The Stowaway

Burt Ives In Televisions All Over The World

Burt Ives, the legendary folk singer,
recently became the first musician in space.
120,000 miles from Earth,
cramped into a bullet shaped capsule,
Burt tuned into Cape Canaveral for a report.
Televisions all over the world showed the scratchy
picture of Burt Ives looking pale and horrified.
Someone at Houston Control cut in nervously and asked,
"Hey Burt, could you play My Green Teenybopper?"
Millions of people watched him hopefully
as he struggled for his guitar under the emergency oxygen supply.



writing & drawings: allen frost in 1994 for egyptian books

Champion Dreamers Of The World

Dishes
The Second Time
Ufology
Jack Shellac’s Art Shack
Jim Champagne!
Pirate D
Past Argentina, Over Water And Hills
Everything Began Across The Sea
While The Rest Of The World
Until I Woke Up In Surprise
Into The Stratosphere And Back
The Zeppelin Affair
The Miracle Of Science
Dream Machinery
Geronimo
Next To An Ocean
Dream With Mexicans And Floating Lions
The Elevator Music
Stamp Collecting
A Dog In A Sock
Barns
Cow
I Have Imagined And Now We Are Real
The Flowershop Quartet
Burt Ives
Snappy Pete’s Ankle Complete
Guarantee
A Loving Heart
Sister City
Hubert Faucet
I Wonder Where You’ll Be
Bob Hope
Toad Ricky Returns For A Waterfall
Up And Down The Sides Of Mountains
Love Again
Sun
While Rain Fell
Down By The Factory Crumbles

Dishes

See how she lives, now that it’s Christmas
and the lights are strung across the roof.
Her house blinks with colored bulbs
and it makes all the satellite dishes
on her roof seem to jump. I walk past
at night on my way home from work,
after long hours of the assembly line.
It’s a relief to see something out of
the ordinary. I just can’t understand
her need for so many satellite dishes
unless she is the eyes and ears
of the world.




The Second Time

They decided to wait until winter to cut at
the blackberry bushes piled behind their house.
When January set in across everything, the vines
would shed their leaves and snake back to burrow,
then they could cut them and rake the ground and
turn it into a garden in Spring. It would be good to
have it gone. In August they picked ripe berries
to make their last ever jam and pies.
Early in December, snow fell, but they were going to
wait a little longer. The vines tangled in the cold.
Wearing double layers of clothes, Elmer Ford
marched up and down the hall, ringing a bell.
This was the morning they had all been waiting for.
Children came running through doors. Outside, they
fell around the frozen vines and sliced at them with
rakes and wooden swords. Elmer even tied a rope
from the bumper of his Model T and dragged roots
out of the ground. That’s how he dislodged the tube.
It was plowed out of the earth like a bomb, it sparkled
as something golden from Mars in the weak sunlight.
Elmer’s children were making drum noises on it with
their rakes and weapons when he got out of the tin
car and made them stop. He examined the steel hollow
tube and he found letters on it, underneath the dirt and
weeds. Already one of his sons had discovered a silver
door handle on the side and he turned it open. The hiss
of steam threw them all backwards, they stared as a tall
man stood up. It was him, it was Abraham Lincoln.
He put on his stovepipe hat to shade his eyes from
the glare of the twentieth century America.
To get his bearings here, in a ruin of blackberry vines
fifty years after the war, he cleared his throat and gave
the Gettysburg Address again.




Ufology

They made some mistakes in the past.
In the 1950s they used to fly over deserts
near highways or flash by in the night sky
where small towns grew. That’s how they made
their presence first known. Shooting through
the air in their silver glowing spaceships,
disappearing at the blinking speed
of light, but people took them
the wrong way.

Films were made about them
landing and taking over with
superior technology and weapons,
frightening powers unheard of.
Since then, they’ve decided to
become more careful on this world.
They seldom use their flying saucers
leaving them covered by tarps
in garages. Now they prefer
to travel by car, it’s easier that way.
In blue Pontiacs they coast along
the highways at midnight
driving beneath the stars.




Jack Shellac’s Art Shack

The cameras were rolling, filming him
as he lay the thick paint across canvas.
He had a running commentary going,
something about how beautiful camping
in the Appalachians is. The leaves,
the swaying trees and purple lakes
the haunting call of the loon.
He made a joke about not paying
the trailer park, leaving in his
Winnebago early before the ranger
woke up. While he began adding
a deer to the rippling edge of
an alpine lake, there was a crash
and a boom-mic swung wildly.
Jack’s banter ceased abruptly
his ashen face stared in horror
at the approaching sight.
A bear walking on its hind legs,
eight feet tall, panting, slobbering
and slashing its claws and teeth.
It fell over Jack like a shadow
and the scenic painting stuck
to its hairy back while
the TV crew retreated
leaving cameras fixed
on the grizzly.




Jim Champagne!

The woman on the pay phone
was asking for Jim Champagne.
I overhead her as I walked past.
Jim Champagne, that rings a bell
I thought, but I couldn’t remember
why. Apparently he wasn’t there,
I would hear her shouting,
“Well where is he?!
I have to talk to him!
This is important!”
Later, sitting on the bus
and watching the world
pass by the windows
I thought about where
I heard that name
and then it came to me.
There he was
on a choppy sea
maybe the Atlantic
trading military secrets
for fish.
Jim Champagne was
a trained spy seal.
He wore on his nose
specially designed radar
and carried plans
and real estate
inside a waterproof tube.
But Jim Champagne was
in trouble, she was calling
to warn him about it,
the Coast Guard,
they knew everything!
The oysters were bugged
in that seafood restaurant!
By now, Jim Champagne
would be swimming
against the undertow
and Gulf Stream
with all the forces of
America after him.




Pirate D

The last freight train
features the lonesome tickets
and empty pockets of Pirate D
who sold his gold treasure map
and gave up the ship one day

The sun shines no more
for the one eyed parrot
asleep at the wheel again
and the tumble weeds
push him along forever




Past Argentina, Over Water And Hills

The famous American showed up at the Little Java Circus
and the crowd cheered. They had seen him on the silver screen,
they had watched him wrestle lions and break crocodile jaws
in Hollywood. Safari dressed, he flexed in pale spotlight,
took a rose from a girl and played with a big mangy cat,
snapped a whip, holding a chair. Then when he was done,
he bowed and was gone to the circus owner’s trailer door.
He banged on the rusty steel, shaking the walls,
demanding his $10,000 performance fee.
Quick out the window, into the night
a bottle of wine still left on the table inside,
the petrified owner ran for his life.
Past Argentina, over water and hills
into dark clouds of jungle where he could
never be found.




Everything Began Across the Sea

I always think of your English eyes
it’s a long time I’ve walked up stairs
paced by the brick fireplace
chosen words so carefully
you must go to sleep to meet me.

Everything began across the sea
Hampstead Heath and Rolling Green,
the raining top and moving spirit
hills slouching on the way to London.

Silver and stone gray memory
learn from the passing of trains
checkerboard pattern of fields
glowing going back to where
it all started with your breath.




While the Rest of the World

She can tell our story
with art and words
while the rest of the world
is in the dark

Let her tell you
what she sees
open up to her view
she can reveal
she knows what’s real

While others say nothing
she has a light
and the talent to live on
down through the ages




Until I Woke In Surprise

I tried all night to listen
to the rain on the rooftop
like a Japanese painting
the quiet water sound
seemed to never slow

It wouldn’t stop
until I fell asleep

Then dreams appeared
black and white movies
I was living in another world
until I woke in surprise and knew




Into The Stratosphere
And Back

If I’m not here
then I must be somewhere
you weren’t paying attention
and maybe there’s a reason
I needed to leave

After all that time
being hypnotized
eyes like jellyfish swimming
into the stratosphere and back
they land sunnyside down
at the Goodwill store
and become old records
waiting to be heard




The Zeppelin Affair

He fell in love with a zeppelin
a big dream about a flying machine
they told him you’re making a mistake
she lives in thousands of miles
she’s pushed by the smallest wind
she’ll be here and gone
why can’t you see the obvious
tomorrow she’ll be in France

But he was excited in New Jersey
to see her again in the morning
moving so quietly as she got closer
the same thing happened in the film
I guess something went wrong
he reached out and she burst into flame




The Miracle Of Science

The first sign that he was getting cold
it was 90 degrees in the middle of July
and he outdressed the Eskimos
drinking a pot of boiling coffee
and he never felt the warmth

Ever since he returned from Venus
not even his wife knew him anymore
nightmares waved every night
the miracle of science
had to be used to
connect him to her




Dream Machinery

There’s no reason to sink
any further underneath

We had our inventions
the aeroplane
motorcar, highways
the Empire State Building

We controlled electricity
technology, industry

We saw the universe
from telescopes on mountains
everyday we were getting closer

As long as I can remember
we desperately reached out
at the furthest thing away

Just like any broken part
of that dream machinery
let it go if
it doesn’t seem to work
trade it in for something
that will




Geronimo

Grocery shopping
all the rows of food
carefully and colorfully
displayed for buying
frozen, dry, or add water
being poor doesn’t matter
there’s a price for every dollar
and a sale on the 4th of July
it’s the American way
there is so much to buy

Also take a look at housing
where you can afford to live
a little gets a place with bars
a million gets a white palace
what makes you worth it
what’s your salary
where do you work
how many know
who you are?

Just like Geronimo
I can’t take it anymore
I know at the airport
we can get away




Next To an Ocean

Fishing now
for broken hearts
where loneliness
most hurts

When dawn arrives
swept up in tide
they catch
on silver hooks




Dream With Mexicans
And Floating Lions

In big wooden cages, the lions floated ashore
and they broke out of the surf onto the sand,
angry and looking for food. Their roars carried
all the way from the sea up to the town.
We turned from the cliff, I held her hand
tightly and we ran to look for shelter.
The houses were all locked and boarded up
except for one and we hurried for that place.
Maybe we could hide down in the basement
where the lions would scratch but couldn’t
get in. We ran up the path, almost safe,
when suddenly a family of Mexicans
pushing a piano and moving furniture
blocked our way and we tried to explain
but they couldn’t understand our warnings,
our hysterical shouting and pointing
to the ocean.




The Elevator Music

Elevator Music
the sound you hear
like angels going up
off of the street
out of a broken heart

Don’t think about where you’ve been
now you’re going to a better place

There are buttons
sparkling on the wall
and the sound you hear
will help you
make your choice

Maybe pick someone on another floor
go together onwards to another door

It’s a beautiful dream
everywhere there are ways
no matter who you are
it will move you
if you want it to




Stamp Collecting

If you’ve ever thought about being a detective,
considered it a life of black and white glamour,
intrigue, your own beautiful secretary taking dictation,
gunplay in abandoned warehouses, and a sultry widow
paying you twenty grand for curing her woes…
then think again friend…
Sure there are moments of all that
(once in Tuscon, I helped a woman
get a piece of corn out of her teeth, and
I shot a racoon in broad daylight in Yuma)
but looking back on it, I wish
I had continued with my first love,
stamp collecting




A Dog In A Sock

The pasty cream walls were filled with bullet holes
the sergeant scratched his mutton chops and sighed

The only witness to the crime
was a dog in a sock




Barns

There’s nothing like finding yourself
lost in a fog and a spinning clock
with the road serenaded by cows
in a hundred clouds
in shoals of barns
all alike in the night




Cow

I live in green
I eat flowers
I stand around
watching the clouds
or watching the ground




I Have Imagined
And Now We Are Real

You’re in a little boat
my hands are about you
then I put them to water
and we row upon our dreams

I love you

Can you count the colors
when rainbows have tears
in their eyes
so happy they cry

I love you

My heart rides a cloud
we have found each other
I have imagined
and now we are real




The Flowershop Quartet

For a time, I went there for flowers every day.
Being in love was connected to all those green smells
and colors. It was juicy warm inside too, the windows
steamed tropical wet, the gray city snow backed away,
turned into slush in the Spring doorway. A bell welcomes.

The four girls who work there play jazz.
It’s the perfect sound for searching through all
the hemmed petals. Though daisies are all I could ever
afford, wrapped up with Thelonius Monk, tied with
white piano ribbon, from hands like these, daisies
become the very breathing air in romance.

They knew what I was there for, smiling back of course,
maybe I said so one flushed afternoon. Anyway, it was
the obvious courting of a songbird unconnected to
the peddling darkness sinking the rest of the country.
Someone in love must ride with angels. Laying in flowers
to flood with. When I stopped going, they knew.

It happened on the street when I was deep in only myself,
trying to forget. The four girls of the flowershop caught
up with me at last and reminded me not to collapse. They
had seen how I could be, it filled them to have me be that
way. Out of the black cases and old boxes, they took
gold instruments and right there shook jazz again.




Burt Ives
In
Televisions All Over The World

Burt Ives, the legendary folk singer, recently became
the first musician in space. 120,000 miles from Earth,
cramped into a bullet shaped capsule, Burt tuned into
Cape Canaveral for a report. Televisions all over
the world showed the scratchy picture of Burt Ives
looking pale and horrified. Someone at Houston Control
cut in nervously and asked, “Burt, could you play
My Green Teeny Bopper?” Millions of people
watched him hopefully as he struggled for
his guitar under the emergency oxygen supply.




Snappy Pete’s Ankle Complete

Problems with gravity had reached such proportions
that people couldn’t walk. Their ankles gave out in the
pain of air that was drooping trees and pushing clouds
down. People began to crawl again, others slithered
on the ground, some returned to the sea. In cities,
there were brightly lit stores all around the padded
sidewalks with overbearing salesmen dressed in
tartan suits. “Come on in and get your ankles repaired!”
their voices graveled out of American flag draped
speakers. “You have to walk everyday, trust your
ankles to professional care. Free knee inspection
included…” Snappy Pete was just like the rest of
them, ranting and raving on two minute TV
commercials. “Snappy Pete’s Ankle Complete
is more than a store. We’re a friend to your feet!”
His store flattened itself over the wreckage of
the Ravenna Bridge, down the ivy hill, easy to fall
into. Unhappy people went in slumped, then came
out later with the plodding determined steps of
Frankenstein’s invention.




Guarantee

Out of the tumbled water logs, they built themselves
a house of trees. Slung like carp, its wooden lines
fish-tailed with seaweed, dried and brine. So close
to the ocean, up from sand, hightide waves
masqueraded as a lawn. On a stormy night,
they are guaranteed starfish visitors.




A Loving Heart

Her nightgown caught in the wave of the wind
this late at night. On the balcony, sitting there,
overlooking the rest of the town blinked in lamplight
she stares, if that is the word, really she looks far
beyond. America isn’t even a thought tonight.
As usual, her entranced life has been brought to
this place once more. There are stars. She forgets
which one is Mars. Someone told her long ago,
it’s easy to find: it’s as red as a loving heart.




Sister City

Sister City walks with the land holding skyscrapers
and shopping malls cupped in her hands. Her long
legs take her in one step into the sea. The water
climbs over her, as she flows down and her dark
hair floats around her, swimming with her hands
above the waves. She carries the city across ocean
and plants it on the shore of another continent.
The buildings left like sand castles, softened by
the clouds, she goes back underwater.




Hubert Faucet

Hubert Faucet, champion dreamer of the world
walks on his own stares on a carpet unrolled
wearing a vaudeville show

In the spring, birds fly a crown
he will set up court on your lawn
hush the city
turn off every out-of-tune sound
ask that all traffic stop
cars and buildings bow
the ground is felt and
flowers taught to grow




I Wonder Where
You’ll Be

Since I can’t see you
in daylight
I search for you all night
in my sleep

…dreaming you were a talking seal
I touched your face and you said hello
soft water eyes you’ve seen me
…dreaming you raised wings
to fly a hundred miles per hour
I learn the touch of your hands
…dreaming we found places
with safe walls and windmills

When day arrives
the morning takes up the sky
I go to work to walk up stairs
for the cost of living I pinwheel

Then night falls
I go home and close my eyes
I wonder where you’ll be




Bob Hope

One night, he called the operator, forgetting it was late.
Of all the people in America, sleeping or somewhere
involved in the dawn, he wanted to talk to Bob Hope.
“I don’t know his number, I’m not sure where he is,”
he said. “He might be in Hollywood, or maybe it’s
Miami Beach.” The operator paused not so pleasantly.
She hated this part of her job, she was just waiting
for her next coffee break. “I’m sorry sir, but I’ll need
a destination. There are names in every city in
every state that are the same.” He listened and
sadly sighed. Millions of Bob Hopes, lost in crowds
of any town, cast like Halloween masks afloat.




Toad Ricky Returns
For A Waterfall

Toad’s legs turned bicycle wheels
for a long time they spun miles
first the sun then the moon sailed overhead
green eyes star guided riding towards dawn

Morning bird songs filled the sky
the dew on the hills made silver oceans
flowers schooled like fish waking up

Around the corner the road folded
and cupped a puddle in the middle
Toad’s eyes glimmered the thought
riding straight through the splash
putting water into air
and maybe hanging
a rainbow there

So he sped up his pedaling
and got low over the handlebars

A couple rabbits saw it happen
the bicycle submerged in a wave
and Toad Ricky was gone




Up And Down The Sides Of Mountains

He was reckless, he walked on roofs, on the tiles
and blue shingles, next to old river gutters filled
with rain. She watched him from her window cut
into the eaves. “Stop doing that!” she said and her
windmill voice proposed, “You should be in here
instead.” Opening the rainbow colors of her
curtains, he saw her leaned heavenly in the sun.
That was it, he was falling. He took the steep last
walk past the scarecrow of television antennas
to where she smiled, flowerboxed out over
the window ledge.




Love Again

The planets groan
love has come again
so hello I call
from miles away

This is not a game
show your fidelity
I say what I say
and I don’t lie

Colored rainbows
make heart pattern
just like a child
I want to smile




Sun

The same way
grace the day

Start like a motor
turn the sail

Put your energy
into the making




While Rain Fell

While rain fell
to say hello
again
beloved
motion
curls
in water
on your skin

Viaducts
the ancients built
to carry dew
to the needing

I am learning
weather is teaching
with summer lightning
all around you




Down By The Factory Crumbles

Down by the factory crumbles where the river
sweep washed a little higher, a little lower for
year after year, she stopped to read the rusty
tea leaves cast upon the shore. When you are
made of such as this, you think you may last
forever. Concrete will turn back into sand,
while ivy vines make veins through relics plans.
She came here everyday to play, until she grew
old enough, found love and moved away.




writing: allen frost compiled in 2003

One Eye Open

The Old Goat
Hawthorn Tree
The Diamond
Ghost-Eye
Dennis The Menace Park
Spaghetti Girl
Jerry Lewis
Gomez
Written 4 Days After
Beware Of The Invisible Blob
The Other Dennis The Menace Park
The Flying Nun

Intro:
These were all written around an accident
that occurred in March. (Actually Jerry Lewis
is a bookmark in Raymond Chandler, written
on an airplane ticket stub, July 28, 2000.)
The original idea was for this little book
to be about Super Powers, each story
featuring a different hero.
So that’s what it is.

March 27, 2002


The Old Goat

On the way to the bus each dawn I walked through
a field on a path dug in bracket and thorn. I waited
for the appearance of the mythical beast in leaves
and sure enough he would be there, torn above the old
glass gourds of wine, inside a windowfull of vines.
A long white beard and curling over horns and eyes
like blue marbles sunk so deep in the dew.




Hawthorn Tree

I was carrying an old wooden radio along the sidewalk on
a bright blue Sunday afternoon, looking at my shadow moving
over the pale lawns. There was a loud clack as a witch’s broom
hit the middle of the street. Out of the air from nowhere.
I didn’t see her though, when she fell off of it she must have
landed in a tree. Or she’s holding on desperately to the peak
of a house across from me. I thought I saw her black dress and
wool sweater as she clawed tiles, reaching over for a window,
with a foot on the gutter to steady herself.




The Diamond

After she works a ten hour day, she has to pass through an X-Ray.
All employees are scanned to make sure they’re not smuggling out
diamonds. Waiting to be set free into the warm summer night
beyond the doorway, the screen discovers she is pregnant. Surprise!
Growing bigger in her, month after month, the little baby is grabbed
by the powerful beams of electricity going into her, going into him.
Even though she gets weary, she has to keep working, that’s the way
things are, until the very last evening shift when she is finally due.
She leaves the factory holding her belly. There’s a light snow and
crows looking for food. The Spring is aching to get out of the cold
March ground. Twenty two hours of labor later, a boy is born.
She holds him, feeds him, warms and dreams him. Then she
knows him—The Diamond—he has the power to go through
walls and any eyes that gaze upon him are hypnotized.




Ghost-Eye

Now he can see again, now that his eye has mended
and the patch is gone. The view from this repaired
half of his head confused him with visions he never
knew, glimmers and wonders and floating shapes,
like nightgowns, like the light from pearls. They
would disappear when his other eye roamed over too.
By the third time or so, he knew what that eye could do:
having made a trip to the land of the dead and back,
it kept picture postcard contact with ghosts.




Dennis The Menace Park

John Steinbeck is the Monterey King of Writers
with his cannery row of stores, but we let him alone,
following the road a half mile away to El Estero.
Hank Ketcham lived here too and drew Dennis
The Menace adventures for years. He left us a park.
The flowered hedges reveal glimpses as it appears
before we stop in the air under tall eucalyptus.
We can feel it drawing us. A black train is stopped
by the gate, boys climbing all over its iron. We hurry.
It’s so dreamy we have to run.

Spaghetti Girl

Oh what could be better than
getting limp in hot water?

Jerry Lewis

Jerry Lewis can’t walk by a pool
without falling in




Gomez

What would happen if I didn’t get up? Gomez pressed a button
that mechanically curled a sheet of metal to where the staplers
caught it in the corners. He had been thinking that before he got
out of bed this morning and it was still with him. What if everyone
decided not to get out of bed? The factory would stay quiet after
the late shift left. There would be no replacements to come work
the machines. And then what would happen if the next shift didn’t
show up? He could imagine this big loom of iron arching out from
him turning into rust and wind when the roof broke in and weeds
grew through it all.
Each time the steel velocipede shell was curled over and
stapled, he grabbed it and stacked it on the pallet next to him.
He looked at the other people working around him.
Everyone was in their own thoughts. He imagined them
as radio towers and he couldn’t tune to their frequency.
Except for old C, he was talking out loud as usual.
Gomez smiled, took another sheet of metal and flopped it
on the track. He caught the curls and put them into hinges.
C was competing with the factory sound. His beard unrolled
with each loud every other word. As long as he kept up with the
work, Gomez thought, they would keep him on—he was the token
American and he did work like a maniac.
That’s what Gomez was thinking at 9:37 in the morning.




Written 4 Days After

Let’s get the gruesome story into the open once
and for all so this weary narrator doesn’t have to
relive it again. Early Sunday evening my charming
wife had a startling idea, “Why not have a new
tradition of family game night?” Sure. Our daughter
Tabitha-May picked her favorite board game (and I
paid no attention as yet to the razor-edged cards)
and we set out. I chose to be the duck. Tabitha-May
leaped to a lead with a spin of 6 and picked a card.
It was the Bear! What Joy! She flung her hands in
the air and the card ripped cleanly and quickly
across my cornea.
A half hour later we were at the Emergency Room.
After a forty minute wait in a room full of human
tragedy, I was allowed beyond. Following a
kind nurse who treated me first, appeared the
shuffling green slippers of my doctor. He drew a
Neolithic picture of my eye and gave me a prescription,
while behind the curtain next to me, a man had his
leg turned off. Though I spent the next couple of
days reeling in a Quasimodo nether-world of creaking
agony, now everything is fine. I just have a headache
and my eye has the vision of a Galapagos tortoise.
As for morals, I don’t know, there’s a lesson about
games, or luck, or animals.




Beware Of The Invisible Blob

By the 5th year of Medical School, students are finally
told the truth about the common flu. It’s a terrible
invisible blob that cruises aloft in the air. It picks
people out, descends on them and that’s that. Yet
there may be a handful of people who can actually
detect these phantoms. Ghost-Eye is one who can.
Sunday early evening, he and his daughter took their
only trip outside the house, walked down the path to
their car and drove to Crazy Mac’s video store. There
were no more than three other distant people in the big
room and he and she quickly found a couple cartoons
to rent. They were done, he bought her a 25 ¢ bauble
from the gumball machine and they left the store.
Unaffected by the wind or rain or cars and crowds,
The Invisible Blob could hover and take its time.
It had been fishing all day. The shiny eyes and laugh and
spring of the little girl must have been too much of a lure.
Ghost-Eye never really knew what had occurred until late
that night when his daughter was so ill and fevered in bed.
Then he remembered their trip and that lack of sky-colored
air above the car before he shut her in. Whatever that thing
was, buoyed in space, it had caught her with its cold, deep-sea
creature reach long enough to make her sick.


The Other Dennis The Menace Park

After a while I catch myself getting nervous.
I become the cricket watching Pinocchio and
his friends turn into donkeys. I see the rust
showing through the bright colors, angles of
metal in crashed airplane shapes, ladders
lead up to points, chutes drop out of sight.
A bridge grins twenty feet above the sand
where a boy cannonballs. What’s the matter
with me? It’s Dennis The Menace Park!
Somehow every child is protected from
the dangers the parents see.

The Flying Nun

I was a little surprised how easily
she told him her secret




cover & illustrations: rosa frost
writing: allen frost in 2002 at 1452 Franklin St Bellingham WA

Seacow

Invest In Phil Donahue
Barabosa Auto World
At The Edge Of America

Invest In Phil Donahue

Now he had everything he wanted, he was starting to
regret his great-grandson time traveling back to him and
showering him with predictions. Practicing swinging a
pine baseball bat, worried about his mortality, he took
a sip of glass water and rested on the seawall ledge,
where the lawn curve ended in the ocean. It wouldn’t
be easy, he thought, but whatever his fate would be, it
had to be done. The warm air cooled with the strange
sound of muted garbled trumpets, like a distant, weak
AM radio signal, and his back prickled with sensation.
The bat was tight in his hands as he turned to face
that direction he knew his relation would be appearing.
Soon he would be looking at a tall man in a silver suit,
a twenty foot genie vision from his family’s future.
It had started months ago…the ghostly visits…
out of nowhere, standing next to a flagpole, with
metallic head brushed by Old Glory, the giant spoke,
“Phil Donahue, it is I, Jesus Lord 12, traveling back
in time to your strange era…” At first, Phil had stared
up in wonder at the moving tin foil statue, then he realized
he could turn it to his advantage. He could ask questions
like, “Tell me what I should invest in so I can make a
fortune!” The giant always obeyed his requests and Phil
made hundreds of phonecalls to brokers and bankers
and ended up a millionaire. His riches were beyond limit.
He was the limit! Sometimes he would even be kindly
and warn people of an impending disaster. Tell the airport
not to fly, or warn a small town in Kansas to hide from
the wind. In a sense, Phil Donahue was becoming America’s
God. The TV stations voted him President of the United
States and finally Phil accepted the honor, modestly,
after three times refusing. Nationwide, there were
millions, billions of TV sets tuned to hail Phil Donahue
and his ringing words of prophecy. He had everything
because he could know everything and yet of all the
questions Phil could ask that would get him whatever
he wanted in this life, he was afraid of asking that
ultimate question…“How will I die?” He didn’t want
to know, he had to dispose of the temptation somehow…
What’s it like clubbing a twenty foot tin covered giant
in the kneecap with a baseball bat? Try picturing
arriving in New Jersey on the Hindenburg in 1937.
Phil Donahue’s ashes were piled together along
with some cat hair, slivers of coffee table, carpet fuzz
and seashell shards. The urn was shaped like an
eagle, painted with stripes and stars, colored
red white and blue. Postcards are for sale in
the lobby.




Barabosa Auto World

They were picketing
with their parents so
they would remember
with history what it
was like

Later on,
in school,
turning the pages
through American
Industrialization,
automatically
they would recall
that time
throwing
rocks at cars




At the Edge of America

They were sitting on the flat edge of the land with their legs
dangling over in the coolness of nothing, where all Manifest
Destinies ended and America with nothing left to conquer
slipped off the edge and fell away. They were on the last
standing rock and at their side an orchestra strung fishing
lines of opera out over the abyss. She wanted to show him
this waterfall, where it all ended, because she thought
he’d be interested. But she didn’t feel like him, that losing
a country was losing yourself. She could see it all as history,
America really nothing more than just time and sand that
filled an hourglass for a moment. He watched all things of
America, all of its history, all its brief television moments
pile over the edge…He could see everything from the
beginning: she pointed out the blood ship of Columbus
chasing gold, hundreds of years, people appeared and
were gone…He felt the loss of it as it went underneath.
Then he saw himself, not as himself but as bright
memories. Everything he had known: a purple thunderstorm
with the lightning of summer night, the buzz of airships in
the stars, a game of chase in the tall grass, summers
with oceans, white cold winters, everything spinning away
past him. Seeing the disappearance of all the shadows of
America, himself a part of the fall, that was it and he had
seen enough. He didn’t want to see anymore of America’s
falling, and so she took his hand, led him back to the roped
balloon. He was silent as she untied the lines and they
went the opposite way, as America crashed off the edge
behind him.




writing: allen frost in 1991

Populist Poem #7

Trelawny Cable Car

the end of may
when they fly

The End Of May
Colony
We Lost
Lamentations #4
Thank You, Goodbye
Ghost
Another Traveler
Dogs
Mulberry Tree
Radio Tide
Really And Truly
Seashore
Changing Charlie
Crows
Ukrop’s Artificial Orange
Real Yellow
Hill Wool
The Food Taster
The Slow Motion Hero
Where
Birds Expect

The End Of May

What night
calls on us
I hear a car
and music
far away
broadcasting
to the stars
and the next
destination




Colony

Shed some light
things are shaky
breaking like pottery

Look for news
read the map
who knows where
America lies

Catching feathers
whatever works
tuning car radios
satellite dishes
spilled tea leaves
I see it play
the same old movie
coming back

Once upon a time
is here again
reminding me
we’re a colony
where Rome
used to be




We Lost

This is
another sign
of what
we all know

Put here now
we are watching
how we lost
something deep

Those stars
and dreams
come true
are gone

We’re left with
what’s going on
rust
and no end
to this




Lamentations #4

The sun has lost its crown
the sea is dark below

Whoever thought
such things could happen

Beggars cross the street
to be opposite me

Lamentations #4
cover the land

I can’t help it
whatever happens next
is a mystery




Thank You, Goodbye

Miserable
8-legged me
by the bathtub
in that corner
next to the plunger
and the sopping wet
curtains with mold

I have no excuse
to be here, I’m only
waiting for you
to sweep me away




Ghost

All of this
white disquietude
creeping and repeating
the same thing

If only I could sleep
I could dream
to another world




Another Traveler

I’d love to see
another traveler
come riding in the lean
whether in a tin sided car
or a tilting paddle wheel

Someone find me
mashed in green
thrashed and left to die

I’m waiting
forever
for a traveler
in the bending
leaves of Spring




Dogs

A whistle
or a holler
hear the tags
on the collar
the dogs follow
or lead the way
under the blue sky
in the yellow hay




Mulberry Tree

Canoes
parked
in shade
asleep

The tree shakes
while the flock
eats mulberries
in the leaves
above Lake Erie

Sometimes
a berry falls
and rings
on tin




Radio Tide

The Fibber McGee and Molly show still plays in Maine
the radio airwaves have been trapped in a cove,
with the green water and loose thick weeded tide.
Jack Benny, Phil Harris, then when night arrives
Suspense, The Shadow, Boston Blackie and
Lights Out.




Really And Truly

She was beside the road that morning
and told the garbage man, “Thank you.”
He couldn’t believe it, she said to me,
“really and truly. I wish I had a camera
to catch his face.”




Seashore

All the stones waiting
for the tide to move them again.
They spell whatever shifting pattern
the waves want them to say.




Changing Charlie

I heard some coyotes last night
but that seems impossible
here in the middle of town
maybe it was Changing Charlie
shaking out his pockets in the wind




Crows

Who is going around knocking the wind out of birds?
This is the second time I’ve found a crow on the ground,
wings folded around, packaged for death and left.




Ukrop’s Artificial Orange

You hope your worst thoughts don’t come true.
I’ve been haunted by them lately and today while
I was standing in the line at Rush-In Food, I could
picture it all happening like a nightmare movie in
the back of my mind. I left the boys playing on
the sidewalk in front of the house. As I went down
the hill towards the store, I kept my eye on them,
I looked back a couple times. Small as toys,
they ran around getting smaller all the time.
When I turned the mashed fender of a parked car
on the corner I lost track of them. The tar on the lot
was melting, big scabs of it had turned into thick
black ooze. I didn’t want to lose my shoe in it,
I wanted to hurry over it, the day was so hot.
Beside the doorway was a big cooler of lemonade
and I grabbed three of them. They were a quarter each
and I had a dollar with me. I forgot how long it takes
at the checkout though, I was stuck in tar after all,
I had to stare at the display of gloomy tabloids and all I
could think of was the kids. I could see a car stopping
and someone calling them over. The black conveyer
belt moved and stopped. Just in front of me, an old
couple were unloading boxes of Ukrop’s Artificial
Orange from their basket. They were slow, everything
was slow, it had to be. I opened one lemonade
and gulped while I waited. I thought of leaving
the empty thing and running for the door.
The old man turned in degrees, creaking worn
notched gears to face me, “Would you like to go
ahead of us?” He was so pleasant, I couldn’t take
his place. I said, “No thank you, no,” even though
I didn’t know what was going on up the street.
I could already see the aftermath, I could see the
neighbor boy staring at me when I asked, I could
see that confused mouth. He only had a few teeth,
most of them had been gone for months. I nearly
screamed at him, “Where’s my son!” We moved.
The old man paid with dollars taken out of a
billfold. After I paid, the cashier threw away
the empty bottle and I went out he door fast
past the potted red flowers and signs and tore
across that blacktop. Elbowed on by the heat
of the red hot sun, I ran across the street and
turned the corner to scream up the hill.
Cars parked on either side of calm houses
with a round white cloud at the top. Across
the lawn I hadn’t yet mown, tall dandelions
waved back and forth. They were in them,
playing games, everything was fine in the wind,
everything was okay. I had been out in the sun
for too long.




Real Yellow

When the moon came out of its bowl of white clouds,
shining bright through the window of the tenement,
Bertram Fenn woke up with a start. “I’ve got it!”
Beside him, his wife groaned curving back to sleep.
For days he had been trying to figure something out.
Trust the night, the mystery out of dreams, to find him
an answer. He wanted to tell his wife, but she was
already asleep. He wasn’t even tired now. He slipped
out of the thin summertime layer of blankets and
searched the gloom for his clothes. “I figured it out,”
he mumbled while he dressed. “Hah!” he beamed,
pushing arms into sleeves, stepping his legs in next.
Bertram stood there in the pale blue of the room
wearing his gorilla suit. It was his second skin.
He wore it every evening on the stage. Putting it
on now, he didn’t even think twice, it was natural
to him. So he went padding out into the dim hall,
down the stairs, outside. He did laugh when
he realized, looking out of the round holes
cut in his mask, seeing cobblestones and
the gas-lit lamps. At this hour who would see
him, he was only crossing the street to his
partner’s apartment. He loped over to a tall
limestone building, but his gloved hand
couldn’t open the door. Of course, he realized,
it’s locked for the night. Undeterred, Bertram
slouched to the alley and the fire escape leading
up. Laundry, blank sheets and all sorts of
ghostly clothes pinned to the ropes, webbed
between the walls overhead. Stars were
everywhere else. He had to stand there for
a moment to watch. A pleasing breeze blew
down his angry snarl. He saw the flash of
a shooting star hitting the atmosphere and
skidding into sparks. Then he started to climb,
first the step ladder, then the metal stairs.
His heavy leaded feet took him echoing and
shaking to the slant next to his partner’s window.
By accident, he knocked a potted plant off the sill
as he reached a hairy arm into the room. “What!”
a silhouette shot up in bed. The shadow of a gorilla
spread across the moon colored wall. “For God’s
sake Bertram,” his partner croaked, “What are you
doing climbing around the city at night? Look, it’s
three o’clock!” The gorilla sat on the edge of the
bed, “I know, I know, listen. I made an amazing
discovery. It’s about Houdini.” His partner moaned,
“Houdini…” and glared at the ape. “Listen, I’ve
been watching him for a week and I got it figured.”
“What? There’s nothing to figure out.” The ape
growled, “I know how he’s getting out of that safe.”
“Bertram you fool, anybody knows that he—”
“No. This took me all week to discover his secret.
Allow me to illuminate.” With his giant hand, he
pointed towards the ceiling, “I thought it had
something to do with all the padlocks they put
on the door, but that isn’t it. It’s so much simpler.
The safe has a sliding panel! He just steps out!”
Bertram clapped hair covered hands in triumph.
His partner shook his head, “Wrong,” and lay down
again, “Now get out of here, go back home, sleep.”
“I know how the act works, it’s not real magic.”
His partner pulled his pillow over his face and
that was it. Bertram couldn’t stand the silence
of the room anymore. An apish long sigh and
he was clambering out the window again, the
slow descent, on the fire escape to the bricks.
He was a little upset with himself, all this way
before dawn. Maybe Houdini was nothing but
another dream, something everyone wanted to
believe, but it couldn’t exist. Letting out a yell
made him feel better. What did it matter? Sure,
he became the animal he played, howled again
as he held to the bars and swung among the
sails of laundry and outer space.




Hill Wool

The hills have wool, the low sky
laying down clouds over forest
as the cold weather blanket
pulls from the sea




The Food Taster

In the workings of the castle walls
who knows what it’s like outside where
the blue fires smolder. Piled golden bowls
are gathered waiting to be tasted. Trying
the soup of the day, he fell ill with poison
hidden for the king. He left this life,
his body was wrapped in white tablecloth
and dropped from memory into the moat
below.




The Slow Motion Hero

He wasn’t alone going slow. There were snails,
shadows of clouds, the tree growing in a vacant lot,
and others too who seemed to move in a dream.
That was fine, but he was also more than that,
if he felt the need, he could also fly.
One day a frightened woman ran up to him,
“Please! You have to get help!”
His right foot left the ground, then his left.
It took him two minutes to float ten feet off
the ground. Though he threw himself into motion,
he was heavy. In the fur of hot air trapped over
the cul-de-sac, dragonflies and bats whirred past.
He droned with the paths of bumble bees,
traffic of pollen, bright shafts of sunlight
rushing through the chestnut leaves.
Clearing a fence over someone’s back yard,
a dog leaped at him until tiring of that. Gradually,
he pushed his way into the crown of an apple tree
overhang. His shirt got caught on a branch.
A button scratched off. It would take a couple
more minutes to free himself before he could
continue. Above the lawns, sidewalks and cars,
over the state of hurrying America, he was
the only one who could move at this incredible
speed.




Where

push the poetry
melody goes
where it goes

the air
is where
it’s waiting

as always
where are you
to hear me
say

you leave me
hovering




Birds Expect

Birds expect
to be chased
by children

they wait
on sidewalks
on window sills

what surprise
they feign
when they fly




writing: allen frost in summertime 2003