Blog Entries reposted from the my blog

Introducing the Work of Easy Everret

Introducing the work of Easy Everet

fan story

https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com/Easy Everet Poetry/ ‎

Easy Everet is one of my favorite Fan Story Poets. Here are some of his poems. You can read the rest of his excellent poetry on Fan Story.com

BIO

I am a returning FanStortrian of dubious note but usually in key. I was a relatively well read member from late in 2005 until late in 2012. I left the site in 2012 because I lost my note pad and my mind within the same time-frame. But fortunately my pad was found in September of 2017 by my erudite and (he
makes me say this) very hunky cat. Well, that is Buddy Boy's story but there was a great deal of what appeared to be fine grains of mica sand on the outside cover and even in-between many of the inside pages. My hunch is Buddy Boy filched my pad, hid it under his litter box, and kept it there for six years. He was never a fan of easyeverett's poetry and would always cover his ears when I read a poem
I'd written out loud to Sue for evaluation. Now Sue says she has liked at least two or three of the two thousand poems I have scribbled over a long life but she is a kind and caring woman.
Buddy, however, when speaking about my poems used words like: 'verbose, eccentric, sophomoric, outside everybody's box not just yours, borders on dilettantism, incomprehensible, and often asked me: "Why don't you take some time and reconnect with what you seem to need...or maybe your friends on FS need or maybe what I need. You're looking a little worse for the writing."
Buddy Boy swears he found my note pad inside a large volume of William Blake's great poetic opus entitled
"Paradise Lost" which he was rereading at the time. I left it at that. My wife insists my mind had escaped its cranial cover long before I thought it was lost. Like in 1970 when she took pity on a recovering 60's summer of love child who she thought was really 'far-out' and since she had just fired the Catholic Church and was
under a 'lost my faith but found my hippie' period, she married me. Not to go any deeper but because of a few things in my life that probably would never have been resolved or confronted, only buried by self-medicating with one or more of my many unique pharmaceutical and beverage combinations invented for...for swallowing. Sue saved my life for good or bad or worse and that is a simple fact and super example and perfect definition of love going both ways at the same time.

During my first poetic journey through FanStory heaven, I achieved the acquired the Polar Bear status in 2006 and was, for me, rather well received by almost a dozen other writers and poets throughout the
rest of my tenured service to FS. I returned to FS when I realized that if Sue was correct
about my mind being missing since '70, then it did not play a part in my exit from the site
in 2012, just an overreaction to the emotional loss of my note pad. Below is an old profile which
has too much bio and not enough about this site so skip it if you too have lost your mind or just got bored
reading what you already have struggled to finish. Enjoy FanStory and especially the FanStorian scribes who truly respect the nature and beneficial purpose of artistic effort and endeavors. Good luck to all. easyeverett

I am a formalist poet who tends toward the classic poetry of old but also have a true fondness for the beat
poets of the fifties and early sixties.

I write on any subject that pops or invades my mind. I review to improve the prose or poem I am reviewing.
I utilize the cumulative knowledge gained by fifty years of writing for pleasure and as a professional
medical researcher. I attended the Writer's Workshop at the University of Iowa in Iowa City
and after my return from S.E. Asia I graduated from Stanford University, located in Palo Alto
California. I now concentrate on going to bed and getting up.

easyeverett

A 2024 Reminder




when power proves the object of one's lust
abuse of power loses people's trust.
a wise man always leads from certainty,
as grains of sand can stand an angry sea.when people are obliged to choose with care
their choice creates a consequence they bear.
an errant choice could bring catastrophe
that threatens to displace democracy.the influence of personality
becomes political reality,
revealing no intrinsic skill to lead
but finds the perfect kind of mind to feed.

and when a candidate might elevate
to win election to a higher state
then all new actives must stand for review
and that ensures no error will get through.










No One There




the world is running out of time
and soon the losing bells will chime
a fascist movement everywhere
but no one was there to care.our leaders trade integrity
for lies and false reality
what was our down is now our up
the saucer has become a cupthe politicians talk big talk
but are afraid to walk the walk
we lost what once we did believe
that no one now cares to retrieve

the truth has now become a lie
and no one seems to question why
our pride and honor flew away
replaced on Insurrection day

where have our moral standards gone
along with righteous men who thought strong
a country not of men but of laws
now cheers to the neofascist cause

this Madisonian democracy
may soon be lost to history
not from external foreign force
but autocrats within of course

the fascists first take over schools
and then ban books that flaunt their rules
then silence becomes manifest
as protest too is laid to rest

extremists say that history
when taught has no validity
so, they revise and reinvent
as truth is twisted, lost, and bent




Landing In Vietnam (1966)

I felt the reverse thrusters kick in on the C-5 Galaxy transport
and I awoke from a deep and needed sleep as the plane began
its long descent into Cue San Air Base, Vietnam.

I gazed out the small portal window to see below me the biggest swath of green I ever imagined existed on earth. If I did not know the purpose of my involuntary visitation to this green landscape, it would appear I was about to land in Eden or a close cousin to that place where man's original sin began and now continues to flourish within a divided and war-weary land.

I'm starting to believe third-world countries, at war, act like a magnet to the United States because it gives our politicians another chance to play the US as 'great savior' or 'good shepherd' or in 1950s tv western lingo, simply the "good guy" - Cheyenne Body style. But at that particular moment I was a long way from watching Clint Walker, as Cheyene Body, mosey across my tv screen while making me and most other men feel less a man than before we started watching that show and most women (I assume) agreeing that our feelings were right on target. I wondered if maybe Clint would take some time off from strutting his physical largess on tv and come over to this recently unknown place, now fighting an unknown war for an unknown reason (which is not unlike most f***ing wars) for an unknown length of time and ply his Cheyene Body magic where the good guys, when identified, would be sure to win and nobody (like on tv back then) would ever die but maybe, just maybe, get minor wounds that never kept them out of next week's heroic episode.

I started thinking about other tv shows I would miss during my involuntary stay when I realized the plane had landed and I was rudely ordered out of the plane's rear exit and into the suffocating heat and humidity of what then was the unfamiliar, little known country of Vietnam that over time would become the too well known country with shared history we just cannot forget or forgive or erase from our guilty consciousness and I, for one, hope we never do.




We Are...




We are the silent and banished,
shadow lepers who walk among
the unforgiving innocent with
luminous sores.We are hieratic stones
that mark a trail to divinity,
unaware of alternative paths.

We are the nightmare
and cuirass of your
terminal souls.

We are the delicate,
immortelles flowers
of creation's jewellery
and dwell within
the mouldering caverns
of apocalyptic chaos.

We reject gods because
they reject our sacerdotal
dominion over gods.

We are the magical
diseased who feed upon
the blue-burn fire of stars.

We are the watchers
of the withered minds
who try and quantify
our grandiosity through
their mediocrity.

We are pre-eminent
progeny of parsimonious
preternatural wombs.

We are magmatic, quantum
lepton neutrinos of sub-atomic
galaxies where altruistic Eros
regenerates the living force of life.

We are the you in us and the us in you.

We are infinite truth.

We are!

Man's Truth




all wars we have fought
all men we have shot
creating a lifetime of histories
reflected in mankind's failed memories
that achieved not one thing man sought
yet defining man's life of indecencies



Not The Time Of Fire




To live the longer life aspire
to lengthen out the game.
Yet life is not the time of fire
but time left to the flame.Some ancient prophets lived long lives
as did the passionate.
Yet still not one of them survives
within that congregate.To focus on eternity
and journeys after death
is but a sad fraternity
awaiting their last breath.

To focus on tomorrow's dark,
is one more second lost
to every moment we don't mark;
and see how high the cost.







Eternal Hate







From the fierey depths of eternal hate

to a wandering Roman, in the days of yore,

the simplicity of our forseen fate

is beheld within an evil core.




The brooks flow with the blood of the past

and the senseless things we do today,

make the brooks flow and the blood last

for life's relived and the past shall stay.




The immensity of mass destruction lives on

yet the earth concedes to turn round the sun,

though we remember those days yet gone

bur forget the words of every one.




Death upon an unseen hill

placid happenings of yester year,

this evil has us at its will

yet, with confident madness,

we have no fear.










My

Social

Community

32 cents

2 New Contests

No Replies

No Reviews

No Messages

READenjoy it

WRITEshare it

CONTESTSenter one

MY POSTlatest post


General Poetry posted December 11, 2022




EASYEVERETT1

I am a returning
FanStortrian of
dubious note but
usually in key. I was
a relatively well read
member from late in
2005 until late in 2012.
I left the site in 2012 because
I lost my note pad and
my mind within - more...

The Yin And Yang Of War




My longest stay had been a year
Of grinding time in lowest gear.
Asylums say the stay today
Is but three months then on your way.So please don't ask me why oh why
Do mad old ones choose youth to die?
For I've learned not one single grain
Insightful to my own insane.But madness dragged me back inside
To share black air wrapped suicide'
When my dear friend, though mad at best,
Chose 42 for his last rest.

Lifelong depression won the day
That "black dog" stole his soul away.
And then another friend from Nam
When ten years home was one night gone.

In Nam with pistol worn in sight
He'd fly his Hueys to the fight
To pluck up wounded stuck so dire
Then fly too high for hostile fire.

No matter when or where they fall,
Their names belong upon the wall.
How many Vets their balls still bent
Died prone alone on cold cement?

The naked act of will to kill
Brought some men home for killin' still,
Like those who went with troubled souls
Found napalm lies too full of holes.

A gallant soldier fights till dead
Too often for past lies he's fed.
Now who among you disagrees
Wars fill our horrid histories.

No matter where or what you do
Some leaders find a war for you
To fight until that war is done,
A war thier lies had first begun.

As we leave every century
Still bleeding with hostility
Can insights deep within the Yin
Begin the Yang's defeat of sin?

Did I First Ride The Wind




And once upon a journey made
did I first ride the wind
far from the scented verdant glade
with mainsail fully trimmed.

The salted sea is memory,
my days of sail long passed,
where death was bound by destiny
to vacant shores so vast.

I feel a surge of heat within
this aged shell so cold;
a mind and body born to win
whose beauty has grown old.

But once abundant youth did thrive
on passion's purest dreams
where eros brought the truth alive
as Siren's sung its themes.

A gift the gods cannot evade
and I shall not rescind
when once upon a journey made
did I first ride the wind.

Not On Her Best Night













The Story:

ragged faded

lady hoarder,

dumpster-diving

diva boarder,

dancin' to the tune

of her Dandelion Wine.

milky-eyed maiden,

peddles paper posies,

masticating carnivore,

toothless, useless whore.

not on her best night!

not anymore!

acclimated alleyways,

rodents without fear,

muddle-minded Faustian ,

soul redeeming martyr -

thirty-seventh year.

The Memories:

broken boned beauty

forged in her mind,

conscientious duty

lost to time.

could have been

a skater,

rockefeller rink,

sooner came later,

locked and loaded link.

pride of Arizona,

class of sixty-one,

a devotee of luna,

loves her remy rum.

many bitter winters,

bitter winter winds,

sliced her like a knife slice,

bled her bone thin.

The Story:

gave away her gravity,

east L.A.

weighted down reality

roles she plays.

saddle-strapped sad hag

gone insane,

never gonna' lose

'cause she's never in the game.

always aware where the

light lays low to the ground

livin' in a clap-trap

jingle-jangle town.

runs for the shade

when the sun goes down;

safety in crazy,

crazy shades and shadow

hides her braided hair

and her Royal golden crown.

salts of lithium

took away her name;

doesn't even know

who the hell to blame.

wants to be codified,

once and for all,

as prophets once prophesied -

another Jackie O.

with her hag-bag shop rags

ready to go.

time is always lazy for a lady goin' crazy!!

midnight, brain-drain, middle of the boulevard,

ragged lady bag-hag screamin' out her rage.

The Lady Speaks:

HEY YOU!

up there with your pixilated palindromes,

sippin' fresh-dipped sewer juice

and french champagne - you blue-blooded, high-borns,

listen to the tale that I wail at you.

i'm a sack-cloth, busted, shackled crusted scab,

gonococcal wet-brain - slippin' on the ledge

of pain on pain, while livin' on the edge

in the whorin' pourin' rain. God died, I cried,

now i'm lookin' for some gain.

leave your flush plush penthouse high-flying life;

see your bleeding sister, see your bleeding wife.

that's right, once a wife, mother to your kids.

your kids are gettin' shifty, siftin' on the street;

private school, brittle-veined, maggot-tagged gods,

waitin' for the reaper with the universal odds.

i'm brain-drained, insane, dissipated plain,

a bucket full of truth even Jesus wouldn't claim!

so crucify your comfort, your gentrified name,

then bring it to the street bitch let me see your shame










Black Phantom Shadows







black phantom shadows -
(human beings)
aromatic ghosts float
but rarely are they seen

check out the scent on the putrid, muted
breeze - busted-up blood tragedy - many
people trapped - flat in the middle of a Kafka dream

people seem fine with the all night whine - the night sirens
sound like Donizetti's Borgeia in C - street trolls lose their
funky-monkey mind - won't listen to a melody in any other key

maximize a siren to its highest boost -
then play that wail in C - it soon will find a
place to roost - as people love to listen to
a loud melodic melody in that magic key

mighty mister-dumpsters filled to brim tonight -
as nighgtime dippers quickly dip and slip from sight
while safer, hipper dippers dip at morning light

but crack-head harlots sometimes skip the dip -
the appetite is not in sight when smokin' crack
becomes a dieter's delight

old typewriterjpg

little Lizzie crack-head takes a dive - in dumpster number nine -
lunch in the city - be a pity not to dine - in a loaded dipsy-dumpster
where the food tastes fine - but Lizzie leaned too far - she fell right in -
but not a hungry harlot at the bottom of the bin -'cause squirmy little wormies
ate Lizzie and her sin

bright badge's shine
on a Saturday night
uninformed authority
on famine and blight
people never look
a beat cop in the eye
no matter what the truth
or street wise lie
street people know
the bureaucratic game
are dirty little shake-downs
of multitudinal shame
you don't talk to cops
you don't give your name
you never let a cop
be director of the game

day to day gravity can cause great pain - on paralyzed,
gutter-rutted people in the rain - better stand guard
over precious cityways - Mammon's dimmin' down -
seen its better days - when the harshest haze of poverty
was hidden in the maze of interlocking alleyways where
shrouded safe in darkness - the furry vermin plays

Tangled Shadows




To bleed all black or bleed all white
are bitter breaths upon life's trail,
so, I bleed right between the light
as tangled shadows fade to pale.My body wrapped in muslin grays
(Confusing to the muse of light,)
all curled like cotton-cloud bouquets
to hide my rise of pure delight.

We seek to feel the force of free
(intuitive instruction sought);
in compliment simplicity
that rids the grid of complex thought.

Words formed upon an empty sheet
will soon become an anthem sung;
refuse confusion's new elite
when jingle-jangle bells are rung.

Seductions by reduction make
a break for ultra-common place
where wizards claim they are not fake
but hide their thin-skinned, bitter face.

Go out among the multitudes,
absorb the truth imbued in man.
Feel free to travel latitudes
that stray away from your first plan.

The muscled hustler finds his grooves
within the sin of mighty mind,
accepted though infected, proves
the mighty mind is hard to find.

Become a lover of the light,
unwrap all straps around the truth.
Praise purity of common sight,
ignite it in your troubled youth.

Our loss of liberty has made
another perfect tragedy,
where lazy, hazy, days of shade
corrupted man's reality.

This bitter fit mythology
incites until the light is lost;
dissect each bit of piety,
begin to finalize its cost.

And here I leave you with good will
until the song of love, we sing,
will spark that spark inside man still
and silver bells of peace shall ring.

As Fascists Threaten Still




The One who had the truth entombed
resides inside each lie.
The lie becomes the truth consumed
through One truth born on high.The land turns dark though bright the light
as all traditions die.
Land once so rich now land of blight
as fear pollutes the sky.

Minds great in girth search out the worm,
infectious like a plague,
that makes all human tissues squirm:
great minds can only beg.

And as we lose democracy
we also lose our will.
The answer clear in history
as fascists threaten still.




Two Dream-Lovers




Magnificent, her body soars in dreams,
Long braided hair streams freely with the wind;
Young Aphrodite rides night's silver beams
While raiment thin reveals white lambent skin.Erotic visions of seduction rise
From this chimera of conduction's heat
And soon my head is filled with lustful cries
Of two dream-lovers making love complete.

Entwined we float above the sea below,
Her rhythmic vigor vital in her hips
As we sail over Isles of long ago;
Dark eyes invite my mouth to greet her lips.

When I awake I smell the briny air
Enriched with scent of musk dream-lovers share.




Another Broken Man




now here I stand another broken man
whose love of life laments obscurity.
the product of ambition's naive plan
reached in and stole my soul's integrity.I am the one who can't become an us:
no flesh--no blood--no break of fast to feed;
a lustful trust once wrapped in omnibus,
ground down to shallow graven slave in need.disgusted by how degredation days
laid wasted on the taste of indiscreet;
my soul the blackest hole from blacker ways,
confronts chronicity of incomplete.

my flesh is filled and frought with foul disease;
offensive was my life to thine own eyes
whose seen me sail both clean and filthy seas
where faith can fill or empty bigotries.

the story of a glory gone insane;
a genius so sublime in youthful prime
before the days communed with pure cocaine
while they did steal the tick and tock of time.

there is no way to spread a dreaded blame
excused are those accused or left to find
I say I loved to play the changing game;
eclectic change to corners of my mind.

certified a crazy kind of critter
tested mess I do believe corrected
bitter is a life of hazy glitter
choices blurred by choices I neglected.

I'm jonesin' in the center of a city
while waiting on my powdered China-white.
my man must understand he's dealin' pity
or sick I'm going to be throughout the night.

I think I see my hero now is coming
like a pimp he's dressed in blackest leather
tripping proud with lanky strides and humming
tunes he writes but just can't keep together.

I'm watchin' death come walkin' straight at me
and I don't think or blink a catious eye
but hand the Ferryman his feral fee:
relieve and leave without a shout 'goodbye.'

my body broke and beaten now for certain;
too much junk keeps suckin out my bones.
I think I see the final call and curtain,
the God I owe is callin' in his loans.

it was my hope someday I would connect
dramatic angels with my own desires,
but what should I, who did deny, expect?
I touch too much the heat of madness fires.

I sit inside the sacred Shaman ring,
where apparitions dervish dance around
but what the Shaman needs I could not bring;
my last was lost my first was never found

I traveled every twisted rut and road
that zigs and zags across my mottled map
and every road became an endless load
and every stop became the same old trap.

I've melllowed with the magic mountain mushroom
with the mystic natives from Peru.
made love in huts to ladies in full bloom
while glitter ghosts played rock and roll Kazoo.

and now I'm running full capacity
while hoping I'm not heading for a fall
but showing off my great alacrity
before I hear the cry "last curtain call."

I hope to find a cheap discreet hotel,
try kickin' my addictions very quick
while risin' up and out of my own hell,
affixed to such affliction makes one sick.

then I will join a mighty minstrel show,
while going up to greet the nearest star;
find something true and new that I don't know
and see if I have time to raise the bar.

my future vision of reality,
infused by figment fire but never there -
a future framed without validity
or is there ever anyone aware?

one way I know to beat the blues today
just fire up Langston Hughes and boogie beat
but I'm not breakin' any news your way
we know just when and where like minded meet.

I slip and slide while runnin' in my rut
with that old monkey clinging to my back.
I am the jester with a stuttered strut,
who lives his life from pack to glassine pack.

I guess it's time to slip away and leave -
been here and there so now I guess I'll go
and find some new creative ways to weave
synaptic threads for changing what I know.




End