Pete Duel’s Poetry
How I miss the crisp, golden smell of fall!
Pheasants half clucking, half honking their silly call
in back of the house.
The haze of leaf fires hanging in the air
a comforting fuzzy for annual thumb suckers.
Occasional boom of shotguns
fired, not in hatred;
a wide-eyed child anticipation of
bringing home a trophy for the little woman.
The little woman creating a masterpiece
out of cold, dead fowl,
stale bread, bitter cranberries,
and dirt-encrusted sweet potatoes.
The sharp crunch of thick,
green grass underfoot,
starched and glazed the night before.
By now the moles and woodchucks have retired,
leaving the birds to forage alone.
We would build a fire and smile,
once more in wonder of the coming freeze.
Glen Canyon Eulogy
Now I weep with unknown brothers for our land I never knew.
Land once taken, gone forever.
Raped and stolen from our view.
Time and distance,
That decided I not see
Land now taken, gone forever,
By the white skin.
Weep now white skin.
By the white skin,
You and me.
We got filthy air, and air is all.
We got rotten rivers, and water is air.
We got strangled streets and beer can highways,
Crowded rooms and fume-filled flyways.
We got crap on our minds.
We got commercial this and billboard that,
Neon thin and neon fat.
Yeah, we got beauty but it’s all in books,
Or on some screen where no one looks
Because it’s too far out of town.
Now what are we gonna do?
The sky is blue but you have to look
Straight up to see it.
And air is all,
All we got.
The Work Resembled a Smash of Cottage Cheese
and Rotten Fruit: Food for Thought.
“Madam, your son has just been shot between the eyes.
Please tell us in your own words why he died.”
And madam must produce an answer,
Or her son has disappeared
Like so much peanut butter and jelly
On a Saturday afternoon
Eleven years before.
“Get off my back, Corporal, he’s dead.
What do you mean, ‘why’?”
And Corporal must produce an answer,
Or his buddy has disappeared
Like so much PX beer
Eleven months before.
“I’ll be straight with you soldier.
You’ve lost that leg,
But with luck your right arm will be as good as new.”
And because soldier couldn’t find the answer
Polished for him 11,000 miles away,
He took a .45
And decorated the wall with his brains.
An infinitesimal piece of starbreak,
That drifts into consciousness,
Entering in a pastel way
All poetry is copyrighted to Duel Productions, Inc.