Long John wayne Poems
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Ah! The Golden Years of Hollywood
And those old black and white movies
Some were cinematic disasters
But some you could call quite groovy
Even now, my heart skips a beat
When one appears on the late night screen
I choke up a bit seeing John Wayne
As he swaggers in and out of the scene
Today with its technology and trickery
We don't know if people are real
Or made up computer animation dudes
To me, it seems way too surreal
Take me back to the Spaghetti Westerns
The gangster films of Cagney and Bogart
The Three Stooges, Abbott and Costello
Loved them all, that was cinematic art
The stunning sensuality of Ingrid Bergman
The glamour of a young Liz Taylor
The bombshell beauty of Marilyn Monroe
Bardot, Betty Grable and more
The newsreels, the cartoons, the travelogues
And the giant blockbusters of the time
Sure was a lot for twenty-five cents
Plus popcorn and a drink for a dime
Ah! The Golden Years of Hollywood
Great musicals like “Singing In The Rain”
“An American In Paris” with Gene Kelly
Sure wish I could go back there again
© Jack Ellison 2014
She walked into kindergarten alone on the second day.
Blonde ponytails swinging, big smile, three freckles on her nose.
Miss Thee, our teacher, asked her name.
Merry Dee Singlewary.
Surprisingly, she was on Miss Thee’s list,
But no one remembered seeing an extra name the day before.
Where did you come from? Miss Thee asked.
Space, said Merry Dee, cheerful and assertive-like.
Two of us looked up.
“Outer space?” I asked.
She smiled. Her pony tails bounced up and down.
“Yes,” she said.
She was in kindergarten with us until winter break.
Her coloring was beautiful, in the lines. No scribbles.
She loved pink playdough, pushing it into extravagant villages.
She was a master manipulator of the sand table.
We followed her around like puppies. This is not your planet, Johnny told her.
We both laughed, and stuck our tongues out.
Friday December 18th there was a Christmas program.
Back in the 60’s we could use the word Christmas. Christmas. Christmas. Christmas. Christmas.
Merry Dee was Mary. I was a lost sheep, probably because I scribbled all over my paper and my desk.
Which ones are Merry Dee’s parents? I heard Miss X, our hawk-nosed principal, ask Miss Thee.
I have no idea, Miss Thee said. She always comes alone. I have never met them.
Merry Dee Singlewary hugged me so tight that night I thought my eyes would fall out of their sockets.
I hugged her back just as tight, and gave her a playful swat on her petootsie for good measure.
Back in the 60’s you could swat women on the bottom. Maureen O’Hara and John Wayne taught us that.
I watched Merry Dee walk away from that program alone, not realizing her parents were not there.
She was whistling and skipping, glad she was going to be whisked by space ship home to her own planet.
Moral of this story: Merry Dee, We, Miss Thee
It's funny to me, all the fear they impose
I see it in children, and some adults that I know
With their painted on faces and squishy red nose
What's there to fear, their vagabond clothes?
There's 15 to a car, the size of an ant
Whose feet fit those shoes...Who wears suspenders on pants???
Who would bother to hide their identity...
Is there something more sinister, which I fail to see......
Who's always happy and wears a smile on their face......
It's becoming an image that I can't erase............
I think I'm beginning to now understand..
Was John Wayne Gacy a clown, or was he a man???
Who sneaks up behind those unprepared
Then blows a loud horn....
I'm officially scared!!
Who always wears gloves to avoid fingerprints.....
I get it all now.........
I now understand!!!!
(30.4.75: the USA abandons its ally, South Vietnam:
Darwin Judge is the last American to die in Saigon)
Don't ever tell me this was dignified.
I never want to hear of heads held high,
of brothers-in-arms, or marching out with pride.
Just take the pain. It's how it was. Don't lie.
On Wednesday April thirtieth, we ran.
We scurried from the post we should defend,
abandoning the flag, the 'wife', the plan.
We scrambled out, and didn't take our friends.
They washed up all around us, thick as kelp.
To linger here was worse than death. They knew.
Whom else but us could they beseech for help?
We climbed aboard without them. Off we flew.
"White Christmas" played bizarrely, over again,
and big white guys with guns backed from the line
where squatted cooks and cleaners, handymen.
Our time had come to go. This was the sign.
We were their only hope. But, on the sly,
(John Wayne we weren't. Not even Dennis Hopper.)
so no-one would wise up, we - Semper Fi -
snuck sheepishly aboard the final chopper.
A Piece of Cowboy Fun
I know that once the West was wild
This I learned when still a child
The matinee on Saturday was the best
To see the cowboys clean up the west
My favourite was the man in the mask
‘Who was that masked man?’ I hear some ask
None other than the brave ‘Lone Ranger’
Who rescued all who were in danger
With Tonto who was his very best pal
And always there was a glamorous gal
There was Roy Rogers and trigger too
Cisco and Pancho, to name a few
Hopalong Cassidy, Tarzan and Jane (oops they slipped in)
And who can forget ‘Big John Wayne’
After the flick we came charging out
Galloping our horses and mucking about
Holding up buses with pretend guns
Hounding poor dogs for cattle runs
These days of innocent fun are gone
But in my mind they still live on.
If Youse Guys
If youse guys knock on my door,
I ain’t gonna answer it, no freaking way, man!
Youse could be Perry Smith and Dick Hickock standing there,
Holding a flashlight, a fishing knife, and a shotgun,
Thinking there’s a safe in the house somewheres.
I know youse guys think I’m loaded,
And that youse would kill me for ma’ money.
Not tonight Misters Perry and Dick!
I got two bus tickets to Barstow, and then
Into the American desert youse will walk,
with hitching, trembling thumbs stuck way out!
And if youse guys come driving up and offer me a ride,
I ain’t gonna get in, no freaking way, man!
Youse could be Ted Bundy and John Wayne Gacy in there,
Gripping a lug wrench and a rubber tourniquet,
Thinking I’m jus’ a soft target for your Polaroid camera.
Not today Misters Bundy and Gacy!
I gotta a tan V Dub, all gassed up for the long haul to Tacoma,
And then, into the American nightmare we will all go.
But if youse guys try to sell me a bill of goods,
I ain’t gonna buy it, no freaking way, man!
Youse could be Vincenzo Peruggia, and Doris Payne sitting there,
Holding a bag made of sackcloth, and a hoodie,
Scheming to rid my bank account with a smile and a lie.
Not today Messers Vincenzo and Payne!
I gotta fast plane to catch to Monte Carlo and Paris,
And I ain’t taking my diamonds or my Mona Lisa!
Sleep easy youse guys.
I ain’t gonna say nothing nice ‘bout any of youse.
All youse were just bad folk.
Glad youse is gone.
.
I loved you John Wayne!
I wished you were my father
or maybe an older brother
who’d tutor me to be tough
when manners weren’t enough
and toughness was needed
that civility be heeded
and not to brag or complain.
O I loved you John Wayne!
As soon as I was old enough
to earn the price of admission
I saw your films in succession
at the first run houses down
in the big deal part of town
and enshrined each one on a list
taped to my bedside wall
and read about the ones I’d missed.
Shucks, I loved you most of all!
Fort Apache and Red River
took pride of place on the page;
they’d eaten up my weekly wage.
I missed the Yellow Ribbon;
I hoped I’d be forgiven.
At the Rio and the Broad
(in a dicey neighborhood)
I atoned with films you’d done
before I was even born.
Western after Western
and tales of oil and whiskey
and scheming ladies, O so risky!
I hoped I’d be excused
when I compromised my muse
by adding well-built gals
to Duke and all his pals.
Montez, Russell, and Lake
made my hormones quake.
O I loved you, John Wayne.
I could feel your bashful pain
When the pretty lady roped you
and hat in hand you’d bow,
the furrow deepening on your brow,
and utter monosyllables plus “Ma’am,”
no longer a ram, more like a lamb.
O I shared you pain, John Wayne!
And still I loved you John Wayne,
your true grit and donnybrook,
your menacing brow, the look
that said, “Enough, my friend.
“This bull is going to end!”
You swaggered? (not quite it--
as if your boots didn’t quite fit?)
You took him by the horns and shook;
Plomp! Down went the snook!
How I loved you, John Wayne!
And I love you still when again I see
the doughty Duke on my smart TV
as much as Papa’s lone old man,
with fish chewed down to the bone
loved Joltin’ Joe Dimaggio
when the Clipper’s legs began to go
and he was hobbled by his heel.
John Wayne, you were the real deal.
I was meeting me girlfriend , sexy Cherry Russ
When I saw her hands go up to her mouth and she did cuss
There was this whooshing sound
And before I looked round
I was hit by the wing-mirror of a bus
With a broken jaw, to get to hospital was a mission
That wasn’t the end of me plight of painful petitions
Instead of wiring up me jaw
Something worse I implore
They mistook me for a patient that needed circumcision
Through wired teeth, I said I‘d sue for loads a cash
As I ate through a straw blended veg and meat and mash
Suddenly I had the urge to sing
As the wires came free, I screamed
Caused by the nurse accidentally knocking on the laughing gas
They going to kill me I thought in agonising pain
So I tried to escape by jumped through the window which is insane
They didn’t tell me I was two stories high
I must tell you humans don’t fly
Now I got a walk identical to John Wayne
I went to the Hollywood studio meeting
Paul, Steve and Sandy gave me a warm greeting
I was there to advise them, hired from Spain
My motto in business was no pain, no gain
So we sat down to the business at hand
Their movies were sinking, like stones in quicksand.
"How about a cowboy movie," I said...
"Good guys and bad guys with the latter shot dead!"
A gasp of wonder spread to them all
"Why didn't we think of that?" said Paul
Said Sandy, who though rich, struck me as obtuse
"It has to be woke, it must have juice
The cowboy, we'll call him Abdul McPherson
No, wait, we should refer to him as a CowPerson
His love interest should be black or brown
A birthing person, the soul of the town
The villains name could be Donald McKnight
A Donald Trump stand-in, got to be white."
"Wait," said Steve, "cis-male is a relic."
Abdul should be tender, gender-fluid and angelic."
Steve looked at his reflection in the table of mahogany
Added "How about hints of consensual non-monogamy?"
Sandy said "No! We must push the edge with our fans!
Every character, even the horse, must be trans!"
I was sarcastic, I said "for a true creative spark
We know Spielberg had a hit long ago about a shark,
Maybe stick one in the film, somewhere in the sagebrush
A gasp spread around the table, an awestruck hush
Paul shouted, "that's it! Cowperson versus Jaws!
A fable about transgressing natures laws!
Lets start shooting tomorrow, drop that Batman remake:
With this kind of theme, we can't make a mistake!"
Despite guaranteed payment, I was feeling sick
I already knew there was no hope for this flick
But they got so thrilled, they made their bet
Sunk investor millions, their studio further in debt.
I gathered my fees, went back to Spain
And "Cowperson versus Jaws" circled down the drain
To my horror in the credits, they mentioned my name
I was jeered in Madrid, couldn't face the shame.
Paul, Steve and Sandy did fine at the bank
Woke investors kept funding, though the movie stank
Though audiences felt under a dentist's drill
The Critics said the movie was epic, groundbreaking, a thrill.
Geologists say that one day, California will fall into the sea
Its already happened; Hollywood is a parody
Showdown at Noon but no Gary Cooper, can't find John Wayne
Woke Bandits have stolen the gold off the movie train.
I don’t like what they say
They won’t see it our way
They rave and squawk
Proceed to talk
Shut them down, they’re hateful.
They do not go along
With History’s true song
They shout and bray
Cling to their faith
Shut them down, they’re hateful.
I never can explain
Why they think they’re John Wayne
They all own guns
Often more than one
Shut them down, they’re hateful.
They’re ideas are quite beserk
They fetishize hard word
They’d force the poor
To hard labour
Cut them down, they’re hateful.
They think that money spent
Poorly by government
Should be their own
And spent at home
Cut them down, they’re hateful.
So we’ll march in the streets
Punch them when we meet
We’ll put the fist
To those fascists
Cut them down, they’re hateful.
Don’t look at me like that
Don’t talk behind my back
You know I ride
One with the tribe
You cannot think I’m hateful
Think of what we’ve endured
Who are you to say ‘impure’
No one can sate
All those dictates
You know that I’m not hateful
You must resist the urge
Don’t put me in the purge
I heard the call
Marched with you all
I swear that I’m not hateful!
Bang.