Rex Hunter III
2019-07-15 08:07:29 UTC
Some background on this thread. The "Yellow Notebook Series" was a series of sketch poems written in the Jack Kerouac Blues style, which he would write in the little spiral note pads that fit in the shirt pocket. Here's an excerpt of his explanation of these, and following that, a few of my efforts in the form, which continue through this thread, with added commentary for the Regulars of the day. Enjoy. :D
"In my system, the form of blues choruses is limited by the small page of the breastpocket notebook in which they are written, like the form of a set number of bars in a jazz blues chorus, and so sometimes the word-meaning can carry from one chorus into another, or not, just like the phrase-meaning can carry harmonically from one chorus to the other, or not, in jazz, so that, in these blues as in jazz, the form is determined by time, and by the musicians spontaneous phrasing & harmonizing with the beat of time as it waves & waves on by in measured choruses." -Jack Kerouac
Yello Notebook Series by Will Dockery
Poem One
Poetry & Music of Will Dockery
https://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery
Good for a long read by the foggy river and camp fire...…"In my system, the form of blues choruses is limited by the small page of the breastpocket notebook in which they are written, like the form of a set number of bars in a jazz blues chorus, and so sometimes the word-meaning can carry from one chorus into another, or not, just like the phrase-meaning can carry harmonically from one chorus to the other, or not, in jazz, so that, in these blues as in jazz, the form is determined by time, and by the musicians spontaneous phrasing & harmonizing with the beat of time as it waves & waves on by in measured choruses." -Jack Kerouac
Yello Notebook Series by Will Dockery
Poem One
A Creature Of The Age
Turn it
to the wall,
and let it cook.
Get removed from it.
"When's it done?"
"How do you know
when sex is done?"
Photographic
from memory,
gestural sketches
of thought.
In the museum theatre,
soft light,
recently seen good paint.
moving, moved at, moving with,
everything agitates---.
Cannot be a photograph,
to match,
this memory.
The way I see it inside.
-Will Dockery.
Poem TwoTurn it
to the wall,
and let it cook.
Get removed from it.
"When's it done?"
"How do you know
when sex is done?"
Photographic
from memory,
gestural sketches
of thought.
In the museum theatre,
soft light,
recently seen good paint.
moving, moved at, moving with,
everything agitates---.
Cannot be a photograph,
to match,
this memory.
The way I see it inside.
-Will Dockery.
Coil
This coil of pain
memory burns
with flashing image
and haunting misses.
Distinct dream vision
mixed up with consciousness
train seems right on top of me
conductor has an agenda.
Only the god see beyond this veil
I seen them eyes
red blazing shaking.
No time to think,
no desire to.
There seems to be a wide awake
slow ride
consciousness carries
stretches through these years
these days... this minute.
As if the night could purify
rather than corrupt
my reptilian hands
my repetition in signs.
-Will Dockery
Poem ThreeThis coil of pain
memory burns
with flashing image
and haunting misses.
Distinct dream vision
mixed up with consciousness
train seems right on top of me
conductor has an agenda.
Only the god see beyond this veil
I seen them eyes
red blazing shaking.
No time to think,
no desire to.
There seems to be a wide awake
slow ride
consciousness carries
stretches through these years
these days... this minute.
As if the night could purify
rather than corrupt
my reptilian hands
my repetition in signs.
-Will Dockery
Commodore
What was it you said
that rang out to me yesterday
and when did you say it
and why---?
I don't really know,
when or why or even what now.
But it has hurt,
and it has affected our future,
whatever that may or may not have been.
-Will Dockery
Poem FourWhat was it you said
that rang out to me yesterday
and when did you say it
and why---?
I don't really know,
when or why or even what now.
But it has hurt,
and it has affected our future,
whatever that may or may not have been.
-Will Dockery
Diver Days
Crosslegged, she sits.
Red wine, friends.
Mellowness & memories.
*** *** ***
She seems
to have a crisis of faith,
but she's also sort of a
prima dona it seems.
A bit absurd with it.
Seems to be
doing better on this one,
this faster rocking gospel plow;
needing to use less octaves.
It's got the crowd
up and clapping,
Brother Dave almost jumps.
*** *** ***
Is it important,
or really?
Just go right through it.
-Will Dockery.
Poem FiveCrosslegged, she sits.
Red wine, friends.
Mellowness & memories.
*** *** ***
She seems
to have a crisis of faith,
but she's also sort of a
prima dona it seems.
A bit absurd with it.
Seems to be
doing better on this one,
this faster rocking gospel plow;
needing to use less octaves.
It's got the crowd
up and clapping,
Brother Dave almost jumps.
*** *** ***
Is it important,
or really?
Just go right through it.
-Will Dockery.
Empty Signal.
Comet tail.
Fuzzy tones,
impressionistic world vision.
Sitting by the fountain,
they used to call it "poet's fountain".
Bookless, moneyless,
filled with love,
filled with empty hope.
I was going to the mountain,
but when I got there it faded away.
troubles surround me,
at the poet's fountain.
They double and fold,
almost everyday.
Sitting in a chilled room,
FDR teaching mathematics,
kind but quietly menacing.
-Will Dockery
Poem SixComet tail.
Fuzzy tones,
impressionistic world vision.
Sitting by the fountain,
they used to call it "poet's fountain".
Bookless, moneyless,
filled with love,
filled with empty hope.
I was going to the mountain,
but when I got there it faded away.
troubles surround me,
at the poet's fountain.
They double and fold,
almost everyday.
Sitting in a chilled room,
FDR teaching mathematics,
kind but quietly menacing.
-Will Dockery
Head Trip
Look at that girl---
her mind is spinning---
and she loves.
It was her head trip,
and it was her trip.
A head trip,
riding in the dark.
She's rock and roll
piece of the past
and she has plenty of class.
It was her head trip,
and it was her trip.
A head trip,
this that and the other.
Look at that girl---
peace on her face,
and she loves.
It was her head trip,
and it was her trip.
A head trip,
strong coffee with sugar & cream.
-Will Dockery
Poem SevenLook at that girl---
her mind is spinning---
and she loves.
It was her head trip,
and it was her trip.
A head trip,
riding in the dark.
She's rock and roll
piece of the past
and she has plenty of class.
It was her head trip,
and it was her trip.
A head trip,
this that and the other.
Look at that girl---
peace on her face,
and she loves.
It was her head trip,
and it was her trip.
A head trip,
strong coffee with sugar & cream.
-Will Dockery
Light & Chill
The light and the chill
at the top of the hill
feeling the flow
when the wind blows
geometric rooftops
illumination light rocks.
-Will Dockery
Poem EightThe light and the chill
at the top of the hill
feeling the flow
when the wind blows
geometric rooftops
illumination light rocks.
-Will Dockery
Little S & G
Smile. Grin.
Dark eyes. Bright eyes.
Night and day and many shades of
in between.
Slime. Green.
Key lime and the key to my heart.
Red, gold, and smut black child.
No eyes,
my blind little dancing girl,
pirouette my heart.
Simile. Grain.
My seeds search for yolk.
Words are hard when the subject is
night day and many shades of
in between.
-Will Dockery
Poem NineSmile. Grin.
Dark eyes. Bright eyes.
Night and day and many shades of
in between.
Slime. Green.
Key lime and the key to my heart.
Red, gold, and smut black child.
No eyes,
my blind little dancing girl,
pirouette my heart.
Simile. Grain.
My seeds search for yolk.
Words are hard when the subject is
night day and many shades of
in between.
-Will Dockery
Off The Cuff Part Two
Enforced distance,
I've known her for a while.
But I could never love her,
I'll never know her smile.
Because she can't see me
and I can not see her.
She just lives around the way,
but the distance could not be further.
And I can not explain that,
can not be really written in a book.
She is like an ancient soul mate,
she has such a distant look.
If I had the courage,
I'd ask her why she don't seem to like me.
But like I'm sometimes known to do
I'll just wait and see.
Off the cuff,
I cry secret tears for you.
Off the cuff,
couldn't take a rejection from you.
-Will Dockery
Poem TenEnforced distance,
I've known her for a while.
But I could never love her,
I'll never know her smile.
Because she can't see me
and I can not see her.
She just lives around the way,
but the distance could not be further.
And I can not explain that,
can not be really written in a book.
She is like an ancient soul mate,
she has such a distant look.
If I had the courage,
I'd ask her why she don't seem to like me.
But like I'm sometimes known to do
I'll just wait and see.
Off the cuff,
I cry secret tears for you.
Off the cuff,
couldn't take a rejection from you.
-Will Dockery
Sixties Dream Movie
I fell asleep,
don't know what I had ate,
I dreamed, the hour was late.
It was 1968,
when comix were great,
I was ten but I left like eight,
back in La Grange when I didn't know my fate.
Went back to the times,
when grass was green,
imaginary friends that would say what they mean.
I had a barn outside my Grandaddy's house,
could look out the window and see distant cows.
Surrounded by safety
and my unchained creativity,
a million miles from adult insanity.
My Granddaddy came out to get me,
he was on a softball team and wanted me to see,
they were playing across the way at Tatumville School,
I hoped someday I could be as cool.
We strolled across and saw the crowd,
hot dogs, children playing, the racket was loud.
Several games, teams of different ages,
groups and skill of all phases and stages.
And further still out by the trees,
a voice singing out that I could hardly believe.
It was a friend I would know thirty years later,
a stand up guy I haven't met one better.
I strolled over so I could say hello,
he called me up and made me part of the show,
gave me someplace to go.
All those years of dreams and art,
they all come together and I pick them apart.
Surrounded by people I am still alone
but I'm not the only rolling stone.
Have to do what I must do,
I will always keep these notes for you.
-Will Dockery
Poem ElevenI fell asleep,
don't know what I had ate,
I dreamed, the hour was late.
It was 1968,
when comix were great,
I was ten but I left like eight,
back in La Grange when I didn't know my fate.
Went back to the times,
when grass was green,
imaginary friends that would say what they mean.
I had a barn outside my Grandaddy's house,
could look out the window and see distant cows.
Surrounded by safety
and my unchained creativity,
a million miles from adult insanity.
My Granddaddy came out to get me,
he was on a softball team and wanted me to see,
they were playing across the way at Tatumville School,
I hoped someday I could be as cool.
We strolled across and saw the crowd,
hot dogs, children playing, the racket was loud.
Several games, teams of different ages,
groups and skill of all phases and stages.
And further still out by the trees,
a voice singing out that I could hardly believe.
It was a friend I would know thirty years later,
a stand up guy I haven't met one better.
I strolled over so I could say hello,
he called me up and made me part of the show,
gave me someplace to go.
All those years of dreams and art,
they all come together and I pick them apart.
Surrounded by people I am still alone
but I'm not the only rolling stone.
Have to do what I must do,
I will always keep these notes for you.
-Will Dockery
Slam The Bell
Bodeen sits in shadow,
by the bar door,
as cars rush by,
in quick eclipse.
Slam to the underground,
standing on a platform,
all the bell ringing
songs of Christmas.
World is a stage,
when your time comes up on this page,
or clear off the page,
and to the point.
Slam to the underground,
make a sound found and round,
right through the ground,
let the words roll out,
like bells.
-Will Dockery.
Poem TwelveBodeen sits in shadow,
by the bar door,
as cars rush by,
in quick eclipse.
Slam to the underground,
standing on a platform,
all the bell ringing
songs of Christmas.
World is a stage,
when your time comes up on this page,
or clear off the page,
and to the point.
Slam to the underground,
make a sound found and round,
right through the ground,
let the words roll out,
like bells.
-Will Dockery.
Soft Shadows
Soft shadows of two men,
move and evolve.
Commercialism is the word,
a fact of life.
Sometimes very pleasant.
I've been here before.
i will be here again.
Roger that.
Soft sound from the piano below,
shifts and flows.
from this dizzy height,
it's hard to see anything.
In the effort to get everything.
-Will Dockery
Poem ThirteenSoft shadows of two men,
move and evolve.
Commercialism is the word,
a fact of life.
Sometimes very pleasant.
I've been here before.
i will be here again.
Roger that.
Soft sound from the piano below,
shifts and flows.
from this dizzy height,
it's hard to see anything.
In the effort to get everything.
-Will Dockery
Sweet Dark Memories
Sweetest smell in the air,
as i walk by an old church.
Under a canopy of Spanish moss.
The sweet queen
rustles through my memory tonight.
I stroll happy in this sweet night,
at peace at last,
at peace with the past.
I loved you dear lady,
unlike any other love,
and those pleasures are mine alone,
no one can take or share them.
I can never go home,
7th Avenue does not exist in this world.
Let's take it down to a new level,
take it down to sea level.
I am the pirate prince of Shadowville,
walking through sweet smoke and fog,
following a certain music!
-Will Dockery
Poem FourteenSweetest smell in the air,
as i walk by an old church.
Under a canopy of Spanish moss.
The sweet queen
rustles through my memory tonight.
I stroll happy in this sweet night,
at peace at last,
at peace with the past.
I loved you dear lady,
unlike any other love,
and those pleasures are mine alone,
no one can take or share them.
I can never go home,
7th Avenue does not exist in this world.
Let's take it down to a new level,
take it down to sea level.
I am the pirate prince of Shadowville,
walking through sweet smoke and fog,
following a certain music!
-Will Dockery
This Little Game
Well
this is one
of the damnedest
little games
I've ever
been in.
No way out
not even
inside.
Will the
mist lift
will the
shade shift.
-Will Dockery
Poem FifteenWell
this is one
of the damnedest
little games
I've ever
been in.
No way out
not even
inside.
Will the
mist lift
will the
shade shift.
-Will Dockery
to Samantha.
Hello Samantha,
seems to have been a while,
it HAS been a long time rising.
Ceramic Bird Sam,
fly to the blue all I am.
Oak and acorn,
progressive forward.
Brandy and smiles,
in the gathering twilight.
Never again.
There's lots of reason,
to keep this under wraps.
But now is the time for me,
to say just a bit.
I have loved you,
and I must let you know.
I should make that go,
owe it to myself,
and you too.
Daylight comes
and still I hesitate...
And I wonder,
how long it will wait,
before it is too late?
Sincerely,
W. Dockery.
-Will Dockery
Poem SixteenHello Samantha,
seems to have been a while,
it HAS been a long time rising.
Ceramic Bird Sam,
fly to the blue all I am.
Oak and acorn,
progressive forward.
Brandy and smiles,
in the gathering twilight.
Never again.
There's lots of reason,
to keep this under wraps.
But now is the time for me,
to say just a bit.
I have loved you,
and I must let you know.
I should make that go,
owe it to myself,
and you too.
Daylight comes
and still I hesitate...
And I wonder,
how long it will wait,
before it is too late?
Sincerely,
W. Dockery.
-Will Dockery
Weasel Blues
Weasel cringes,
Weasel winces,
watch Weasel out
straddling fences.
Diving under tables,
avoiding his senses.
(That's what he's doing!)
-Will Dockery
Poem SeventeenWeasel cringes,
Weasel winces,
watch Weasel out
straddling fences.
Diving under tables,
avoiding his senses.
(That's what he's doing!)
-Will Dockery
When
When the mill shut down,
we hit the pavement with a thud,
then we all got up and kept walking.
Some to the work house,
some to the poor house,
some to the whorehouse,
and the grave.
-Will Dockery
--When the mill shut down,
we hit the pavement with a thud,
then we all got up and kept walking.
Some to the work house,
some to the poor house,
some to the whorehouse,
and the grave.
-Will Dockery
Poetry & Music of Will Dockery
https://www.reverbnation.com/willdockery
Wine and cigar well earned today.....