May I have the pleasure?
May I have the pleasure, of killing the last vampire
or will the horrid, hordes slay us first?
When I am King, all in the realm will carry, at hand,
freshly bottled Holy water, mallet with wooden stake,
and a Pope-blessed crucifix.
When I am King, Buffy and True Blood will be banished,
along with novels coddling blood-sucking bats.
The sun will never set at Twilight.
When I am King, statues of Bram Stoker will be smashed.
Bios of Bela Lugosi and Lon Chaney stricken from Wikipedia.
Agents, editors and publishers of the genre may be Tasered on sight.
May I have the pleasure,
of murdering them all, or like the gladiators of Rome,
I ask, let me die honorably in the attempt.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
A birthday tribute
Ode to Michael Blake
By Charles Redner
Here’s to the Age of Retirement
and all that jive,
sixty plus cinco
on twenty-ten, July five.
Give a cheer ‘cause Michael’s
made it to here.
Ya’ll know the drill—
a toast—lift up a frosty,
cold mug of beer.
His classic Dances taken on a life of its own,
then Twelve raced off to heaven, but is hardly alone.
Hundreds now follow their undaunted King
a galloping Pegasus over endless valleys upon angel wings.
The Holy Road’s waiting
for Hollywood to call,
where that darn Kevin guy
is too busy hitting a ball.
Indian Yell tells the stories
white-folks shudder to recall
but needs retelling, so never again
at a Wounded Knee they fall.
___________________________
You may bury my body in Sussex grass,
You may bury my tongue at Champmedy.
I shall not be there, I shall rise and pass.
Bury my heart at Wounded Knee.
Stephen Vincent Benet
“American Names,” 1931
By Charles Redner
Here’s to the Age of Retirement
and all that jive,
sixty plus cinco
on twenty-ten, July five.
Give a cheer ‘cause Michael’s
made it to here.
Ya’ll know the drill—
a toast—lift up a frosty,
cold mug of beer.
His classic Dances taken on a life of its own,
then Twelve raced off to heaven, but is hardly alone.
Hundreds now follow their undaunted King
a galloping Pegasus over endless valleys upon angel wings.
The Holy Road’s waiting
for Hollywood to call,
where that darn Kevin guy
is too busy hitting a ball.
Indian Yell tells the stories
white-folks shudder to recall
but needs retelling, so never again
at a Wounded Knee they fall.
___________________________
You may bury my body in Sussex grass,
You may bury my tongue at Champmedy.
I shall not be there, I shall rise and pass.
Bury my heart at Wounded Knee.
Stephen Vincent Benet
“American Names,” 1931
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Nine minutes of fame!
On the set of “Write-On” with host, Judy Saxon. Could Oprah’s sofa be far off?
Monday, May 10, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Laguna Woods Book Festival May 8, 2010
Come to my class at the Laguna Woods Book Festival, May 8th. "Mind-Bloggeling" Internet.
Monday, April 5, 2010
California Quake
Each March, Professor Dean Nelson of Point Loma Nazarene University, San Diego, California holds a weeklong celebration called Writer’s Symposium by the Sea. I highly recommend attending if at all possible. My friend, Luis Urrea (author of Into the Beautiful North) presented at last year’s event. This year I heard Garrison Keillor and Professor Michael Eric Dyson of Georgetown. Dyson is a wild man. He was there to speak about his Martin Luther King, Jr. book, April 4, 1968 and hip hop culture. I couldn’t resist, had to write this ditty after the dynamic presentation.
Crill Auditorium Epicenter
of Point Loma Quake
By Charles Redner
Yo, Professor Dyson
Jive’n like Ali
but bite’n like Mike Tyson.
Had a message, delivered it strong—
there are words that just don’t belong.
For a Black man began with “N”
The other invective, come again,
for a woman “H” it ends.
While spoken festive style
no joking in the aisles.
Those two words will delete
this audience never to repeat.
Yo, Professor Dyson
you shook the foundation
of our “I have a dream” education.
Made us think of race
as a on-going case,
not just historical footnotes
of nineteen-sixty’s quotes.
A work in progress
amid giant strides
providing we all don’t backslide.
Yo, Professor Dyson
you set the stage on fire
then received a standing O.
Oh, so deservedly so!
March 25, 2010
Crill Auditorium Epicenter
of Point Loma Quake
By Charles Redner
Yo, Professor Dyson
Jive’n like Ali
but bite’n like Mike Tyson.
Had a message, delivered it strong—
there are words that just don’t belong.
For a Black man began with “N”
The other invective, come again,
for a woman “H” it ends.
While spoken festive style
no joking in the aisles.
Those two words will delete
this audience never to repeat.
Yo, Professor Dyson
you shook the foundation
of our “I have a dream” education.
Made us think of race
as a on-going case,
not just historical footnotes
of nineteen-sixty’s quotes.
A work in progress
amid giant strides
providing we all don’t backslide.
Yo, Professor Dyson
you set the stage on fire
then received a standing O.
Oh, so deservedly so!
March 25, 2010
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