College kid heading to class:
Bush of hair on top,
shaved below the crown;
plaid gingham shirt, loose sleeves;
skinny jeans, rolled cuffs;
French-blue Converse high-tops;
jaunty walk that says,
“I know how to dress.”
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
When the doors slide open, spring walks in,
in skinny cutoff jeans rolled up
to show tattoo red, yellow, and green
on right calf hairy and fit,
brown suede shoes in lieu of trainers,
sleeveless vest over checked gingham shirt,
floppy brown hair over mirrored shades,
and when he passes and smiles “hello,”
his very energy seems to flirt
with sunshine, youth, and whoever’s near.
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
Dark hair wind-blown;
pale skin, clean-shaven.
In inky jeans
and grey peacoat
a bit too heavy
for the weather.
At the counter,
ordering coffee.
When he turns,
Roman nose
in profile.
He looks at odds
with the morning:
dazed brown eyes,
mouth without
discernible expression.
Student probably,
who just woke up
and ventured out,
unsure of the day
and its agenda,
his plan, himself.
But to his credit,
at least he orders
like an adult–
an actual coffee,
not sugary milk.
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
Standing shirtless at the curb,
checking messages on his cell.
February, but he’s not disturbed–
a springlike break from wintry hell.
He slides the phone into his jeans,
pulls the dumpster around back,
wobbly wheels making a racket.
Not over-muscled or too lean,
just appealingly ordinary:
old-school tats, nothing crazy,
dark hair and beard, eyes look hazel;
probably the kind you’d eventually marry.
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
Soaring away from its mountain lair, the eagle
circles broadly, until, gazing down,
a kind of magnetism pulls it toward
a temptation stretched out on the ground,
a naked youth sunning himself beside
the clear, cool brook from which he just emerged
after a refreshing dip. He lies
reclining, propped on one flexed arm, still beardless,
body smooth, golden, hairless, sun
and trees dappling his teenage form, blond locks
long and thick, still damp, pulled back
from his perfectly sculptured face, eyes like–
no, a simile won’t do them justice–
blue sapphires they are, and deeper than
the stream in which he bathed, lips full and red.
Mid-afternoon at the height of summer,
he sips sweet wine and dozes in the warmth,
awakes feeling horny, a bit aroused,
unknowingly most beautiful of mortals,
one even the godly Zeus cannot resist,
and so the eagle spirals earthward, lands,
and the king of gods takes human form,
dark curly hair and beard, shirtless chest
broad and strong, his cock already hard.
He takes Ganymede by surprise,
flips him over, enters from behind,
rapes the youth and infuses him
with the spirit of divinity.
Afterward, they finish off the wine,
share a smoke, and then the mighty god
resumes the form of the noble bird,
snatches up the delicate Trojan boy,
now the legendary catamite,
with his eagle talons and whisks him away
to Olympus, where the boy,
nude and lovely, serves the gods golden
wine from a golden chalice, and in return
himself becomes a vessel often filled.
Whether he finds joy in his role,
who knows, happiness not being a virtue
of particular importance among the Greeks.
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
Serious at books,
dressed black,head tilted forward,
dark bangs flop, glasses.
When phone call interrupts him,
his voice charms, rich and smooth.
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
Note: I have been really busy with work the last couple of weeks and haven’t had much time to work on poems, but I have my students reading The Duchess of Malfi, and I’ve put them in groups to produce their own 10-minute versions, so I was inspired to write a theme song for us. I have an audio file, but it’s in .wav format, and I can’t figure out how to convert it. 😦
Antonio’s Theme (Oh My Duchess!)
Verse 1
She could be an angel, her voice too sweet to hush,
her face lit by candles–but wait! I must not rush!
Refrain
Oh my Duchess! My noble Duchess!
She inspires me; could she desire me too?
Verse 2
Her brothers are just evil, their plots too dark to call.
You might think she’s like them, but no! She’s not like that at all!
Refrain
Oh my Duchess! My noble Duchess!
She inspires me; could she desire me too?
[Instrumental bridge]
Verse 3
In this world of darkness, she is my only light!
Inside our enchanted circle, oh yes! Life just seems so right!
Refrain
Oh my Duchess! My noble Duchess!
She inspires me; could she desire me too?
Coda
Oh my Duchess! My noble Duchess!
She inspires me; could she desire me too?
Words and music copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
1
Looking tough in short-cropped midnight pea coat,
collar up, over camo tee,
skinny jeans he doesn’t quite fit into
rolled to show off shiny lace-up boots.
2
Net-patterned high-collared fisherman’s sweater in grey,
thick and bulky ’round chest and shoulders and neck;
over that a rubberized pewter mac,
dark blond hair sodden with fake rain.
3
Plastic-looking bright red leopard scrubs
with–would you call it cape or kilt–turquoise
toothy grinning animal on front,
read trainers, hair done up like devil’s horns.
4
Tall, lean, long-haired blond is looking good
in crimson tailored suit with brown shoes,
French blue shirt and navy silk knit tie,
puffed pocket square, jacket nipped in at waist.
5
Suited in grey, black fedora on head,
scarlet topcoat stealing sartorial show,
tan leather carryall in hand, as if
he’s off to catch the week’s last train to Paris.
6
Checked trousers too and shirts for lumberjacks;
goth boys in black with fucked-up hair–not news;
some printed shirts that make “Hawaiian” seem subtle.
The looks from this year’s London runway shows.
Note: Inspired by a piece at Fashion Beans.
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
Poetry When It Comes 