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Thread: Yuke (CTG)

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    Senior Member ChrisGeorge's Avatar
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    Default Yuke (CTG)

    Yuke

    Yuke, you learned to play chords
    on your dad's ukelele strumming


    ADVERTISING




    to George Formby uke and croon,
    "I'm leaning on a lamppost

    at the corner of the street in case
    a certain little lady comes by."

    The toothy comic actor leered out
    between the first licks you played

    in your deaf gran's front parlor
    amid antimacassars and aspidistras,

    a cracked 78 on the gramophone.
    Lancs lad, you graduated from uke

    to Stratocaster, robust as a black pud—
    a plump blood sausage—sounds sweet

    as an Eccles cake, raisins and sugar,
    you would peal an archipelago of notes.

    Smoky northern clubs; morning stale beer
    in city jiggers, ciggies on our lower lips

    as under a wet sky, we lugged our gear
    home. Lads who might have been us

    blinked at us and ignored us,
    got back to their scratch footer.

    Christopher T. George
    Last edited by ChrisGeorge; 11-18-2006 at 03:46 AM.
    Christopher T. George
    Editor, Ripperologist
    Editor, Loch Raven Review
    http://christophertgeorge.blogspot.com/
    Chris on Flickr and on MySpace

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    Senior Member ChrisGeorge's Avatar
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    Default

    Another rock group poem:

    Prees Heath, Summer '68

    Our group’s van expires on the abandoned
    airbase: a transport cafe proprietor, broken-

    nosed, lemon-toothed, force-feeds me coffee.
    A sharp stink of Lysol plus Ohio Expresso.

    Garth and Pete click dominoes, don't glance up
    as I stumble out and puke in the yellow gorse.

    Empty runways, camouflage-gray hangars:
    heathland stretching in every direction,

    ghost Mosquitoes buzz the chickweed cement.
    I swab my mouth. Another riff to play.

    Christopher T. George
    Christopher T. George
    Editor, Ripperologist
    Editor, Loch Raven Review
    http://christophertgeorge.blogspot.com/
    Chris on Flickr and on MySpace

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