Poetry Events This Week & Next

Friday, September 4, 2009

Slam Free or Die
Open Mic Poetry @ the Bridge
Bridge Cafe, 1117 Elm Street
Manchester, NH
6pm, $3.00

Hosted by the Colonel & Roller Girl

Friday, September 11, 2009

Nine-One-One Eighth Anniversary Celebration & Remembrance
Poetry Corner
UU Church Chapel, 58 Lowell Street
Nashua, NH
8pm, $3.00

Hosted by Doc Cote

Featuring Poetry, Song, & Dance
Commemorating the Planing of America eight years ago.

In All Possible Times (a love poem?)

The Moment Big Bang elapsed,

Creating worlds from itself,

Expanding at light speeds pace;

Incredible stealth,

Life fell upon You and I.

The day Universe collapsed,

Imploded upon itself,

Enfolded to a finite place;

A book upon a shelf,

I fell for you.

The day Galaxies relapsed,

Exploded again from themself,

Unfolding infinite space;

Quantum physics of a shelf,

You fell for I.

Days flow Time Lapsed

Universe and Galaxies one with self

Our unending Sol-Luna chase;

Over oceans, plains, arid shelf,

You and I fall upon Life.

- DA Boucher

Poetry Drought

There's No Poetry This Week in Manchester, Nashua, & Portsmouth, NH.

There is Poetry in Cambridge, MA.

Check out bostonpoet.com for all the Poetry Happenings in & around New England.

Human Nature, Get Over It Circular Sonnetanku

One Life in Balance
smooth, frictionless, unhindered
by Sacred Stories,
Apocolyptic
Ponderments of Man's Placement,
and Mediocre
Predictions for the
Great Void, rotatating Blue Pearl.
In Supplication
seeks within for Compassion,
Forgiveness, Essence, Oneness;
embraces Self, Feels,
engulfed by Wholeness, Seeing
Multihued Life Stream.

Multihued Life Stream...
How sad that we'd rather join
Culture we're Convinced
is our own than Live
Culture that Is Our Own, Self;
we all turn away.
Instead, we Consume
Plasti-Culture's offerings;
Infotainment, Pop,
Remakes, Rave-ups, Chin-ups, Sit!
Lay Down. Roll Over. Play Dead.
Joining that Culture,
Thirsting for Something...Abstract...
Status, is Slow Death.

Status is Slow Death,
Consuming More, Goods, Land, Blood,
garners Feelings of...
Belonging, yet...not,
a slakeless thrist, deep, hollow;
Closet dark, dry, stuffed.
Skellitons Locked Down,
doors bulge to bursting, shelves creak;
Shame, Regret hold Key.
Let Go, swing wide portal to
Human Nature, Accept Self,
unhampered, flowing,
fractionless, omnipresent,
One; Life in Balance.

- da boucher

Salisbury Beach - 8/22/2009

Hot, hazy, & humid, stifling so,
as hurricane spirals up coast
from way down south.
Dark, ominous, rain soaked,
clouds gather scattered
teasing blue sky & sun;
white light crackles, splitting grey,
followed immidiately by thunderous roar,
static dissapates into air,
hair stands on end.

Driving to the coast from Lawrence, Mass,
chased up highway by storm,
sprinkles moisten windshield, asphalt,
threatening down pours, then stop as we pass
definate dividing line of precipitation & clear;
black bank approaches marshland, summer homes,
image of Neverending Story, The Nothing,
looms over beach houses,
heat along fences & dunes,
cool at ocean's edge.

Frolicing in the eight foot surf,
battered by crashing, storm warmed, waves,
tempting the undertow pushing, pulling body
deeper, under surface, depths want poet,
Neptune's request for private show, denied;
legs furiously pumping,
kicking up sand, seaweed, & shells,
hands grabbing desperately for hold,
pote drags, swims, washes through swarming tide
safely to higher ground every time.

Boogie boarding, romping, splashing
friends enjoy storm whipped Atlantic,
cameras record moments in flashes
as dim light becomes dimmer.
With a great boom, clouds open
like bomb bay doors, & release their load,
hard, heavy, rain drops
pelting sand, sea, & swimmers,
drops ripple roiling water
& roll down scantily clad bodies.

Towels, blankets, chairs, clothes soaked
by rain & surprise wave that ran up beach,
so much for getting dry after swim.
Down pour hampers swimmers not,
already wet, they dive into waves with vigor,
ride the billowing, frothing, slip & slide,
& wash up on shore like a sand shark,
flopping & rolling in the surf, scraping skin,
& yowling with childlike joy.

Call goes out, "time to leave!"
Pruned poet screams, "NOOOO!"
runs down sloping sand to water
waving arms, leaping, skipping, diving,
back into crashing, tumbling sea.
Friends giggle at frolicing pote-child
unwilling to split the stormy scene.
One last dip below white caps
& disobeying adult returns to group,
dripping & laughing at his folly.

Rain-ocean soaked friends
return to vehicles, salty, sandy, happy,
reluctantly, returning to Lawtown.
Drive slowy home under lightening sky
hurricane clouds thinning as eye approaches,
it's going to be a beautiful sunny afternoon
& evening as storm's center passes,
followed closely by swirling weather
who's arrival is predicted for Sunday.

Hot, hazy, & humid, stifling so,
as hurricane spirals up coast
from way down south.
Dark, ominous, rain soaked,
clouds gather scattered
teasing blue sky & sun;
white light crackles, splitting grey,
followed immidiately by thunderous roar,
static dissapates into air,
hair stands on end...again.

& what a spectactular weekend it was!

WBCN Boston - RIP

http://boston.about.com/b/2009/08/12/wbcn-rocks-off-into-the-sunset.htm

Beat Night at the Press Room - Portsmouth, NH

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Beat Night
Press Room - Upstairs
77 Daniel St
Portsmouth, NH
6:30pm, $3.00

Hosted by Larry Simon

Food, Drink, & Poetry, what more could you want?
Every third Thursday of the month, Larry Simon's Beat Night - jazz and poetry 7-8 p.m. and readings 8-9 p.m., on the second floor.

Ibbetson Street Press Poetry Award 2009

Call for entries

Ibbetson Street Press Poetry Award 2009

Deadline Sept 15, 2009
Advertise with the Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene! http://tinyurl.com/ddjcal

Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene http://dougholder.blogspot.com


ISCS PRESS http://www.iscspress.com


Doug Holder's website http://authorsden.com/douglasholder


Ibbetson Street Press http://ibbetsonpress.com


Ibbetson Street Press Online Bookstore http://www.lulu.com/ibbetsonpress

Brains!

Summer moves along
at speed of a jaguar,
fast paced Ramones song,
an Indy 500 car.
Whipping up heat
gaseous moisture hangs
dripping from head to feet
as dust motes float in gangs.

In three piece suits & dresses
heat-wave zombies roam
with greasy, limp, tresses
looking for a cooler home.
Heavy breathing, gasping,
mouths & tongues loll
hot, dry voices rasping,
dog days take their toll.

Dog days take their toll.

by DA Boucher

well, well, well, waddia know

Strollin' thru the house one day
I stubbed my toe on the chaise
slammed it good in a manly way
yowled during the painful phase;
the nail quickly turned grey
& the colour of dijonaise.

Oh, oh, oh,
well, well, well, waddia know
I've got a rainbow toe,
look at it glow, yo.

I began to figit
my heart alight
watching that digit
turn dark to light
thinking, "better fridge it"
"cuz it don't look right."

Hey, hey, hey,
well, well, well, waddia say
my toe's on display
with it's dappled array, yay!

My injured toe devine
brought me glory & fame
now the world is mine,
& you may think, "crazy dame"
but my life's better'n fine
since all my toes became the same.

Oh, oh, ohs,
well, well, well, waddia knows
I've got rainbow toes,
look at 'em glow, yoes.

Oh, oh, oh,
well, well, well, waddia know
I've got a rainbow toe,
look at it glow, yo.
look at it glow.
LOOK AT IT GLOW!

DA Boucher

The Bestest Buddy In The Whole Wide World

by DA Boucher

Entering the parlour
with something to say
I showed my ardor
for the charming B-Ray.

Sitting on the couch
naked as a jay
teats, feets, & pouch,
& jiggy parts on display.

"how're ya doin', spastic?"
I asked my guy.
"Super-fantastic-bubble-plastic"
he said in reply.

Which is pretty good
if you ask me
I got to sportin' wood
for the handsome he.

In response he unwrapped it
& put it to hand
just reached out & slapped it
to make it stand.

I acted out in kind
gently touching & tugging
I caressed his behind
& we began fugging.

Oh, what a ride it was
skin to skin
orgasmic buzz
deep within.

It was a few hours
before we were spent
digging on the powers
of being bent.

He smiled & blushed
kissed my cheek
& off he rushed
to his beard of the week.

Ah, the recollection
of an awesome afternoon
now he's my selection
from July to June.

He's my bestest Buddy
in the whole wide world
& no fuddy-duddy,
Since his Closet Queer unfurled.

Ibbitson Street Press

Looking for local poetry publications?

Looking for national poetry?

Check out Ibbitson Street Press at these links:

Advertise with the Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene! http://tinyurl.com/ddjcal

Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene http://dougholder.blogspot.com

Doug Holder's website http://authorsden.com/douglasholder

Ibbetson Street Press http://ibbetsonpress.com

Ibbetson Street Press Online Bookstore http://www.lulu.com/ibbetsonpress

Events This Week - Be Here Now

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Zion Hill
Stone Church
New Market, NH
7pm, FREE
The second Tuesday of each month.

For all the great 411, contact, Beau Williams, 317design (at) gmail.com

Friday, August 14, 2009

Poetry Corner
UU Church Chapel
58 Lowell St
Nashua, NH
8pm, $3.00
Hosted by Doc Cote

Features this month; Ala Khaki & Peddlar
We're looking to book Poets for 2010, interested?
Contact D. A. Boucher, dabsasp (at) gmail.com

August 14 - 16, 2009

Be Here Now Festival
Harry's Hill
Starks, ME

Tons of live music, giant puppets, belli-dancing, herbal delights, central bon fire, the Brew, &,oh, so much more, all that, & MC Da Butcha.
Gate opens at 10am Friday.

Da Butcha 'shoppe will be performing Friday evening before the Cosmic Circus & Natraj & Saturday night before the Brew.

For all the wonderful details, go to www.harryshill.com

Sugar House Review - call for poetry submissions

CALL FOR SUBMISSIONS

Sugar House Review is an independent, biannual poetry journal
based out of Salt Lake City, Utah. The first issue premieres in the
Fall of 2009, perfect bound and ready to live at your house. It
will include unpublished poems by Utah's former Poet Laureate
Ken Brewer, among other talented poets.

Please visit www.SUGARHOUSEREVIEW.com

for submission details.

Da Butcha 'shoppe

Tired of cookie cutter bands?

Exhausted by SLAM poetry?

Snoozing at poetry open mics?

Sick of big business music?

Cringing every time you turn on the TV or radio?

Disgusted at what hangs on fine art museum walls?

About to puke at what passes for comedy these days?

In short, has the art & entertainment scene become a vast wasteland of copy cats & trash to you?

Are you seeking more than what the corporations & museums are selling?

Are you looking for something NEW & Different for your life, party, bar, or open mic?

Look no further,

you're in contact with Da Butcha of Da Butcha 'shoppe,

Poetry-Performance Troupe & the most interesting group in entertainment today.

No other Poet, Musician, Band, or Poetry Troupe

has the attention grabbing power of Da Butcha 'shoppe;

featuring Da Butcha, Short Attention Span King of Poetry,

& Black Wednesday, Bass Guitarist extraordinaire.

Yes, they are the best group on stage today.

Try the best, book Da Butcha 'shoppe, & say good bye to the rest.

Yes, they are that good.

You want proof?

Book Da Butcha 'shoppe & see for yourself.

For all the Da Butcha 'shoppe 411, contact, Da Butcha,
dabsasp (at) gmail.com

Da Butcha 'shoppe, we do stuff that doesn't suck.

Well, that's about all there is for this week.

I'll be seeing some of you from the stage at the Be Here Now Festival.

Have a groovy week!

Ciao,

Da Butcha,

Lowell-Lawrence-NH-ME Poetry Alliance

Fatty Limerick Series - Miss Mary Pound

Fatty Limerick Series;

Miss Mary Pound

There was a girl called Mary Pound

Who was quite full & round

Her nights were about the same,

Lurid, sultry, & not at all tame;

In another’s bed she could be found.

Hefty Hideaway gal, Ms. Pound,

Really loved to sleep around

to avoid family shame

She used another name

With an exotic sound.

Voluptuous & divine, Marie Le Frond,

Big, supple, fluid as a pond,

Charms always in demand,

& never cause for reprimand

When her birthday suit’s donned.

One day Marie Le Frond

Slipped & fell into a pond

Rescued by a strange man’s hand

She’s now only in demand

As Missus Ala Monde.

The girl called Mary Pound

No longer sleeps around

& her life is a bit more tame

Since she changed her name;

Raising her brood she can be found.

All the men miss Mary

Their palms are getting quite hairy

Their own gals they can’t find

For they’re slowly going blind

& some even turned fairy.

Open Auditions - Reading, PA

Event: Open Auditions for The Wedding Singer
What: Audition
Host: Genesius Theatre
Start Time: Wednesday, August 19 at 7:00pm
End Time: Wednesday, August 19 at 10:00pm

Genesius Theatre
153 N 10th Street
Reading, PA

More Info at Facebook

Where Has Summer Gone, Third Movement; Four Sisters

by DA Boucher

Summers Solstice came & went
When Springs Equinox was all spent
But cool Autumn was all bent
& set up her colorful tent
Where Summer was always meant.

Summer had begun to settle in
when Autumn began to mettle in
With such a chattering din
That Winter said to give in
To their riotous kin.

September was surprised
When he was advised
To be measured & sized
For the spot devised
& the plan he criticized.

Winter gave good & calm advice
Admitting that Autumn wasn’t being nice
& Summer could name her price
For her prime real estate slice,
But Spring said no dice.

Round & round the sisters went
Soon Summer’s time was all spent
& sun worshippers were all bent
About spending the season in a tent
Not outdoors as it was meant.
Autumn proudly took her spot
Lowering temps to cool from hot
The September thru November lot
Watched older siblings rot
Like vegetables in a flooded plot.

Winter laughed at her joke
Upsetting Mother’s yoke
Pretending the seasons were broke;
An innocent little poke
When her sisters toke.

Upcoming Poetry Events

Friday, August 7, 2009
Slam Free or Die
Open Mic Poetry @ the Bridge
Bridge Cafe - 1117 Elm Street, Manchester, NH
6pm, $3.00

Hosted by the Colonel & Rollergirl

Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Zion Hill Open Mic
Stone Church -Newmarket, NH
7pm, FREE

For all the details contact Beau Williams, 317design@gmail.com

August 14, 2009
Poetry Corner
UU Church Chapel - 58 Lowell Street, Nashua, NH
8pm, $3.00

Hosted by Doc Cote
Featuring: Peddlar & Ala Khaki

Now booking features for 2010; contact D. A. Boucher, dabsasp@gmail.com

August 14 - 16, 2009
Be Here Now Festival
Harrys Hill - Starks, ME
For all the details, go to www.harryshill.com
Festival MC: Da Butcha & Da Butcha 'shoppe is appearing Friday & Saturday nights.

San Francisco Dreamboats

By D. A. Boucher & Diana Saenz


Starring, in order of appearance, Bambie Lane & Mr. Dude.


At the intersection of Castro & Market Streets,

a long ways from those trailer trash days,

a classy lassie from Mugwhup Mississippi

stood on the steamy corner,

Bambie Lane,

a vision in soggy satin

& glimmering in lamp light;

her pastel blue summer dress

was soaked from the sudden city shower,

& she was slowly coming untucked.



Bambi had arrived in the city by the bay

that day on her quest to become

a chanteuse singer specializing in ballads,

& she was at ground zero,

the city from which all her influences

had gotten their big break,

Voice Farm, Nico, Alison Moyet, & Liberace,

to name a few of her faves.

Bambi got goose-bumps thinking of them,

full of excitement & wonder

at being on their adopted home turf;

her future was looking bright

until the sudden down pours

had soaked her to the skin

& dampened her spirits.



In a southern accent,

that would make Jefferson Davis proud,

she sighed, “No manager in his right mind

will give me a second glance now;

deary me, what ever am I to do?”

& she began to sob & moan quietly.



Bambie Lane had a voice

like a midnight train & a mocking bird,

if a midnight train & a mocking bird could screw,

this is what it would sound like,

deep, strong, sweet, full, & sultry,

voluptuous, powerful, & driving;

a voice that reaches deep into the crotch,

yanks genitalia out with vigor,

gives them a massage,

& drives the eardrums to orgasm,

a voice that could sell out auditoriums

& millions of records;

in short,

a manager’s wet dream incarnate.



The buzz was right on a rainy night

damp with leaves of grass,

Mr. Dude, a slick operator

hooked on long-legged lassies with broken hearts

& dressed in snappy duds the passersby admired,

stood on the corner opposite Bambi;

the bunnies crossing his path

were dressed in their finest

& smelled of flowers and fir.



Mr. Dude,

creator of lies from air,

seducer of long legged, broken hearted lassies,

& enticer of fems into the service of show business,

heard Bambi’s seductive sobbing & moaning

at her predicament on her first night in the city.


Even Bambies sobs were music,

more than rock ‘n’ roll, blues, or jazz,

much more than Bach, Mozart, & their ilk;

soulful & sincere melodies drifted on the wet breeze.

Mr. Dude pricked up his ears,

looked around for the sound,

& saw the long legged,

down hearted beauty standing in the rain.



Mr. Dude stood across the way

mesmerized by Bambi’s sad vocals,

soon he had a hard smile on,

& wanton abandon in his heart,

he must have this girl for his cabaret!

Such a draw she would be

attracting a steady audience stream;

alone or with their amours in tow,

cabbies, workers, & dock men,

doctors, lawyers, & professionals,

folks from all walks of life

would revive his old burlesque theatre

&, once again,

Stage Door Johnnies & Joanies would lurk

at the performers entrance

after every performance.



Mr. Dude crossed the street to Bambie

a proposition on his mind.

He subtly slid up to Bambi,

nonchalantly as if waiting for a taxi,

& said low in her ear,

a query as smooth as chocolate pudding,

“Hey, baby, need a job?”

“I currently have an opening in my show.”

He grinned a sincere smirk,

but, his eyes betrayed his desires;

the ulterior seduction motive

of more than Bambi’s talented voice,

the seduction of her virginal virtue.



Bambi Lane slowly opened her huge, long lashed, eyes

& looked at him toe to head,

from his alligator shoes to his panama hat,

studying him closely up & down,

& recalling all the men she’d had,

the drama & trauma they’d caused,

& the bitter break-ups,

She thought to herself,

“I survived them”

& she said aloud,

“I can survive this one.”



Bambi reached into her handbag

& pulled out a pack of Dokes,

“cool folks smoke Dokes”

she said, laughing,

“Steven was so right about that.”

Bambi opened & removed a stick,

it’s all natural hemp paper

illuminated by the street light

looked tan like mocha.

She leaned coolly against a bar window,

languid like a cat,

placed the number between her lips,

& peered at Mr. Dude,

her cigarette waiting for a light.



Mr. Dude noted the herbal smoke,

& from deep inside his left pocket

he fluidly whipped out his Zippo,

&, as equally fluid,

put flame to aromatic plant & paper,

all the while gazing into Bambies pure blue eyes

rimmed by luscious auburn hair

& smooth silky skin;

just enough make-up brought-out

Bambi’s features in spades

& covered up any unsightly facial hairs.


Mr. Dude said, “is it cold out here,

or are you just excited to make my acquaintance?”

Bambie gazed back into Mr. Dude’s flaming dark eyes

& saw herself in his pupils,

who just happened to be passing by with a wave

& “hello, Professor Dudenski!”



Bambi suddenly awoke

& found herself in a sophomore engineering class at MIT,

wearing slacks, shirt, tie, blazer with insignia,

a fraternity pin on the lapel,

& drool on her chin;

she wasn’t a long legged broken hearted hussy with a voice

standing on a wet San Francisco street corner,

she was in Professor Dudenski’s honors class

in Cambridge, Massachusetts,

& the prof was calling on her,

“Bob! Bobby Lane! Do you know the answer?”