KANSAS GAY READER

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Peter Pan

The Haunted Bridge

Strong City Rodeo

Class Reunion

Granada

Gay Life in Emporia

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Peter Pan

William Allen White—

Was somewhat shocked

When Mr. Barrie got

Off the Santa Fe train

Such a nelly queen—

Author of Peter Pan

BUT there she was

Mary White’s idol

WAW had built—

All of Peter Pan Park

Just to please Mary

& Her love for Peter

Down there by the—

Swimming Pool

Resplendent with

A pretty little lake

Plus a nice—

Amphitheater

Lovely trees and

Some tennis courts

WAW had even—

Built a moated

Monkey Island for

His lovely daughter

Miss Barrie gave—

A nice reading

Emporia’s citizens

So very pleased

They put Barrie—

Back on the train

And got him

Outta town fast

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The Haunted Bridge

They called it The Bird Bridge—

Named after Lorna Anderson

And her lover the handsome

Reverend Thomas Bird

They said it was haunted—

The old fashioned rickety

Wood planks and cable

Bridge over the Cottonwood

Adventurous teenagers—

Would go out there at night

After feeling brave and

Guzzling a six-pack of Coors

They’d tape ghostly voices—

Emanating from Sandra Bird

Who got dumped in the drink

Her car driven into the river

She’d howl and lament—

Giving the Faith Lutheran

Church of Emporia the

Worst heebie-jeebies

The only way to shut her up—

Was to throw the book at

Her minister husband and his

Slutty “personal” secretary

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Strong City Rodeo

“They cried

Oho ya ho!!!

O hoo!!!

Celebrating marriage

Of flesh and air”

—Wallace Stevens

“Life in Motion”

Roses are red—

Violets are blue

FFA boys are cute

And so are you!!!

Roses are red—

Violets are blue

I went Boo-Hoo

Over Flint Hills boyz!

The Strong City—

Rodeo was hot

All the handsome

Bold-legged cowboys!

I loved their boots—

So shit-kickin cool

Pointy-toed like

Marilyn’s high heels!

It was so gross—

And animalesque

The way the bulls

Farted outta the gates!

The rodeo clowns—

Saved many lives

Maniacal matadors

So extremely chic!

Cowboy and western—

Music in the bars

Chase County out

There under the stars!

The Bar-Z Ranch—

So gothic and gaunt

So lonely out there

Cute cattlemen’s sons!

I’ll never forget—

Those boyz in pickups

Cold Coors, gun-racks

Out under the stars!

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Class Reunion

Out west of town—

By the Santa Fe tracks

The Doodlebug’s wail

In the dark of night

Old Highway 50—

Where my mother

Amy Jane grew up

Way back when

Her worried parents—

Married her off fast

To a kid in a band

Before she got pregnant

She was a goodlooking—

Redhead and all the

Boyz at EHS sure had

The hots for her

It was only a—

Matter of time and

So she got married

Then I popped up

I was supposed to—

Be the Divine Child

And settle Amy down

To a nice married life

Spending summers—

Being a rowdy boy

Down by the idyllic

Cottonwood River

A Thirties nuance—

That Great Depression

Still hung around the

Looks of all the faces

Then the immediacy—

Of WWII and Korea

Pretty much did in

My mother’s marriage

Followed by Neosho—

Rural and Constitution

As well as my mother’s

Dismal second marriage

Ending up dead—

That whole drinking

Smoking VFW generation

What else for them to do?

The Gazette obituaries—

Have pretty much taken

Away all those teachers

At EHS dontchaknow

The only reunion left—

For me now is simply

My long gone nostalgic

Midwestern memories

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Granada

Swank bedazzled—

Old film palace

How did Emporia rate

Such Hollywood splendor?

Across the street—

The Presbyterian Church

And yet the Granada

Was the real Temple

Lush red crushed velvet—

Curtains and luxurious

Balcony with Moorish

Spanish Revival class

Even air conditioning—

During torrid summers

Full of Bette Davis as

Baby Jane so campy

Pushing Joan Crawford—

Down the stairs and

Reminding her that there

Was rats in the cellar!!!

Such cinematic wonder—

Spoiling us into believing

We were Barbara Stanwyck

In “Sorry, Wrong Number”

Only to stand beneath—

The blinking marquee and

Realize that it was all just

A sullen small-town illusion

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Gay Life in Emporia

“In Oklahoma

Bonnie and Josie

Dressed in Calico

Danced and stomped”

—Wallace Stevens

“Life in Motion”

They came to town—

Dressed like cowpokes

Bonnie and Clyde

There on Commercial

The boy dressed—

In Western drag

His boyfriend dressed

As a cute cowgirl

Emporia gawked—

Simply shocked

At such an affront

To their morals

Their Midwestern—

Sensibility and their

Conservative Kansas

Respectability wrecked

So into the local

Hoosegow Jail went

The lovely couple

Just like that

The stern Judge—

Finally letting them

Out demanding

They’d get married

And so Bonnie—

And Clyde ended up

Man and wife just

Like they wanted to

Bonnie was butch—

And Clyde was fem

One was bottom

And the other top

And they lived—

Happily ever after

And so did all of

Lovely Emporia
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FROM JAIL TO ALTAR

Queer Conceit of Lyon County Lovers Causes Trouble
Bride Came to Town Arrayed in Male Attire and Both She and Groom Are Landed in Jail

Emporia, Kan., Jan. 21---Queenie Martin and John M. Austin were married late this afternoon at the courthouse by Judge R.M. Homer. The wedding was the termination of an escapade that landed the young couple in the Lyon county jail only to be released after the wedding ceremony above referred to. The groom is a young farmer who resides in the north part of Lyon county, about nine miles from Emporia. He is related to some of the wealthiest and best known citizens of the county. Yesterday he was noticed walking about town in company of another slight built young fellow, and the suspicion was aroused that the latter was a girl. The two were stopped by Sheriff O'Conner, when the suspicion was changed into a certainty, and they were locked up. Both gave fictitious names, and told romantic stories. Both agreed, however, on one point, that they had come to Emporia to get married. Today Judge Homer told the youth that unless he gave his proper name, told the truth and married the girl, he would send them both to jail for three months. The above names were then confessed to. Friends who knew them were sent for. Judge Homer married them and sent them home rejoicing at accomplishing their first purpose, but considerably cut up because of the notoriety gained. (Kansas Semi-Weekly Capital ~ 25 Jan 1898)

http://genealogytrails.com/kan/lyon/newspapertidbits3.html#from

SPANISH EYES

—for Arnold Lopez

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VwB-6H2Ua9o

In a little while—

Surely you’ll be mine

In a little while I’ll be

Back there again

This hurt won’t—

Hurt any more

And I’ll be home

Home again

When I take—

A deep breath

I’ll be back then

Again with you

If I come—

Crawling back

To you will

You be there?

In a little while—

Spanish eyes

My, how you’ve

Grown, slow down

Slow down—

My beating heart

Slow me, slow down

My beating heart

That guy—

That guy, oh when

I saw him in the

YMCA showers

Slow down—

My beatin heart

Turn it on, turn

It on, slow, slowly

A Spanish guy—

With Spanish eyes

When the night

Takes a deep breath

In a little while—

You blew my mind

That guy, that guy

It’s been a little while

Slow down my heart—

South of the tracks

Slowly, slowly, slow

Down my beatin heart

AMERICAN GOTH

Grant Wood, Justin Bieber, American Goth

Holbein

Anamorphosis a la Holbein’s “The Ambassadors”-- Whatever the painting on the floor is depicting, I have no idea. These little artistic tricks remind me of the use of convex mirrors to portray more than what's in the setting of the portrait. Nabokov gets into this in "Pnin" with the chapter on Pnin's son's artistic training, e.g. shiny bumpers of a car etc.

The Librarian

Robeta Eckdall, Jan Tholen, Connie Leonhart, Dennis Kelly

The Librarian
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I should’ve been—
A librarian instead of
Being a poet

Hiding in the stacks—
Of the William Allen White
Library back then

Just a mild-mannered—
Athens of the Midwest
Bookworming queen bee

I should’ve stayed—
In the Eisenhower Era
A Fifties recluse

A lover of books—
A card catalog crackpot
And kept to myself

I should’ve been like—
Alma in “Summer and Smoke”
The Sunken Garden

Newman’s Hospital—
Roberta’s Eckdall’s grandfather
Delivering me

Died across the street—
Kenyon Hall Retirement Home
Gone without a peep

The View

The View
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The view from up here—
Is quite telling, worth perhaps
A story or two maybe

Off to the south there’s—
Newman’s Hospital where
Dr. Eckdall delivered me

His son was a Dr. Eckdall—
His daughter Roberta is an
Artist and so is John Evans

Then to the west there’s—
Maplewood Cemetery where
My family is buried

Mother, grandparents—
The Union dead who died to
Make Kansas a Free State

Wood Bloxom is there—
Beneath a Reeble’s stone
The sun shining down there?

East of me is Emporia—
The Athens of the Midwest
Shall we drag Commercial?

Art deco civic auditorium—
Where’d they get the money
During that last Great Depression?

They’ve saved Lowther Jr High—
And Emporia Senior High too
As well as the old Granada

Commercial Street runs from—
Emporia State University thru
Town all the way to Olpe

The Cottonwood River slides—
Thru Peter Pan Park, past the
Monkey Island to Soden Grove

The town of my gone boyhood—
Mapped out still in my mind
Sixth and Commercial pivots
The Midwest Muse around me

And now here I am retired—
Living in Kenyon Heights with
A view of everything I was and
Wanted to be way back then

The other retirees and I are—
Nicely ensconced in moderate
Income housing, there’s the
Broadway Apartments too

I read the Emporia Gazette—
Mostly just the obituaries now
My 50th EHS Reunion is growing
Near but so is something else

Ducktail

Ducktail
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“All I want out of school is me.”
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Hickie
Bulging Bildungsroman
Blue Velvet
Saturday Night Double-Feature
Stoic Republican Kid
Ducktail
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Hickie

“Color floods to
the spot, dull purple”
—Sylvia Plath, Contusion

He bruised so easy—
The color of bruised fruit
A purple hickie tells all

I made him in the shower—
He let me do him all I wanted
Guileless young animal

My queer puffy lips—
They gave everything away
Who needed Botux back then?

Ronnie was so vain—
Like a peacock in a zoo
I couldn’t help but gawk

I really couldn’t help it—
I had these fat, ugly fag lips
That trembled all the time

Ronnie’s was vulnerable—
That garish purple blemish
On his uncut young dickhead

Bulging Bildungsroman

Butchy Mr. Bowie—
Gay gym teacher back then
In junior high school

Choosing Ronnie & me—
As the basket-boyz back
In the seventh grade

Little did I know—
What I’d get to see those
Dayz in the showers

We got outta class—
Early to shower so we
Could do the baskets

Ronnie was moody—
Then I soon found out why
His ten-inch boner!!!

It was simply huge—
A king kong cock on the kid
So manly & uncut!!!

“Jesus christ!” I said—
Let me get my fuckin’ lips
On that right away!!!

Blue Velvet

Greasy Elvis ducktail—
Bluejeans tight as foreskin
Pealing it down slow

Beneath blue velvet skies—
Stoic desires made themselves
Known and understood

No words anymore—
Except at the end when words
Became guttural utterances

Blue velvet Elvis portraits—
In dumpy cheap motel rooms
Remind me so much of him

Saturday Night Double-Feature

Coagulated cum—
Salty with teenage tears
The paleness of his body

I forget the movies—
At the 50-S Drive In but
Then I was kinda busy

I sucked him off—
The first wad so he’d
Take longer fuckin me

So laid back & easy—
Biting me on my neck
Calling me a little whore

Stoic Republican Kid

Everything tasted—
Like him, earthy and
Clotted with cum

Conservative cock—
Red State martyrdom
So silently squirting cum

Holding it back—
Making me realize how
Shy a str8t guy can be

Especially Ronnie—
Who liked getting off
But didn’t talk about it

Ducktail

His greased back ducktail—
His Elvis the Pelvis lips
He’d smoke after sex

He’d smirk or just shrug—
No matter how intense it
Was before & after

He was the first guy—
I ever knew who could
Make me totally dick-crazy

I savor his big wads—
All the way back home
And then I’d beat off

No more Sunday school—
No more doing any homework
I worshipped Ronnie instead

I sat thru classes bored now—
All I could do was think about
Cumly ambrosia of the godz

Uncut slutty angels—
Skanky uncut devil boy blues
I had it really bad for him

Despite all my masturbation—
I still had these awful wetdreams
All of them about Ronnie

One time I told him—
About my nocturnal emissions
He just smirked at me

He knew it was his fault—
Sometimes his cum oozed
Outta my erect nostrils

When he shot really hard—
Making me swallow it all and
It came outta me like snot

I felt the faggy shame—
And all that self-loathing
But I was addicted to dick

I was simply a cocksucker—
I’d always been a flaming fag
No need to butch it up, girl

Ronnie was rough-trade—
He could be hoodlum butch
Flexing his tight bluejeans hips

But he could be gentle too—
Taking his time getting it all
The way up my tight little ass

The girlz sensed his maleness—
They knew I was getting him off
They wanted some action too

It made me awfully jealous—
But most of them wouldn’t fuck
Or suck his demanding cock

We’d skip classes all the time—
Smoke some weed & get high
Then I’d get him off twice

The first time a quickie—
After a snort or two of coke
Suddenly blowing my brains out

Then a long dragged out—
Second time with enough jizz
To make his genealogy ache

He was a bad influence on me—
I couldn’t leave him alone and
His tight nutsac was so swollen

Jailbait romance is that way—
Unadulterated by stupid adults
Gimme that jizzy jouissance