Did ma' duty

My Uncle’s description of Vietnam:

Hill 281 was ma’ war

charged up through jungle

and flies and all kindsa shit

animal shit

shit covered pungi sticks

shit from the dead

when you die you shit

that ain’t no bull

whatever’s in you

you shit

fought on that hill for three days

it ain’t the dead that smelt

it was the shit

left 32 men and 4000 shells

on that hill

still can’t get that smell out

My Father’s description on ‘Nam:

Guard duty at Fort Bragg

army reserve baby

watchin’ the brass and

smokin’ some grass

sounds easy but you know what

we had to clean the Generals’ toilets

and boy could they shit

Same Old Saturday

The night ignites as the final rays hide behind the mountain

Sun down, bottoms up

Firebrand swill

Dark corners of darker bars

Made bright by insight and staged rhythm

Loosen up, just let it flow

Who the fuck is talking to Kara?

Uh-oh, not again

Beer muscles and tough talk lead to

Mayhem in the street

Duck back inside before the real trouble starts

Cops and cracked skulls

Beer washes out easier than blood

Is this the same place?

Somehow not, different walls same stink

Shoes stick to beer and vomit

New corner, same swill

Deepening haze brings out better stories

It's Time We Defined Our Generation

I’m Kerouac

Bullshit! I’m Kerouac!

But I’m the one who travels like him

You drove to the Outer Banks

It’s like 10 hours!

It’s not on the road!

I’m Kerouac, you can be Burroughs

I don’t do enough drugs to be Burroughs, have you even read junky?

Fine, you can be Ginsberg but I’m still Kerouac

But I hate writing poetry how can I be Ginsberg?

Jesus! How about Gregory Corso?

Who’s Gregory Corso?

This isn’t working, let’s start again. I’ll be Hemmingway and you can be Fitzgerald.

How are you Hemmingway your sentences are way too long!

You’re an idiot, I’m Hemmingway for sure and you can be Ezra Pound

Again with the hating of poetry

Oh my god! Just be John Dos Passos

That name sounds made up

You make me tired. Last try, I’m Hunter Thompson and you’re Tom Wolfe

Hunter Thompson? Getting a little full of yourself aren’t you?

I’m sticking with Thompson and you get Lester Bangs

Did you really just downgrade me from poet to music critic?

Dark lord give me strength! You get to be Norman Mailer, last offer

I’ll mail you my last offer, and it’s Kerouac

Why do I even talk to you

iPirate

21^st century swashbuckler

Hit and run

On the USS Fileshare

Tells self:

Fuck major labels!

Yuppie execs count cash

While bands roll flush

Tour stops and t-shirts

Keep wallets fat

Music shop manger

Local legend

“Going out of business”

Massacre on a digital scale

Somethin' Else

i’m sipping cool brown rum in a glass

with three ice cubes

and just the right mix of melted water and liquor

cannonball on my speakers

with a forgotten voice in the back of my brain

if you play Somethin’ Else late at night

with just the right drunk it will change your life

but the stereo has moved on

before I remember a face with the voice

coleman is picking me back up

off the floor, dusting off my booze addled nerves

with his sax and speed

a friend once asked why I listen to jazz while

pushing me toward a different style

metal will melt your face if you play it loud!

i tried to explain,

with no volume at all

miles will melt your brain

Welcome!

Welcome to the blog of Stewart Grant! I have been meaning to start this for some time and finally decided today was the day. My hope with this blog is to share my work with as many people as possible and hopefully get some feedback. I write mainly poetry and some short stories, and will share both along with anything that grabs my interest. Thanks for checking me out!