Yellow Mama Archives

Doug Draime
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            Poem For A Lost Uncle

 

                  by Doug Draime

 

 

            I see you with your

            counterfeit smile and

            dead eyes, pushing death

            like a sweet potato

            with your nose.  You have

            picked a profitable lifestyle

            and the world praises your progress.

            I read about you in the

            newspapers and watch you on tv.

            You tell jokes like George Carlin

            and you dance like Tommy Tone .

            Other men and women murder

            for you and more sign up to pull the triggers

            every day.  Your whores have snapshots

            of everyone you’ve had killed.

            Your wife is hooked on Chevas Regal

            and high powered vibrators, and your darling

            young son has sex with

            fat old men smoking cigars.  Uncle Sam, I’m

            sorry to say, you have become one

            degenerate motherfucker!

 

            Dreaming Picasso

 

             by Doug Draime

 

 

            I ran down the alley

            running from the cops.

            I was so drunk I forget  

            for what.

            I ducked into the back

            room of a bar,

            in the Bronx or

            Brooklyn.

            (who knows which, I was

            drunk and dreaming).

            But Picasso was

            already in there, shit-faced

            himself, hiding from

            Dora Maar.

            I quickly held my finger up to my lips,

            because I knew

            he’d start  rattling on loudly

            about her atrocities.

            He smiled, though, and

            got quiet for a moment,

            but he couldn’t take not getting it out at all,

            and he started mumbling

            things

            I couldn’t hear in

            rapid fire Spanish,

            his luminescent black

            eyes big as mud pies

 

I Didn’t Fuck Virginia Woolf

 

Doug Draime

 

 

 

I had a dream I

slept with Virginia Woolf,

but I couldn’t keep

my erection.

She didn’t help matters

any, just laying

there reading the

London Times. So, we

decided to

go to sleep.

And in the middle

of the

night

I had a wet dream

about Henry Miller’s

second wife,

June. I was embarrassed

because I woke

Virginia, but she was

gentle and 

empathic,

asking me to describe

in vivid detail

June’s voluptuous body

and nasty 

mind.

 

 

Clara Bow’s Panties

 

Doug Draime

 

 

 

He kept them for

40 years in

an antique

oak chest,

that his dead mother

had used for fine lace 

handkerchiefs and 

embroidered napkins. Clara

Bow’s yellow silk panties

graced the bottom.

Once or twice a month

he would take them out,

holding them

over his face,

inhaling and smelling deeply.

And memories of being

a movie extra, as

a kid, would come back

like a flood:

when he was nine and looking up her dress 

between her tanned and plump thighs,

the inspiration of his

first erection.

 

 

Sex And Love And Aging

 

for Carol

 

Doug Draime

 

 

This hard-on

is not love.

It is a

hard-on!

I have been

fortunate

enough

to know love.

No doubt, blessed

enough

to make it to

my 60s,

and still have

your love

 

But after we have sex,

my cock

shrinks

rapidly

into something

barely

resembling its

one-eyed,

purple-headed,

former glorious

self

 

Though, my love,

for you . . .

o, my love 

for you,

enlarges

increases   expands

it often even 

ejaculates

in delight, yet

it is never

spent, never

exhausted

And it soars, it is 

pure spirit

 

 

Doug Draime has been a presence in the 'underground' and small press since the late 1960's. He was part of the notorious Los Angeles poetry scene of the latter 20th Century. Most recent collection, (with Misti Rainwater-Lites,) is "Next Exit: Three" (Kendra Steiner Editions) and forthcoming from Tainted Coffee Press , "Dancing On The Skids".
His poems, short stories and plays continue to appear in a wide range of publications worldwide.
He currently lives in the foothills of the Siskiyou Mountians in southern Oregon. 

 

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