Hats off to Larry Beaujolais

Hats off to Larry Beaujolais

Talking with Clifford Oliver,
he says...

"Remember Lawrence?"

Yes, he had a French name
like Larry Baudelaire?
As I recall.

"More like...
Larry Beaujolais,
he worked up in the office
at the lumber yard."

We liked him
down at the warehouse
waiting for him to send down
a customer.

"He was an amusing guy...
but sad."

Lawrence had a drinking problem
plus had been injured
from a mugging
in an alley down on Lucky Street.

"You had that tape recorder, Doc
recording found sounds..."

I still have
some of those
recordings
I tell Clifford.

"One recording you were making
way back in the warehouse
tapping an iron beam
with a hammer
loud layering echo
through the warehouse
drove old Roy Harper crazy."

I might have erased that one.

"Larry was uptight
but he loved his drinks and smoke
after work
in his little rented room
near Piedmont Park,
Orme Circle...
you were delivering his green bud
about every other night."

Yes, one of nights
was the last night
I ever saw Cindy Covington.

She gave me a ride
I can still remember
staring into her
smoky blue eyes.

"Well, one afternoon
Lawrence strolled down
to the warehouse
and placed another weed order
not knowing we had been
recording improvisational banter."

Right, our podcast
on the edge of forever,

"Long story short
dope deal got recorded
and we spent a week
making Larry sweat
playing that snippet endlessly
until finally a boss man
overheard it...
shit hit the fan that day."

Lawrence comes running
around the corner
yelling...

"Don't do me no favors!"

Nobody got in any real trouble
Larry had simply
been revealed
to be one of our ilk after all.

"Then Larry was a no show
for a couple of days at work
we'd sit there all day
wondering about him.
Knocks on the door
would get no response...
so I took his front door down
and he wasn't home."

And, as it turned out
that was the last any of us ever saw
of old Larry Beaujolais.

-Will Dockery

Corso and His Ladies

Corso and His Ladies

Hanging out in Atlanta
yesterday
with my friend Clifford.

Cliff is the "Great Rememberer"
of our scene
circa 1980-1983.

These new poems
will be the permanent record
of those times
from the memory he shares.

He says
"Hey man, remember
that former boxer
my friend
we'll call him Corso
because of his resemblance
to a famous poet?"

Yes, I do, I say.

"You let him stay
at your place for a while
him and his two girlfriends
the stripper
and the skinny girl..."

Yes, I wonder where they
went off to, Cliff?

"No idea, man
haven't seen either of them
since that time...
Jeeze
That was 36 years ago, Doc."

At least...

I remember Corso well
he was only around
for a couple of weeks
but I will never forget him
or his two ladies
whatever their names are.

-Will Dockery

On Mulberry Drive

On Mulberry Drive

On Mulberry Drive
walking in the Spring rain.
Except for signs of a driveway
nothing else remains.
They took it all away
the house and the hill.
That spot we shared in '78
all the love and thrills.

Oblivion is coming
it's written in the stone.
It really starts out
on the day that you're born.
Live every second
dance what you've captured.
Shadowville Mythos...
is on the last chapter.

On Mulberry Drive
on another mystery play.
Almost fifty years ago
still seems like yesterday.
That long driveway
now goes into space.
We thought we'd live forever
not dead and disgraced.

Darkness is falling
archived in a book.
It really gets smaller
the closer you look.
Breathe deeply my darling
smoke them if you have to.
Shadowville Mythos...
is on the last chapter.

On Mulberry Drive
now the hail's coming down.
Taps on the umbrella
as I'm walking around.
I remember that fireplace
I remember her smile.
I remember Edgewood Park
where we'd laugh for a while.

In the living room
I heard a ghost moan.
As I talked with the Cavalier
on a land line telephone.
Relive every second
these memories you've captured.
Shadowville Mythos...
is on the last chapter.

-Will Dockery (3-27-23)

Little Miracles

Little Miracles

My heart's so heavy
with memory today.
I can write it down as fiction
but I don't know what to say.
The cats are on the front porch
they don't listen to me.

What I see are
the little miracles
that make up my life.
Cell phone haikus
to the ghost of my wife.
Hipster concubines
and neon that lights up the night
it just don't seem right.

Enlightened rouges break down the 4th wall
Zen dharma bums play psychic volley ball
as Miss Twila takes note of it all.

What she see is nine to five
as she walks the last mile.
Over and over like Groundhog day
gathering her fingerprint file.
Getting off on how easy it is to fake a smile
and just go out in style.

The downtown crown in a hologram fight
shadows white-out on white
they rolled up the streets and shut out the lights.

Because my heart's so heavy
with memory today.
I can write it down as fiction
but I don't know what to say.
The four horsemen of the apocalypse
in line to pay to play.

-Will Dockery
3-21-23

Frozen and Posed

Frozen and Posed

One morning Hannah came around
said she'd take me downtown
to remember
what we already used to know.

Watch the fun girls in Phenix City
where the ringers can be so pretty
and sometimes like the wind
they will go.

Doze off in the easy chair
it might take you anywhere
that great escape
where you know you need to go.

A silent scream in my head explodes
but I stay shut up because I've known
a conversation
will only get you thrown.

Freezing but no snow
watch out your pipes may blow.
Just watch the fireplace glow
she's so frozen and posed.

I awoke at Booth's Drug Store
my unrequited paramour
shook her yellow hair
and flashed a crooked smile.

I was on my morning stroll
still managed to stay in control
on another dream of another mile.

Slow motion blow
time to hit the road.
From the persona non-grata row
she's so frozen and posed.

I've been shaking
confidence flaking
too old for this game no more.
With a wink and a smile
back in exile
a delusional amore.

Freezing but no snow
watch out your pipes may blow.
Just watch the fireplace glow
you're so frozen and posed.

-Will Dockery
(3-20-23)
 

Wave

Wave

We met on some shimmering June,
then things got very dark.

We killed our love,
almost killed the moon,
but here's three hexes
for your lover anyway.

Remember
those good days,
we had a few.

Yes those days will come again,
we can tell each other about them,
some day.

Crack street,
where the water runs through,
and things get very dark.

Green Ringlets on my mind,
high tide coming in,
I threw an evil index
in a bottle
into it.

Smoky blue horizon,
wave crash sound.

Black streamers of cloud
over the moon,
I'll tell you about it one day.

-Will Dockery (1997)

To the Sea Angel

To the Sea Angel

Riptide waves,
there goes the sea angel,
right above the waves.

These mystery years,
where would I be without them?
What if I'd stayed happy?

Years lost,
these last few I've played catch up,
drifting from the shore.

Barnacles on an olive shell,
brain choral in my mind.
Instrumental tune,
made by the incoming waves.

I tossed a starfish back in,
watched it twirl away,
and thought of you.

-Will Dockery (1997)