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Best Poems From
DONNA QUESINBERRY
(06/05/1957)
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1.
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Bitters And Soda Water
Nations-Buzz night:
DJ Dan pumps
connections and gigs-
hot
spun
tunes.
Nana raver opens
henna resin paints-
pink
blue
green.
Love artist renderings
cover ecstasies corpses-
dilated
respirated
touches.
Garcias' grateful dead
tripping devil god-
blacklite
fluorescent
reality.
Nana raver viewing
Jerry shining his-
well
strung
guitar.
Flapper theme night
skirts roughing air-
same
party
blues.
Donna Quesinberry
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2.
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A Roadmap To Seville
for ganna walska in proxy for Hermann Hesse
high school was a hessian
until shoppe class
i brandished
a little marilyn monroe
to wit: got an A
the folks had palpitations
when van gogh's extremities
versed gabrial kahil's prophecies
countering f. scott fitzgerald's frivolities
because they didn't know about his girl
satre visited my hiatus making
freudian judgmentalism-couch on my elliot
james dean drove the car a while,
till i met mr hemingway's sloppy joe
with keys gone west to shiver
burroughs made lunch
at least a day or two, typing
harebrained keystrokes i met
tarrintino, yes he was cool,
fell in love pancho gonzalez style,
those chico whistles captured heart
phil collins entertained me
at millionaire mile montesito grill
wanted to 'take' me jacuzzing
for the thrill, or two-
pondered these talents
slumming on capitol hill,
and ganna walska's memoirs
provided this roadmap to seville
hail to the queen
Donna Quesinberry
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3.
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After The Bumrush
~<: >~<: >~<: >~
She rallied herself in the a.m.
to see him, tussled and still
reeling from the eve's consumption,
she knew if she didn't arrive he'd be blue.
One shoe on, then two, haranguing
through metro doors and howling
trains. Schlepping stairs. Pressing
hard against cold winter air,
only to see his face and know
he was well-too. She promised
herself their's was but a moments
interlude-a random consideration
in the brink of discussion and
dinner drinks. She had forgotten
her scarf, he thought purposefully,
alas accidentally so. With no
ideal in mind, he returned,
scarf in hand and whispered.
His voice permeated her, it
was reminiscent of a father's
wise counsel in secret impasses.
Thinking, mulling, head wracked,
what not to do, what to do, she
could not decide. Uttered a prayer
skyward-what should she do?
With quickened pace tapping a
short note she thought just to
say thanks. He thought to say hi.
~<: >~<: >~<: >~
Donna Quesinberry
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4.
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Art In War - The Munitive
That Moral Law and code, now
Lacks pretense and virtue
There is no morality, there is danger.
The moral law, she died.
Night has become day.
Day has become night.
Seasons are skewed and tearful.
Heavens a quandary herself.
Between life and death
There is no measurement.
All Slovaks say they dont
Want children. Death is in living.
The new commander is the old
Commanders arch villain, glorified
and refrained from rooftops. Defiling
mother earth and she is vanquishing angels.
The ground is no longer marshaled.
It is congealed and regurgitated upon.
Masters are artificial greens keepers and
God is a melancholy agent of a past tribe.
Donna Quesinberry
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