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Gene Williamson

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The Olfactory Organ Recital
by Gene Williamson

Sunday, June 05, 2011
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Gene Williamson
•  befofe the big bang--what?
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           >> View all 258

Part I: Maestro pulls out all the stops.

 

In a haunted corner of my mind,
I see myself knee-deep
in the surf, unnoticed by the ungodly gods
as they sink a collective toe in the sand,
murmuring a militant tongue, carving
the profile of a monstrous nose.
I stare in consternation,
when their rhinolithic creation looms
to a prominence of peccant and
olympian domination

I see emerging from the sea a file
of comic strip automatons gape on cue
at specters on a yoyo string laughing
upside down at nasophantoms
scaling the craggy snout, reaching heights
of sisyphyean absurdity--and at once
the land is darkened by a nostric shadow
consuming minds innocent and asleep.
I watch a mythologic prothonotary copy it
in plutonism ink, hear a chorus of ecclesia
clamor, rescue us from apathy.

Behind my eyes a radar screen picks up
a nasonoic tic flaunting dime store wisdom
in a holy roller twang, guzzling bootleg
grandeur, refusing to rhyme a reason,
masquerading in euphemisms, writing
bucolic platitudes in pigeon toed pentameter.
I hear a cry: the mighty nose was born and
man grew on, a polyp breathing nostric oxide
through the anus of a nasogod.

The voice of Gertrude Stein replies,

c'est vrai, and again, c'est vrai, c'est vrai.

An oracle screams in whispers no one hears,
beware the humpnose Quasimodo
without a bell to ring, a wrist to stand on,
a tide to turn, a hell to pay.
 
In my cups I see dregs of history
skidding down a gargantuan alp flaming
at the nose, a proboscidian spectacle,
its snarl tattooed on the Scourge of God
who packs his trunks with stolen goods
and rapes the Son of Mars.
High in Atahualpa’s ancient hills
I see rhinofied conquistadores rescue souls
no one lost, marching to the cadence
of Inca dinca doom.

In rhythms of another time,
nobody pays attention
when a paperhanging sonofabitch,
trailed by honking geese, burns a scarlet letter
on the Chosen, and nobody pays the ransom.
Complacent scribes and commentators
dub the rhinopuffinflitzenkreigen a Chaplin
comedy, and no one sees the funny part,
and no one thinks to call it quits.

No one thinks at all.

Even Yankee Doodle ties his tongue
until Mister Moto yells surprise! Then
in a fit of eloquence, he swings a shift,
wraps his arms in lucky foil, and rues the day
that Nola dropped her Little Boy.

On the tube I see Tail Gunner Joe riding
an ism, shouting libertine obsceneties
at imaginary spooks he colored red
on a maladaptive blacklist that stretched
from sea to shining sea.

And in the gathering nasomania I see
young ideas in lettered names and black
belated dreams, lusters on a tarnished time,
vanish one by one by one.
 
To be continued…

 

 
 

 

 

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Reviewed by Regis Auffray 6/15/2011
Wow! What an intellectual exercise, Gene; and I appreciate your wit and humor as well. Thank you. Love and peace,

Regis
Reviewed by Gianetta Ellis 6/14/2011
Wow! What more can I say except I can't wait to read Recital II! I love what John Flanagan has written here . . . wonderful, stretch-the-seams writing, Gene!
Reviewed by Patrick Granfors 6/11/2011
Surely in a past life you were a plastic surgeon. He's trying to reach you now. Patrick
Reviewed by D Johnson 6/10/2011
holy schmoley, how the .#$. did i miss this...

Cheers for a great write,
dan
Reviewed by Jon Willey 6/9/2011
A proboscis of this dimension surely is a jocular conception. For W.C. Fields and Cyrano de Bergerac in combination would be challenged to provide the naso-power to pull off this marvelous manipulation of history from a more unique perspective. From the environment to the supercilious acts of civilians and maniacal historic figures the measure of Draco. You waltz them through and blend them with the malaise of apathy so prevalent of modern man's spineless persona. I believe Winston Churchill could have utilized this marvelous sociopolitical masterpiece as a motivational call to action in the WWII era of Britain. I love the wry humor delicately tinged with harsh reality my dear friend. Who said masterpieces are no longer created? To my library of safe keeping this goes as a work to be savored again and again. I bid you love and peace my dear friend. But watch the gulls, they will prevaricate. Jon Michael
Reviewed by Liana Margiva 6/8/2011
WONDERFUL!!!!!!!!!!! Liana Margiva
Reviewed by Axilea MU 6/7/2011
Completely "rhinodelic" Gene!
"the mighty nose was born and
man grew on, a polyp breathing nostric oxide
through the anus of a nasogod" wow!
Also, I love your Tail Gunner Joe
scene and the inexhaustible cascade of your imagination.

Axilea
Reviewed by Peter Schlosser (Reader) 6/6/2011
thank god for on-line dictionaries or i would have been lost!! i love what singapore john wrote, gone mad and loving every bit of it. i fully concur. looking forward to round 2...............
Reviewed by richard cederberg 6/6/2011
Quite the outpouring. An interesting gist and stew of stimulating phraseology you've conjured: rhinolithic - peccant - nasophantoms - sisyphyean ---> proboscidian <--- now here, with this word, is where I feel that perhaps Tantor the Elephant crept into your dreams.
peace ... richard
Reviewed by Chantilly Lace (Reader) 6/6/2011
Brilliant indeed.....woww .. your truly amazing.....do you know that? have I told you lately what you mean to me darlin? (EVERYTHING)... I adore and admire you so much...sighhhh...keep smiling...Hugsss
Love Always,
Chanti Lace xoxooxoxox
Reviewed by Paul Berube 6/6/2011
This is simply deep, Gene. Very, very deep. ;-)
Reviewed by John Flanagan 6/6/2011
Friend Gene, you've gone mad
in the best way possible, a romp,
a tour de force, this is off the wall,
off the planet writing and i'm saving it forever.
Brilliant!

John
Reviewed by Vivian Dawson 6/5/2011
Maestro, please
orchestrate what we need to hear
~Gene~
to have what he needs to polish up
his continuance

Lady Vivian
Reviewed by Ed Matlack 6/5/2011
You smell strongly of humor & hope the continuation smells as disgustingly funny...e
Reviewed by Christine Tsen 6/5/2011
Proboscis of hilarity, Gene!
Your creativity and imagination holds no bounds :)
Looking forward to installment number two and Blessings,
Christine



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