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Notes from the Dustbowl

Jim Goar

Notes From the Dustbowl #1

Ghost town. Tumbleweed. Ain’t
got no home. Ain’t got no home.
But an echo. A stutter. The land
like magic shit. Behold the
dustbowl. That Damn-ward sun.
Big as your fist. Sit on Plymouth
Rock. I’ll sit below. Con-
templating West. Forget-me-not.


Notes from the Dustbowl #2

Sat in the perilous seat. Served
green eggs and ham. Not what
I’d expected. A case of mistaken
identity. Nothing new under the
sun. Always did what I was
told. Right foot on the black hole.
Left hand on Elaine. The quest-
ion remained. Un-answered. Jesus
raised his hands. You know the score.
Bodies inside bodies. Fingers on
Orion’s belt. After the magical
stutter. Galahad was born.


Notes from the Dustbowl #3

The dustbowl loomed. A book that
could not be opened. The bastard
son remembered a sword. This is my
body. All those angry lambs. Crows
go round and round. Ain’t got no
home. A barn beneath the sand.
Here today. Gone tomorrow. Waiting
for the storm to pass. A little boy fell
in a well. I am the darkness closing in.

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  • Timothy says:

    Brilliant and beguiling – reads almost like a freewrite until you pick up on the associations, eg. the repetition of ‘ain’t got no home’ after the stuttering ref. The landscape comes to life to the extent that it almost becomes a character in the poem. I appreciate the subtlety of the internal-rhymes. My type of poetry.