| InterBoard Poetry Competition | |
| First Place Winner, August 2007 | |
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AFTER HOWL III -- ROCKIN’ THE AGES Gary Blankenship (Wild Poetry Forum) who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels --Allen Ginsberg, “Howl” east of boise they find a cultist who prepared kool-aid for a jim jones when sister Sylvia saw the Virgin Mary in the pond behind the hen house no one paid any attention to her south of soshone they locate a survivalist who sells cranberries in a fruit stand on highway 93 when mama saw Mother Mary in grandpa’s fried egg, they turned the kitchen into a shrine ketchum is all weed dealers who tithe to a clapboard church in mountain home Uncle John is still in the attic they leave orofino where every man woman child stray goat is his her its own prophet Christ walked across Lake Coeur d’Alene the day of the parade in honor of President Reagan and no one noticed in lewiston they come across the holy slots sacred decks hallowed bones mammon’s offering to the state the picture of the Garden behind Grandma’s bed only cost her $125 in 1973 in soda springs they hit upon a two dollar gal who nightly prays to baby jesus at least twice an hour in an alley behind the suds and pack when the tent revival came to town everyone was there, two members of the cheer squad were visiting relatives the next fall the idaho falls temple is being repainted in a new shade of temple white I dream my guardian angel is on strike the buddhist gate is locked on cable Italian suits beg moloch sings when the roll is called up yonder Judge Deborah Bogen’s comments: “To invoke the ghost of Ginsberg is to invite a perilous comparison, but this poem manages that difficulty by giving us a series of wild but believable observations that carry the poem’s commentary with a cool energy, and make an off-kilter but undeniable kind of sense. The pictures painted here are intense, and build so dramatically upon each other, that even a phrase as short as ‘Uncle John is still in the attic’ becomes a mental vignette, a miniature morality play that the poem asks us to write for ourselves. Thus the poet is both author and instigator -- very Ginsbergesque.”
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