£8.99
Little Lite Verse
21 September 2001
A little bit about A LITTLE LITE VERSE by Darnell Fulgham: Born in a sharecroppers shack in 32, I thought we were well off, still do. To Memphis in the War, with picture shows, free books, and indoor plumbing. Went home again, played football, drafted for Korean Conflict, sent to Panama instead. Studied art at Southern MS and architecture at Oregon. Met a middle child like me from Kansas. Tired of the rat race, herded chickens for a while, built a throwaway back in the woods and added on as three boys came, put in a drafting board upstairs, stayed 20 years, moved up the hill and built a better solar shack. Its where we are today. I planned to do a few good buildings but got into a rut, became a hired gun, and couldn't do it any more. Ten years or so ago I took to writing verse. I've filled 12 notebooks full so far. It was fun to do. I hope its fun for you. Heres a random sample:
FOSSILS
A razor scrapes the face of canyon walls. Into the chasm at their feet it falls. Through time it cuts the fossils free to find their way into collections kept behind closed doors, in crates on which curators have cemented labels: Bones too short to save.
THREESCORE AND TEN MORE OR LESS TO GO
At sixty you know you can't be a Greek god again, but does this mean you've lost all that you had? Growing older, is it all that bad? Is what you've got in some ways better than, or has life really lost its zingaling? The ways of love won't launch a thousand ships and lust no longer leads you by the nose. The flood more slowly swells, more gently flows. Its siren songs not quite so sweet, but drips. Its honey still, and still can sting.
LOCAL COLOR
He went through the alley past the Methodist Church and forced the lock on the bank's back door. He carried a chrome plated .22 and wore a flour sack with eyeholes over his face. Except for Mr. Finger, the clerk, the place was empty. He asked for the cash he had on hand, took the moneybag, and went the way he came. (When he learned who it was he said, I don't understand. If he'd asked, I’d loaned it to him on his name.) The sheriff and Chief Miller asked around but figured he was long gone and never would be found. Then the FBI came trooping in and took over the search. Folks didn't take to their snooping, said, 'There's nothing to find.' When they spied on a suspect from inside the school, the principal had a fit, said, 'He's a friend of mine!' They rolled up their pants, joined hands, and waded through the pool in Red Draper's pasture and found the alleged money sack. Then, hoping for a witness, they doubled back to the end of the alley across from the church and made a stop at Polly Burney's home and Beauty Shoppe. They asked again if she had seen anything. Didn't see a soul, she said, except ol Duel King.
THE SOUND A STEAM TRAIN MAKES
He lives down on the tracks, around the curve or rather under Blanton's Gap. With fervor he works on the section gang for them. In trade the company takes good care of him. A whistle drifting down from Williams Hill and coal smoke blowing in the wind, the squeal of brakes when stopping in its tracks. It cannot turn around when coming back.
THE SIEGE OF BANKSTON
In order to achieve surprise they came on Christmas Eve, with matches in their saddlebags. They had the town alight before defenders woke to find they'd lost the fight. The mayor in his gown appeared, aghast. 'Why are you burning up our town?' he asked. The troopers had retorts prepared: 'It's only orders,' said their head. 'And good for warming hands,' another said. 'Too bad about the old man we had to shoot because he ran.' Next day they had...
