The Thing From Bloggy Swamp
- Boston, Massachusetts, US of A
- September 28
- . . . is the author of over fifty books--some with paper!--available on amazon.com and elsewhere.
MY RECENT POSTS
- A Night Ride With the
Conservative Poetry Enforcers
August 20, 2014 08:37PM
- Freedonian Nights Ring With
Songs of Bitchiness
August 20, 2014 08:14AM
- High School Debate to Argue
Yoko Ono v. Linda Eastman
August 19, 2014 09:13PM
- The First Apartment: A Rite of
August 19, 2014 01:40PM
- The Gertrude Stein Look-Alike
August 19, 2014 08:06AM
MY RECENT COMMENTS
- “Freedonian oil kingpin
bought up all lambada VHS
- “I knew it was iconesis
as soon as I saw the
- “The deck is stacked but
a good debater can turn it
August 20, 2014 05:18AM
- “You haven't paid your
share of the phone
August 19, 2014 08:57PM
- “How did you fit all
three of them on your
August 19, 2014 08:52PM
Con Chapman's Links
- MY LINKS
I saw Bill Basie in a moribund airfield
near Worcester, Mass. He was 70
then. I’d seen him in his younger
days on film, a frenetic pianist,
all the energy of youth, your eyes
could hardly keep up with his hands.
A half century on the road had slowed him
down, you thought at first, but af… Read full post »
What a night! Sometimes when I think I’ve seen it all, I’m shocked at the depths that diners at classy restaurants like mine, Chez (which for some reason is pronounced “shay”) Ignacio, will stoop to.
Tonight, it was the old “the-rest-of-our-party-isn&r… Read full post »
Is Rumer, the Anglo-Pakistani chanteuse with a retro-pop heart, the new Karen Carpenter?… Read full post »
Dexter Gordon was one of the coolest cats ever to blow a tenor sax, which may explain why he was given multiple lives in jazz rather than just one.
He was born in 1923 when jazz was still young, and by the age of seventeen was playing with Lionel… Read full post »
WESTLAND, Mass. Emil Scalzo is supposed to be somewhere else right now, and his frustration shows in the exasperated look on his face. “I don’t know why it is,” he says almost bitterly to this reporter. “Every year I tell people to get it together, and every… Read full post »
FRAMINGHAM, Mass. Bobby Florin will be released from St. Zepherin’s Hospital here tomorrow, but for a long time it was unclear whether he’d reach his seventh birthday. “He was born a month premature,” says his father, Nestor Florin. “We had just about given up on him,… Read full post »
The envelope was slim, as they all seem to be these days, and so I opened it up expecting the usual brush-off: “Dear Poet/Playwright/Writer: Thank you very much for submitting your work to the Alice Wambsley 2014 Villanelle Competition. We received over 2,348,092 entries for the fir… Read full post »
ITTA BENNA, Mississippi. Here in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, you can’t throw a frisbee without hitting a legend of the blues such as A.C. “Red Dog” Johnson, who’s played bottleneck-style on the solid-body guitar he calls “Maybelle” for… Read full post »
. . . that singular anomaly,
the lady novelist—
I don’t think she’d be missed
— I’m sure she’d not be missed.
Koko, The Mikado
She thinks, and then she considers her thought;
she absorbs herself, really, more than she ought.
As soon as she’s oozed, she sucks it… Read full post »
There was, on the street where we lived, an unfinished
incomplete in ways you didn’t notice at first;
no stairs up the porch to the front door,
no walkway to the porch. The type of details
that were left undone let a person know that
tradesmen, visitors and strangers were not welcome.… Read full post »
There was a snake on the stoop this morning,
my wife said, I nearly died. That had never
happened before, and we surmised it was
the robin’s nest in the holly bush out front.
We’d watched the mother build her nest,
then left her alone once she laid her eggs;
we knew she’d leave t… Read full post »
It is Saturday night in the suburbs west of Boston–no better place to view man’s inhumanity to woman. As my partner Pancho Sanza and I drift wearily from one upscale restaurant to another, we see on the looks of the husbands indifference bordering on cruelty as an endless parade of wives… Read full post »
It was orientation week, at my highbrow college
where chalky pedagogues would stuff us with knowledge–
but first, a time to get to know each other;
we’d take a bus trip, all of us together!
and ask questions about majors, sisters and brothers
then walk the dunes in the early fall weather.
“. . . if then their uncircumcised heart is humbled . . .”
For long years, there was no way in
to that four-chambered house
through which, we are told
(but don’t know) all emotions go.
It took something more than looks–
your wit, or carriage, or the things
y… Read full post »
The first week of summer is almost here and you can see people opening up to the season, like flowers. And then there’s my partner, the Old Curmudgeon, who makes do with his usual all-weather grumpy demeanor.
“Hey there, Bink,” I call to him as he approaches the elevator ban… Read full post »
Jack Garner gazed out over the farm that had been in his family for three generations and gave out a sigh of exasperation. He looked down the rows of curly leaf parsley, often used as a garnish, and thought back to the lessons he had learned bouncing on his father’s lap… Read full post »
CLERK: You here for your notary?
ME: That’s right.
CLERK: Raise your right hand and repeat the three parts of the pledge on the plastic cahd there on the counter.
ME: I have a few words to say first, if I may.
CLERK: I don’t know, it’s lunchtime, we get a… Read full post »
Lately, a lot of people want to know my name. The “barista” at Starbucks. The guy behind the counter at Peet’s Coffee. “Can I have a name for that order?” he asks. I look around the place at 6:30 in the morning. I’m the only one there, but I give in… Read full post »
The Boston Globe
“There–Kitzi is all provided for!”
Once a year when I take stock of my family’s financial… Read full post »
According to the US Census Bureau, most men who use online dating services are pathetic losers who exaggerate their personal net worth and physical attractiveness and couldn’t strike up a conversation with a woman in a social setting if they fell on top of one.
“This guy is such a… Read full post »
It’s 5 p.m., and I’m trying to decide whether to run for the 5:15 train or hang in until the 5:30 and squeeze in another three-tenths of a billable hour. I’m leaning towards the 220-yard dash to the station when my phone rings.
“Hullo,” I say and it would take… Read full post »
VERSAILLES, Mo. Lemoyne Green’s family has been in the grocery business in this town in south central Missouri, pronounced “ver-SALES,” going back four generations. “I guess you could say food is in our blood,” Lemoyne says with a barely-detectible trace of irony. &ldquo… Read full post »
When he is announced he is heard (but unseen)
not from the stage but the back of the room;
he enters from the entrance, unaccompanied
for the first number, his notes tilting like
a gyroscope, whirring and yet in control.
Every now and then he plays with one hand free
in a sort of look-ma-no-hands daring.
So… Read full post »
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