Monday, April 21, 2014

A Poem by Ron Yazinski

(The ashes of Shelley’s heart were sent back to England.)
In the Protestant Cemetery in Rome,
At the foot of Shelley’s grave,
Is the marker for Gregory Corso.
The only time I ever saw the man
Was in New York,
At a Beat celebration of Jack Kerouac.
I laughed when he slurred,
“Kerouac hated me for two reasons:
“First, because I slept with his woman.
“I’d have no friends if I stopped talking to everybody who slept with mine.
“And second,
“With his drunken notion that all great writing
“Should be as spontaneous as jazz,
“He called me a lying moron for revising my work.
“Hell, I told him
“Every time I rewrote I did it spontaneously.”
For years after his death,
Friends and lovers petitioned for the right
To rebury his ashes here.
When they finally succeeded,
They beatified the ceremony with a reading of his poems
And a joint of the finest weed
Brought all the way from Colorado;
In this way,
Revising the lost ashes of Shelley’s heart.
Ron Yazinski is a retired English teacher who, with his wife Jeanne, lives in Winter Garden, Florida.  His poems have appeared in many journals, including The Mulberry Poets and Writers Association, Strong Verse, The Bijou Review, The Edison Literary Review, Jones Av., Chantarelle’s Notebook, Centrifugal Eye,, Nefarious Ballerina, The Talon, Amarillo Bay, The Write Room, Pulsar, Sunken Lines, Wilderness House, Blast Furnace, and The Houston Literary Review. He is also the author of the chapbook HOUSES: AN AMERICAN ZODIAC, and two volumes of  poetry, SOUTH OF SCRANTON and KARAMAZOV POEMS.

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