. clugworth the kitchen slavey had been peeking out from behind the mistress' broad form and the mistress grabbed her by the neck and tossed her stumbling out into the rain, with the command to "find noggins, but no noise, mind you!" turpin dismounted and waited patiently beside the horse for the stable boy to be discovered, and to arrive to lead the horse away. when the door closed behind them and the captain had handed his dripping cloak and broad hat to clugworth, mistress take-your-time put her finger to the side of her nose and whispered, "have a care, captain. a couple of strangers in the front room with the look of the kings men about them." "have they been here since before the rain?" turpin answered in a mild voice. "this is no weather for kings men to be about in." "they arrived about an hour ago. all the same, it might be best for you to stay here in the kitchen." turpin thought for a second and shrugged. "why not, so long as the fire warms me and i get the same food and grog as i would in front." he looked out through the thick kitchen window. "although it is still day and not night. it doesn't do to be too mysterious, before night has even fallen."

“A Town Called Disdain”, Episode Eighteen: Dick and Daphne awaken to a brand-new day

With this episode we finally enter day two of A Town Called Disdain, the sprawling masterwork of the legendary filmmaker, raconteur, bon vivant and sadly underrated novelist, Larry Winchester. Except it turns out that it’s really day three.

(Go here for our previous episode, or click here to return to the beginning.)

In this weird white room again, and having sex with this girl with all these people watching, this thin slight girl, not even his type really but he couldn’t help himself, and it was good, damn good, but so embarrassing with all these people watching, and then a pretty Mexican girl in a maid’s uniform was there with a tray and a slightly tarnished old coffee service.

Dick sat up. He had a hard-on, and he pulled his legs up under the covers to disguise it.

Daphne was still sound asleep, curled up on her side.

“Hello,” said Dick. “What time is it?”

“Eight o’clock, sir. Mr. Johnstone want to know if you want to have some coffee to wake up and then come down for breakfast.”

Dick paused a moment.

“Have we -- slept for a whole day and night?”

“One night, one day, and another night.”

“Wow.” Dick took the coffee pot and poured himself a cup while she held the tray. “Did -- anyone try to wake us up?”

“No. Mr. Johnstone stay in bed all day yesterday too. He had --”

Holding the tray with the flat of her left hand she put her right hand to the side of her sleek lovely head and rocked it back and forth.

“Oh,” said Dick.

He sipped his black coffee, then turned and put his hand on Daphne’s bare shoulder.

“Daphne, wake up, sweety.”

She pushed his hand away.


Daphne refused to come down to breakfast at such an hour, and she wouldn’t believe Dick when he told her it was actually the morning after the morning after.

So the maid (whom Dick found out was named Esmeralda) brought them toast and homemade rutabaga preserves and more coffee (with some hot fresh milk for Daphne) and while Daphne went back to sleep Dick went down to the bathroom in his old kimono.

He had a very enjoyable and lengthy voiding of his bowels, and then an equally enjoyable and even longer bath, using the lavender Yardley soap they’d taken with them on their precipitous departure from the Palm Grove in Singapore, and smoking the last of his Craven A's, reaching over and tapping the ash into the toilet while he read a dozen or so pages of Slaughterhouse-Five.

Finally he got out, plugged in his Remington and had a nice shave, splashing on some Lentheric after-shave (gotten from the shop at the Palm Grove, and put on their never-paid bill), and then he brushed his teeth.

He looked at his handsome face in the mirror. Once again he had survived his own self-depredations and come out of it somehow fresh as a daisy.

As he walked back down the corridor he saw a door close, and he thought he caught a glimpse of a strange dark eye.

He managed to haul Daphne out of the bed, and she went to the bathroom in her turn, toting her own toiletries, including a bottle of Guerlain bath salts (more swag from the palm Grove).

After a half hour or so Dick put down his book and went down to the bathroom again to see if she hadn’t drowned. He woke her up and added some hot water. He lit her a cigarette in her holder, then he washed her with her big soft sponge, and he shampooed her hair.

By the time they got back to their room they were both longing for each other, and she pulled Dick down onto the big brass bed.

In a closet of an adjoining room Hope stood on a shoeshine box and peeked through a crack in the wood, holding her hand over her mouth.

Out in the corridor, having heard the old bedsprings singing and whining, Esmeralda stopped by the door and crouched down, peering through the keyhole.

Dick and Daphne dozed for a while, and then Daphne said, “I am absolutely famished.”

As luck would have it, it was now lunchtime at the Johnstone Ranch.

(Continued here.)