Moe Yonge

another character waiting in the wings to step into a story...

Without God

Without God, or some disengaged third party, we would not have the moment of stillness. The

moment that overlooks everything, outside time and space, where it could be said that 'this' is reality.

Like the life guard in his tower. Spooky action. Or transmitted entangled photons. In Einstein's universe

there does not appear to be what a lay man would think of as reality. The landscape we play our lives

in. Faced with this, artists create their own universes. Alternate realities. Distractions. Colour against

the greyness. Which lead us down a long maze. A tangled spool of wool. The puzzle. And we're back

to Descartes again. I am.

.....................download Things I Forgot To Say At My Funeral

Women model dresses

I try on ideas like WOMEN MODEL DRESSES. I see if they fit me. Am I comfortable? Do they bring out the best that I have to offer the world? Reading Einstein was like changing my whole wardrobe. But relativity affected my inner ear. Motion sickness. The nausea of everything swirling around. Change. You can’t step into the same river twice. Made my head spin. I need a still point. Oh, for the innocence of the 13^th century. The earth was the centre of the sky. Man was the centre of creation. The Church was the word of God.

…………………………………………….download Second Thoughts

THOUGHTS TOO DARK TO BE QUIET

Flowers shot out of the vase. Like Cape Kennedy.

Across the living room rug. All those young boys lives.

Splattered across Vietnam. I saw Superman

crawling out of the television set. He was weeping

for America. But America was buried under

a rock. Someplace in Arizona.

All our hope in the nation state. Has begun

to wane. We are returning to castles, princes, and the Holy

Roman empire. We don't need heroes. Or crusades.

We need clean water. And a violin plays

while the planet disappears into space.

...........................

 download

THE FLOWERCONFESSES TO THE VASE

I AM ANGRY

I AM ANGRY

i am angry all of the time.

keeps me warm at night, offers compatible company.

but i'm getting old.

you can tell because blueberries go right through your system

unblemished.

my back, knees, my fingernails are being worn down

by the strain.

the anger riots in my stomach and naps in my brain.

no matter how much i vent, i still feel the same.

......................................

download Rise of the Past

 

liar

Matinee

download 'Somewhere in the 1970s'
..........................

Matinee

Theatre floors. Sticky. Popcorn like burrs. Bull frog in the corner. Belched. Lovers in the back row. Crunching on crackers and marmalade. Red exit sign stared into the darkened room. Unblinking. Like it was keeping its own counsel. My heart was in the coke holder.

On the screen a man was pleading. For his Mexican life. Weeping. Before the dark gringo. Clint Eastwood turned to the audience. He wasn't smiling. Eyes smoking. Finger twitched. There was a gasp from the audience.

The seat beside me was gutted. A spring dangling. Out of the belly. Of Monica's nightmare. I remember her staring down at her purse. On the floor. Bleeding.

Monica had an abortion. Clint grinned. Bit off the end of a cigar. 'Everything was too complicated,' she said. 'How was I going to explain a baby to my husband?' I felt cheated. 'If you knew, what difference would it have made? Look around you. Life is despised.' A gun shot. Clint relit his cigar. The audience laughed.

Twelve feet tall. Wearing a white gown. Covered in dust. Passing sentence on everyone he met. Clint loved to feed his gun.

Exit. Outside. Sunlight was roaming the street in gangs. Everyone wore shades. Even the truth. Slipping down Yonge Street. Passed the panhandlers, the No Parking signs, the Hare Krishna from Buffalo. Stepped into a bar. A waitress served fries. And beer. A blonde on a platform. In a slinky dress that shimmered. Singing a Billie Holiday tune. Forbidden fruit. A stripper stood on another platform. Scar on her belly. A baby or an appendix. I ordered a beer.

Monica said that there were 2 other girls. At the clinic. Waiting alone with her. One was scared to death. The other chewed gum. And spit out her teeth. A doctor passing by. Dropped a bag of blood. It ran in little fingers across the floor. The doctor ordered the stripper to pick it up. I kept looking at the singer. Thinking. I could change her heart.

The waitress brought over my beer. I gave her a bill. Of some kind. And waved off the change. She made small talk. Single syllable words that sounded like silence. 'Honey,' she said. 'You look like shit.' I smiled and told her I'd been involved in some medical experiments. She nodded to the bartender. Took a seat. Said that she needed a break. Her feet were killing her. Lit up a cigarette. Blew a smoke ring. And I saw an angel. Being buried in a cloud.

Thor

download 1948: Things to Come
.........................

My father was a professional wrestler. Lord Athol Layton called him the 'terror from the North'. My father was called Thor. He carried a large wooden mallet. He used it to level opponents in the chest. He called it Odin's heart attack. One of his most famous bouts was with Sweet Dady Siki in Madison Square Garden. My dad said that Sweet Dady was also a country and western singer. Like Gene Autry. Who the hell was Gene Autry? The worst thing about wrestling was 'B.O.' Some wrestlers did not shower regularly. Afraid perhaps of losing their allure.

time

Doger Ransel

On October 19 of 2017 a long cigar like figure was seen passing through the sky. Oumuamua, it was named. No explanation for its nature was brought forth before it disappeared once again into mystery. In 1948 Doger Ransel bought a Land camera, the Model 95, in Boston at Jordan Marsh department store for $89.75. He wanted to make postcard pictures of his girl Mercury DeBlanc. They went to a park and an isolated corner where they couldn't be seen. Doger captured dear Ms. DeBlanc's smooth milky breasts. And something else. A long cigar like figure moving through the sky across the face of the sun making the yellow ball appear to be laughing. 

......................download 1948: Things To Come

the organist

touch

about the hanging

the courthouse poured out the crowd

who carried the accused

upon

their finger tips...............beneath

........................................cracked plaster sky

a violin and the moon passed

twisted shaken trees

a sailor trembling on the beach

handcuff'd peasants on their knees

crystal tears silver smiles in a cage

haunting wailing choirs

a french girl

pointed.............................. to the flag pole

the mob unravelled him

and hung him

from the

top

where he waved in the wind

'IT WASN'T ME.'

.......................................................download murder

 

My Father

My father was the kindest of men. He lived near the plant so that he could be home

early, so that he could unplug the eaves troughs, so that he could reinvent the basement

in a dream he had of paradise, so that he could hold my mother. The plant made

tires, with a ceiling just over eight feet, crowded with heat and the stench of hot

rubber. For forty years he worked there so that he could come home, pick up my head

or my sister’s, and toss it in the sky like a ball. And he would laugh. But his face was

so distant. Like he was watching me and my sister from a great distance. Like he was

living on borrowed time. Like he was trying to store up his memories, making home

movies in his head. Looking over his shoulder. Wondering when it was coming. And

then it came. And father lay half in and half out of his bed in his underwear. He lay

there cold and distant like he always had. A mystery. Love in a brief glimpse.

...........................................download Hard Brush Soft Paint

 

 

Moses

download Freddy
...........................

I didn't die. I woke up in the box. Startled and then bored. But remarkably comfortable. I started to think about my ideas and realized in a flash that I had been wrong. But where? A life's work become vapor. That didn't sit right with me. At virtually the same time there was a tremendous thunderstorm. From inside the box, it sounded like Ludwig van. I could hear the clashing of the large drums and the blaring of horns and the crescendo of duelling violins. And then a flood . That swept my coffin down a fast moving river until I became lodged in some high reeds. A beautiful young woman named Imelda saw my coffin, opened it up. And so I arose. Ah, I said to myself, I have become Moses. 

Peggy Lee

download The Saints of Jazz
...........

Peggy Lee (May 26, 1920 – January 21, 2002)

Eyes can be beautiful. So gay and young. Peggy’s step-mother had eyes. As black

as coal. As hard as iron. The back of her hand. Across Peggy's cheeks. Don’t think

your daddy is going to save you now.

Peggy sang for her meals. In small joints. With fast cooks. And red necks. And the

chorus of bacon and burning violins. Peggy joined the dreamers. Dancing into

heartache. To the City of Angels. Where children were begging to be born.

300 Dutch ice cream salesmen protested. The shortage of appetite. While their

wives organized their socks. And ironed their shirts. And while the salesmen

marched on the parliament. Shoes were left at the doorstep. Curtains closed in

haste. And Peggy sang about the neighbourhood boys. Who risked their lives.

To appease. The appetite of salesmen’s wives.

An airplane crashed into the Empire State Building. The pilot begged the mayor.

It was an accident. And 1942. No one doubted that he was telling the truth. Until

they found his plans. And sweet Peggy almost died. A fall in a New York hotel.

She was tripped. At the top of a set of stairs. By a man with no legs. He leaked

a secret. Don’t be in such a rush.

Peggy sang. Quietly. Her voice simmered. Everyone leaned. Forward. The waiters

hesitated to wait. No one dared slam a door. In the kitchen. Or in the parking lot.

In the hotel rooms. Lovers held their breath. If silence were a dance. Singing was

a substitute for love.

Nina Simone

download Saints of Jazz

Nina Simone (February 21, 1933 – April 21, 2003)

Blood in the fountains. Is black. Ropes dripping from trees. Are red. Whispers in bar rooms. Electric lights flickering. Someone is getting the chair. Jesus breaths. His last. Again. Some call it justice. Some call it the Mississippi rain.

So many men planting holes. In other men’s flesh. Too much stupidity. Too much vulgarity. Too much nothing. Nina wanted to crawl. Into the microphone. The world is mad. Like a mongrel dog. Snarling. At the end of a chain. She could smell the bitch's breath. Some call it law and order. Some call it death.

Running. From the black wolves. Of night. Driving her car through the mad narrow French avenues. I tell you. Everyone is going to die. Such a shame. Wouldn’t it be lovely, to do this all over again? After Nina died they took her ashes. Out onto the verandah. And scattered her laughter. Over the African savannah.

Does she remember

Does she remember that August afternoon. When we fucked in my room. 

And the office workers across the street watched us. On their lunch break. 

So many thoughts that mean almost nothing. 

That shuffle through an old man's mind. 

Meaning has so little to do with reality. 

I feel like sleeping. Almost all of the time.

.......................download GO

temper tantrum

Maxine Sullivan

download The Saints of Jazz
 

Maxine Sullivan (May 13, 1911 – April 7, 1987)

The customers sat in hard back chairs. Listening to the swing. Of the barbershop door. Daddy cut hair. Maxine Sullivan of Twelfth Street swept up the floor. Everyone read The Free Press. The Hindenburg exploded in flames. In the Sahara Desert it rained. Little Maxine danced around the room in her new pink dress.

January. And the Red Sox acquired 19-year-old Ted Williams. Slush in the streets. April seemed so far away. But little Maxine would sing. And all the customers. Would listen. Amongst all the noise. Tyrants in Europe. The boss at work. Maxine had spring in her voice.

One weekend. Maxine took a bus. And did not return. Loch Lomond. An odd song. For a little black girl. To build a career upon. Little Maxine was “Going Places” in the twentieth century. With Louis Armstrong. When he was king. With Ronald Reagan. Before he was president.

One afternoon. Elmer J Fudd flew. Waldo Waterman's Arrowbiles. Over Spain. Laughs. Poured down upon. The Basque. Town of Guernica. And Maxine. Stepped off the stage. In an age of selflessness. There was a child. To raise.