Random Runes New Poems & Old Elegies

By Gerald Olson

Poetry is all things to all people and this book is no exception. I am concerned that it could have the impact of a drone strike. Let your imagination run wild. Have fun. The title tells it all, Random Runes, New Poems and Old Elegies. I built a formidable file of poems I put together during the decade (2000-2010). It has been five years since Author House published my first poetry book titled, Songs from a Cave and Other Selected Poems (1995-1999). So, I bought a touch screen computer and an excellent printer (hp Officejet pro 8600 jet) and went to work organizing, authorizing and deputizing. What a job.
I decided to randomize the individual works using Moses and Oakfords TABLES OF RANDOM PERMUTATIONS left in my library from my doctoral dissertation days at UC Berkeley (14 December 1974). There must be an easier way today. Consequently personal, political and philosophical works are scattered around by the process. There were new poems along the way such as Super Urban Man, On Salvaging a Sunken Stanchion and, not to forgotten, Beat Down at Dog Beach. Old Elegies were written for old friends who have passed away, Arnold, Bob, Harry and five or six others. They rime using the villanelle style and went over very well at the time. Give Us your Sons is topical and international. Its about the molestation of boys serving on the altar of churches. The last line is: We went back at seven for Mysteries of the Cross. Members of Poetry for Pleasure at the Rogers Senior Center in Huntington Beach, CA like, as of today, Dross Bucket and Baby Slobodans First Photograph. If you are a Bicyclist youll appreciate, Riding Around the Bear where I take you over Onyx Summit by Big Bear Lake and nudists will appreciate, Danseuse Narurel in four parts. The last sentence is: All of you, from head to toe will be slipping, sliding, gliding then move and pose au naturel to four-four time and dance the tango.
Above all, have a good time experiencing Random Runes and, if you like, recommend it to your friends and family. Of course, Id appreciate it if you did.
Gerald Olson

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 20, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481779289

Book preview

Corona

Hey, what a place Mission Inn is. Ronnie slept there. Dick and Pat got married there.

It has been a location for movies about magic and adventure: The Sword and the Sorcerer, The Mark of Zorro.

Bronze cannon     flying buttresses     adobe     rough hewn doors

     a cupola     an atrium     cathedral ceilings     pigeons.

Her friends and his friends assembled for a birthday party for him, her, and her dad.

Thirty of us ate, drank, and made merry.

When a party like this is put on, it is only right to participate to the hilt; do it right, stay the night. When you accept an invitation, you’ve got to have fun.

Cesare Borgia’s palace in Riverside.     Host and hostess dressed like Dante and Beatrice.

     Their Dad’s a jester holding court with the Montagues and the Capulets.

I was reluctant to accept their largess. Their hospitality and generosity knew no bounds.

I was most impressed when the chef visited the dining hall during the festivities.

I questioned their judgment and motives.     I was sure they got accommodations.

She works in the hospitality industry anyway.     I knew they had made a big layout.

They know how to celebrate.     There were favors everywhere: masks, hats, noisemakers—

Entertainment—a DJ—dancing till midnight. You couldn’t ask for anything more.

Half of his friends left; went to their rooms and drank their private stock.

That slapped the hosts in the face.     Some of her friends faded away too. That’s no fun.

Faux buns, behinds, oh, how they hung out!     Costume glasses with a penis for a nose.

The rubber tree passed around created no sensation, all the apples fell off.

Risk of consequences haunted jitterbugs and slide and glide, but no gore.

     Upper body for the macarena with a bicycle ride home in the morning.

Crescendo

The first time I stayed out after midnight

           was when I lived at the end of

           Forest Avenue near the river.

Out of the woods I came, and

           got stuck, lip to lip

           with Bernice who played

           You show me, I’ll show you,

           back when our skin was smooth.

Puckering lips, warm spit, arms around, and

           mouth to mouth

           in an overstuffed chair,

           in a warm front room,

           necking.

           It was my first time, but

           she knew how.

There should be a nationwide curfew.

Kids shouldn’t be out after dark.

If they are,

           you can be sure they are up to no good and

           will end up in reform school.

We had Coca-Cola and ice cream,

           malted milks with

           pineapple in ’em and

           nutmeg sprinkled on top,

           at the corner drug store with

           the long soda fountain.

I felt embarrassed when my jimmy got hard and

           pushed into Bernice’s bottom.

She didn’t seem to care though,

           and neither did I,

           till the folks came home.

My Mackinaw—the back door—streetlights—Second Street—

the dairy—railroad tracks—Ohio Street… home.

"So God created humankind in His own image,

           in the image of God He created them;

           male and female He created them." Genesis 1:27

While He was at it,

           He should have issued

           a user’s manual.

I went home

           blushing all the way.

Mom was waiting for me

           in her rocking chair.

It was New Year’s Eve.

I crossed a threshold

           that had taken years to find and

           I never turned back.

Blue silk pajamas leaped from gray recliner and

           came to rest

           on floral bedspread

           to remind me of

           an investment made

           half a century ago

           that’s still paying dividends.

I loved Bernice

           in a way.

She led me to a path

           lined with scarlet roses,

and left me bathed in the perfume of

           being fruitful and multiplying.

Bile and Blood

I watched some of the ceremonies

           surrounding the 1997 inauguration of

                      President Clinton.

The president

           gave his message

                      to the nation and to the world.

I had to turn off the TV in the middle of his address

           to go out to the garage and start the car.

I backed it out,

           pulled up to the curb, and

                      waited for my passengers.

I raised the rear hatch and

           Winston and Elliott put their luggage in.

They got into the car;

           Jean joined us, and

                      we sped to LAX

                                 on the freeway

                                            that was briefly named

                                                       for President Nixon.

We pulled up to the departure gate;

           the boys were right on time.

I wished Winston,

           his grandma, Molly,

                      and his mother, Julie,

                                 bon voyage.

They’d be back in Australia by Tuesday.

I turned the car around and we headed for home.

We returned The Rock and Fargo to Blockbuster,

           got another video,

                      picked up a few groceries, and then

                                 finally, went home to watch some more.

Jean made a loaf of white bread.

I found a rerun of the morning prayer service.

Reverend Tony Campolo attacked the politics of bile.

I got heartburn and then watched

William Shakespeare’s Richard III, about the politics of blood.

Dross Bucket

We met at Tom’s house for our Saturday outing.

Nine of us got together to take a spin over

To a micro-brewery on the UCI campus

To eat, to drink, and to just hang out.

I reconstructed a neurological trance as I observed brothers Embracing.

My brothers hugged me once or twice. I felt their bulk and Body heat

Radiating from the furnace—the cauldron that separates

Dross from blue steel in an invocation to the bucket.

I am here to quiet things down

Not stir things up. However,

I believe it is tempting fate to put

A Kalashnikov in the hands of just anyone who can pay.

I sat near Richard, Arnold, and Jackie.

Calamari, mahimahi, fries, coffee, beer, and

A couple of salads were served.

We talked, ate the deep fried squid, and drank.

My body pressed into the bulk of a musky masculine Corpus;

I locked on and meshed flesh to flesh, hair to hair.

Sweat mingled until I felt my core ebb

Out to sea, down the drain, cauterized by tranquility.

There was something appealing about the wish to put

A chicken in every pot and a car in every garage back in the Thirties.

People were hungry and the auto industry was in its Infancy.

The depressed economy needed a big boost. That was then, Militiamen are now.

I asked the waiter to change the channel on the TV near us.

UC Berkeley and University of Southern California were Playing a basketball game.

I got so involved in talking that I didn’t notice that

Cal beat USC 85 to 69 in a spiritual victory for the Trojans.

The tide swept over me in lava streams.

The moorings of same gender fears obfuscated emotions.

The embraces and kisses of a brother were convoluted by Static emphasis on consanguinity.

Bright angel, screen out homophobic revulsion!

Assault rifles have only one purpose—to mow down Squads of soldiers. Killing people,

Spilling blood, maiming for life, is what they are made for. Politicians can’t be sane when

They advocate that assault rifles be made Available to anyone who can pay the price.

The price we all pay is the death of Innocent people. Ban Assault Rifles now!

Yellow Fever

I get teary and choked up

           watching the Olympians

           wearing the colors of all

           the continents of planet Earth. Young athletes’ performances

           push the envelope of human capacity.

I watch the male