Wednesday, December 02, 2015

the poet doug draime

several days ago my partner in rhyme, jonathan hayes, emailed me the sad news doug draime died at the early age of 72 from a short, but intense bout with lung cancer.  doug was -- is -- a small press poet, prolific as hell, and a good man.  i knew doug by his poetry and the too few emails we exchanged over the span of a few years.  this is a sad world, i am currently watching CNN with live coverage of the latest tragedy and my heart hangs heavy.  but doug's example of life, love and poetry counterbalances my near despair of our fucked up world by making me want to stay, feel and be alive.  the world is made a poorer place without doug draime in it.



At 9:14 AM, Blogger Unknown said...


At 9:14 AM, Blogger Unknown said...


At 7:20 PM, Blogger John B-R said...

Didn't know the guy or his work, but your post sent me to get educated, and I found this, which is great:

On A Dark Night Across From The Hollywood Cemetery

She threw a large half full
Lysol stray can at me.
It hit me under the
left eye
and cut me open.
Her 5 year old daughter
came out from
the back bedroom
and stood behind
her mother
in the doorway
wide eyed,
terrified from all our
and the blood dripping
down my face.
I told her
to go back
in the bedroom,
that everything would be OK,
that it was
just about over. I was so
drunk I barely felt
the gash and the large
mouse that was
under my eye. Her mother
who was drunker than me,
abruptly sat down on the
couch, still half-ass yelling
at me. She had
stopped throwing things,
so I picked-up
a paper napkin
from the coffee table,
sat down
in a chair across from her,
and pressed it against
my wound.

I sat for a moment
trying to apply
enough pressure
to stop the
When I looked up
her daughter was
in front of me
handing me a wet washcloth
and a band aid,
her beautiful blue eyes
still as big as moons. I looked over
at her mother,
but she had passed out
on the couch.
I smiled and took
the washcloth and cleaned out
the cut, dried it
with another napkin
and stuck on the band aid.
She told me
in a matter of fact way,
her voice only
slightly shaky,
that she
was going back to bed,
and if I was going to
leave, she asked me to
please cover up her mother
and turn out
the light,
when I left.
I thanked her for the
washcloth and band aid
and reached out
and touched her on the arm,
telling her
I wouldn’t leave
till her mother felt
better in the morning
She just pulled away from me gently, smiling
and said, it was Ok,
that the other
men had just left her sleeping on
the couch, or sometimes the floor
Nodding at me, she turned and walked
back down
the hallway
into her room
and closed
the door


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