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About The North Coast times-eagle. (Wheeler, Oregon) 1971-2007 | View Entire Issue (July 1, 2004)
PAGE 1 STAR SPANGLED BANNER POEMS 1. OH SAY CAN YOU SEE These words heard mostly at big time sports events.... The competitors tense. Prelude to the perilous fight. Rambunctious fans put their hands on their hearts. Might parts of the their enthusiasm be linked to patriotism? A TV watcher can only suppose. I was told about a man who rose for the anthem before ball games he watched in his living room. Despite pains that were acute when he stood. His own tribute to the mood the lyrics inspired. I guess that must be good. 2. THE HOME OF THE BRAVE Give me a Niagara of Viagra. I am so damned done in. Some son of a bitch tried to run me in the ditch. Driving back from work. If there’d been a gun in the car, I'd have killed the jerk. We need more fucking law. Flicker - Brokaw. Hurricane LANICANE Terrorist raids LEXUS ROLAIDS Homicide tsunami TIDE KENTUCKY FRIED Go to hell DURACEL Enron NIKON And on and on and on... IL i U d^i < u LI IV * i - ,T ö Q much Crime. ! POETRY ‘‘Voting is as essential as washing your tail in the morning." -CHUCK D (aka CARLTON DOUGLAS RIDENOUR) ■- - Dinner time. Live forever. What’s that moving around? Out there? Don’t make a sound. CHRIS VAN ALLSBURG VICTORY & VALOR We know now what the victory was, we know how to eat politely at the table, remembering: song, solitude, laughing laps, wounded bellies, earth spinning. We eat our ravenous words for justice, for breakfast; we rage, rarely sing, laugh, bearing witness to the false, THE PARTY IS OVER All credit cards nationally canceled, America’s Elm Street shades are drawn. Women and children, under pastel bedding lie stunned before TV static and snow. Manly beer bellies soured and gaseous, the boneheads under hardhats are crushed as Military/lndustrials foreclose on the land. Now matriarchal scout cookies are crumbled, the air let out from all our balloons. -B IL L BERTIN (D. 12/3/2001) bare soles and souls believing After all, we have had valentines, have eaten their chocolates. Mind the rose-scented tint of the lens, patriot; this velvet venom erodes the pink glow, demands a life in the thinking back seat of history voracious, this piranha fish ejaculates eels, does not feel, reeling in the ripe time, sons and mothers, loving and broken. 3. AT TWILIGHT’S LAST GLEAMING -G ERALDINE HELEN FOOTE No bombs bursting in air. Out there. Only the radio. Listen. Gershwin. So sweet and slow. “There’s a Boat Leaving for Somewhere" The street runs down the hill to the river. Ships at anchor, the water almost still. Drunk unto dribbling scribbling this stuff and yet (The calm on the Columbia comes on me. A banquet. More than enough.) from this particular prospect, it is not clear what I’m supposed to fear. - mike M c C auley I have no problem walking by the church on Sunday morning high as clouds I smile and wave at the old woman coming out I stare at the sky and think holy thoughts of freedom I practice taking the Lord’s name in vain as many times as possible in one sentence (Mary fuck Jesus goddamn Easter morning masturbation) I will not bow my head to original sin I will not worship money I will not pledge my allegiance to a flag There is something so sacred all around me — take my hand it's still bright outside Let’s desecrate the holiest of places I’ll tell them all what’s mine will be mine forever. -TERESA BARNES REUBEN'S FIVERS for Don Petrie (aka ‘Pasta Don'), June 25, 1934 - June 1, 2004; proprietor o f Reuben’s 5 Tavern I used to think Reuben’s 5 regulars were queenbees o f the liberated future. Maturity unblinkingly redefines us as ju st another tavern crowd, despite our exotic disguises, esoteric philosophies and wanton behavior. and the L 'A l A PROFIT, I SO LS ROADMAPS' [FOR T H E ____ [TO THE 0U> KU&I ,HOM£ ANDTHEi r -MICHAEL McCUSKER They were tough sons-of-bitches, Those Reuben’s Fivers. They hurt And hurt Until the pain was gone. And, then, they hurt some more. They dared to explore Many levels of consciousness. They were lonely as hell, those sons-of-bitches, Seeking love in a glass Or in another lonely soul. They laughed themselves to tears And cried themselves uproariously. Theoretically, they trusted everybody, But, really, they trusted nobody. < p f *•' Sandwiches T H E REUBEN 1.40 DON’S BEEF AU JU S 1.25 C O P P A C O LA 1.00 stacu Italian nam PASTRAM I TURKEY 1.00 1.00 H AM f.00 C O R K B E E F 1.00 _ S U P E R C H E E SE £ 0 .’V'X THE SAMMICH I/IO 2-oecKer, nam, turheci. stmss se rve d with to s s e d salad-choice o f do ns roouefnrt, french or IOOO is They were tough bitches, Those Reuben’s Fivers. They hurt And hurt And hurt Until the pain was gone And, then, they hurt some more. Sometimes they went to Reuben's To escape male chauvinism Over a glass, But chauvinism was there too. TOSSED .SALAD .35 Wines DRY RED «DRY WHITE« LOG ANBERRY«BLACKBERPY HOT SPICED WINE .15 rvxrmDer - marcn P ra a COMBINATION 8-7* 4 Knos o f méat. curves, musnrcxjms RE SPBGAL 1*50 coppacota nam, olives, mushrooms & c. PERSI STRAWBERRY SODA SODA.Ä5 I’m a tough a son-of-a-bitch, A Rueben's Fiver. -AR TH U R HONEYMAN (1970s) REUBEN'S 5 MENU BY JOHN ECHOLS (1970)
