Brian Beatty's Blog
November 20, 2020
Available 1-1-2021 from Corrector Records
My spoken-word album of poems from five books, featuring music by Charlie Parr, is now available.
March 26, 2020
Boots
There are barefoot children
in the world far worse off
than I am, realizes the hobo.
Grown folks with histories, too.
He’s followed their footprints in the dirt
like so many stampedes of horses.
in the world far worse off
than I am, realizes the hobo.
Grown folks with histories, too.
He’s followed their footprints in the dirt
like so many stampedes of horses.
March 6, 2020
Vampirism
The hobo can’t hear himself
think over the rattle and roar
of that train he haunts like a bat.
The noise is as comforting to him
as the night he calls home
even in the daylight.
think over the rattle and roar
of that train he haunts like a bat.
The noise is as comforting to him
as the night he calls home
even in the daylight.
January 30, 2020
Changing Seasons
His own mother
by long-distance telephone call
compared him to a tree.
Her unlikely choice
of a nature metaphor sounded
especially odd to him
staring out of that glass box
in front of that gas station
in the middle of that nowhere.
Before his eyes
luminous parking lot lights
were turning
the world’s most familiar sights
into something other.
by long-distance telephone call
compared him to a tree.
Her unlikely choice
of a nature metaphor sounded
especially odd to him
staring out of that glass box
in front of that gas station
in the middle of that nowhere.
Before his eyes
luminous parking lot lights
were turning
the world’s most familiar sights
into something other.
January 27, 2020
Finding His Way into the Dark
He stood at the edge
of what the map said
was once a buffalo jump
as the last sign
of sun disappeared
below the horizon.
of what the map said
was once a buffalo jump
as the last sign
of sun disappeared
below the horizon.
January 17, 2020
Blaze Orange
At the start of hunting season
I nailed together a rough box
and placed it among the trees.
Then I stood back and watched
people wander inside one
by one as if attending a new church.
Dead animals never appeared.
Some folks I captured were friends.
Most I didn’t recognize from afar.
I’d forgotten a roof or door
so the trapped could still breathe
and see the sky through the leaves
slowly turning colors above them.
All they had to do was look up.
###
I nailed together a rough box
and placed it among the trees.
Then I stood back and watched
people wander inside one
by one as if attending a new church.
Dead animals never appeared.
Some folks I captured were friends.
Most I didn’t recognize from afar.
I’d forgotten a roof or door
so the trapped could still breathe
and see the sky through the leaves
slowly turning colors above them.
All they had to do was look up.
###
January 16, 2020
The Union
Turn a corner
in this cemetery
in Edinburgh, Scotland
and there stands
Abraham Lincoln
high atop
a stone monument
honoring Scottish-American dead
of the U.S. Civil War.
Poor William Duff,
the lone burial
beneath the memorial,
died in poverty,
old world
or new
the most patriotic
and liberating of truths.
in this cemetery
in Edinburgh, Scotland
and there stands
Abraham Lincoln
high atop
a stone monument
honoring Scottish-American dead
of the U.S. Civil War.
Poor William Duff,
the lone burial
beneath the memorial,
died in poverty,
old world
or new
the most patriotic
and liberating of truths.
January 10, 2020
Timex
One day I discover
this mysterious
half-healed scar
above my wristwatch —
some dried blood
arced like a meteorite
falling behind
the Timex horizon.
It’s small consolation
but still a reminder
I’ve not yet died
from feelings.
this mysterious
half-healed scar
above my wristwatch —
some dried blood
arced like a meteorite
falling behind
the Timex horizon.
It’s small consolation
but still a reminder
I’ve not yet died
from feelings.
July 31, 2019
Cigarette Store Poem
I see two guys
one young enough
to be my son
the other
my grandfather’s age
if he were still alive
sitting on the curb
in front of the strip mall
sharing a smoke
as families come and go
from the bagel shop
next door.
I’m too far to overhear
the men’s conversation
or croaking, coughing laughter
but I drive away knowing
exactly how their story ends.
one young enough
to be my son
the other
my grandfather’s age
if he were still alive
sitting on the curb
in front of the strip mall
sharing a smoke
as families come and go
from the bagel shop
next door.
I’m too far to overhear
the men’s conversation
or croaking, coughing laughter
but I drive away knowing
exactly how their story ends.
July 12, 2019
Garden Variety
I fertilize my tomatoes
with good old fashioned
"small d" democracy.
Pure gold. Pure gold.
And nobody even notices
it’s gone.
with good old fashioned
"small d" democracy.
Pure gold. Pure gold.
And nobody even notices
it’s gone.
