Little Lite Verse
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Om Little Lite Verse
21 September 2001A 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 couldnt do it any more. Ten years or so ago I took to writing verse. Ive filled 12 notebooks full so far. It was fun to do. I hope its fun for you. Heres a random sample: FOSSILSA razor scrapes the face of canyon walls. Into the chasm at their feet it falls. Through time it cuts the fossils free to findTheir way into collections kept behindClosed doors, in crates on which curators have Cemented labels: Bones too short to save. THREESCORE AND TEN MORE OR LESS TO GOAt sixty you know you cant be a Greek god again, But does this mean youve lost all that you had?Growing older, is it all that bad?Is what youve got in some ways better than,Or has life really lost its zingaling?The ways of love wont launch a thousand shipsAnd lust no longer leads you by the nose. The flood more slowly swells, more gently flows. Its siren songs not quite so sweet, but dripsIts honey still, and still can sting. LOCAL COLORHe went through the alley past the Methodist ChurchAnd forced the lock on the banks back door. He carried a chrome plated .22 and woreA flour sack with eyeholes over his face. Except for Mr Finger, the clerk, the placeWas 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 dont understand. If hed asked, Ida loaned it toim on his name.)The sheriff and Chief Miller asked aroundBut figured he was long gone and never would be found. Then the FBI came trooping in and took over the search. Folks didnt take to their snooping, said, Theres nothing to find." When they spied on a suspect from inside the school The principal had a fit, said, Hes a friend of mine!They rolled up their pants, joined hands, and waded through the poolIn Red Drapers pasture and found the alleg-ed money sack. Then, hoping for a witness, they doubled backTo the end of the alley across from the church and made a stopAt Polly Burneys home and Beauty Shoppe. They asked again if she had seen anything. Didnt see a soul, she said, cept ol Duel King. THE SOUND A STEAM TRAIN MAKESHe lives down on the tracks, around the curve orRather under Blantons Gap. With fervorHe works on the section gang for them. In trade the company takes good care of him. A whistle drifting down from Williams HillAnd coal smoke blowing in the wind, the squealOf brakes when stopping in its tracks. It cannot turn around, when coming backs. THE SEIGE OF BANKSTONIn order to achieveSurprise they came on Christmas Eve,With matches in their saddlebags. They had the town alightBefore defenders woke to findTheyd lost the fight. The mayor in his gown appeared, aghast. Why are you burning up our town? he asked. The troopers had retorts prepared:Its only orders, said their head. And good for warming hands,Another said. Too bad bout the old manWe had to shoot because he ran. Next day they had