Crooked Rhyme

"The poet reads/His crooked rhyme."--"Bleecker Street," as sung by Simon and Garfunkel, 1964. This blog is dedicated to the poems of Kelley Dupuis.

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Location: Washington, D.C., United States

I love a rainy night, but never cared much for the late Eddie Rabbitt. I'm a writer and editor by trade, weekend painter and one hell of a cook by avocation. I make a fabulous daquiri using Ernest Hemingway's recipe. I love classical music and jazz when I'm at home, classic rock when I'm barreling up the interstate at 70 mph. I have a Trek road bike and a Cannondale mountain bike. I turned 53 on Oct. 12, 2008. Peanut butter goes great with coffee. My favorite pianists are Glenn Gould and Thelonious Monk. I've lived in Europe, South America, Africa and Russia. I speak a little Russian. I can say the Pledge of Allegiance in Spanish. I know how to make feijoada, the national dish of Brazil. I once drove in a demolition derby. I love baseball, but I bear the cross of being a San Diego Padres fan. I hate cellphones. I like good Scotch, quality cigars, Frank Sinatra and delicatessen fare. I collect books. I'm a lousy chess player. Mozart is God.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

White Gold and Thunder (Coeur d'Alene Park, Spokane)

Everything out there, from the guy walking past
With his beard and backpack, to the petunias
and gardenias that stand athwart the front porch
Like lions, embraces white gold and thunder,
Or is embraced by them—you choose.
(If grief is a species of idleness, this works too.)
Like “Two-Buck Chuck,” (as much fun to say
As it is to drink), they shine, intoxicate, explode
And spectacularly include: white gold and thunder
Infuse the pine trees and the cones they drop,
Beer cans, grass and dogshit. Music in the park.

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