Happiness is Poetry: Hosho McCreesh

So tonight my friends, the poetry of Hosho McCreesh, a poet I discovered in my communication with Doug Draime who recommended him to me. Not suprisingly, Doug was right on the money. Much like Doug’s work, Hosho writes the way I like my poetry, straight forward, intense like a punch in the literary gut, so good. You can see more of his writing and buy his work at HoshoMcCreesh.com Give these a read and have a happy day my friends ~ Rev Kane

On Bukowski,
Desperately Wanting to Buy
A Headstone for Jane…

It would’ve been a hard thing,
broke & worrying after
bottles and rent,
hard to plumb out
that kind of
expense.

Death, even the
unheralded kind,
still costs too
damned
much.

I like to think
it was a Tuesday,
sunny, maybe a
yellow June day.

We’ll call it 1974.

And we’ll say he finally
planted that slab, finally
punctuated that last sentence,
& sent what was left
of all those haunting,
unfinished years to
the worms.

**************************

10 o’clock
and the night is
slow and dull,
and someone says
“Let’s go to Vegas,”

But then you
actually go.
And you spend three days
in a hotel room
at the Sahara,
dragging the plastic
garbage can down to
the hotel bar,
and filling it with
75¢ beers, and
chucking the empties
out your twelve-story window
at the construction site
across the way,
hands around
naked hips
trying to keep
each other from
falling off the
ledge
of the sad, lonely,
and desperate
goddamned
world.

************************

On Being Glad, at 37,
That I Never Did
Kill Myself…

Even now,
I sometimes
catch myself
feeling frustrated
& unproud,
as if this life was
some kind of
ugly game,
here to be
won.

But the simple truth is
despite all my
bitching & moaning,
despite the burnt out
and beaten days,
despite the snow falling
past the halide streetlight
of an orange 4am,
I’ve still had it
pretty
damn
good.

****************************

On Watching War Videos
From Iraq, or Maybe Afghanistan,
On YouTube…

It’s just not something
I can understand.

I want to
kill nothing.

I feel bad killing even
fruit flies, and gnats,
mosquitoes when I’m
sitting out back.

But there’s this footage,
eerie green, night-vision,
shot from above,
of four men,
hiding an IED in
a shallow hole.

And they’re trying trying trying
to fit it in, to bury it,
an IED
meant to kill
American soldiers.

And while I don’t agree, in principle,
with military action, while my
patriotism isn’t blind to the
brutal dualities of war and life,
and while I do not think myself
capable of such service,
I am happy that,
as a fifth man approaches,
one standing watch,
probably wondering
what the hell is
taking so long,

it explodes—

Ha!
You stupid!
Mother!
Fuckers!

—it explodes,
leaving nothing
in frame.

And it doesn’t mean
we are right,
it doesn’t mean
we are wrong,

like I said,
it’s just not something
I can understand.

And it’s ugly of me,
I know it is,

but I’m happy.

I’m very
happy.

*************************************************

Related Posts

Happiness is Poetry: Doug Draime

Happiness is Poetry: Charles Bukowski

Happiness is Poetry: Pablo Neruda

Happiness is Poetry: Z Deacon Blue

About Michael Kane

Michael Kane is a writer, photographer, educator, speaker, adventurer and a general sampler of life. His books on hiking and poetry are available in soft cover and Kindle on Amazon.

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