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THE POEMS:
Ain’t No Life After Rodeo
All This Way for the Short Ride
Angelina, My Noni’s Name…
Antipasto!
As The World Turns
Beckons His Master to Fetch
Bingo in the Church Basement
Birthday Biscotti—Italian Toast from Home
Bizarzyski
Blue-Collar Light
Bon Compleano…
The Bucking Horse Moon
Cowboys & Indians
THE DAY MY DENTIST, GEORGE OLSEN—
The Day The War Began
Drinking With Mr. Mink
Eighty-Sixed
Face-To-Face
Firewood
First Mass With Noni
Flamenca Duende
For One Micro-Chronon of Time
The Garnet Moon
Good Friday
Gridiron Porn Star
Ground Zero
The Hand
Hard Traveling
The Hardwoods With Dad
How I Tell My Dad I Love Him
How The Beluga Spoons
Hunting
Humanely Askew
I Am Not A Cowboy
INFORMALLY IN MEMORIAM
Ink Still Wet
Labor Day
LEAPING NONE TOO SOON INTO LIGHTNESS
Long Sagebrush Drives—
Luck Of The Draw
The Meaning of Intimacy
My Father’s Sheets
Nightcrawlers
No Forbidden Flowers
Old Sorrel Mare
On My Birthday, The Serpent—
Pathetic Fallacy
Pete Briskie’s Creel
Potatoes
THE PUMMEL & PUMP, THE PUSH,—
Ridin Double Wild
Riding Double
Rubato
Sadly—Oh-so-Sadly—I Have to Explain...
Samurai Cowboy
Shoes
SMART-MOUTH: Mandibular Prognathism*
Snapshot of Grandpa Frank
Snapshot Gravity
STUFF!
Telemarketer Malediction

Tracks
Watching the Sun Set over Santa Fe
What of the Ugly?
What Stephen Hawking,—
When Timbers Tremored in the Cary Mine
Wolf Tracks on the Welcome Mat
Woodchuck Love
Words Growing Wild
Yevgeny Alexandrovich Yevtushenko—
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AUDIO CLIPS
VIDEOS: Paul’s YouTube Channel

Paul Zarzyski

Old & New & Unpublished—early ‘70s to the most recent—in their jagged-on-the-right lengthy entirety.

   
 Words Growing Wild in the Woodsspeaks to my earliest poetic sparkings, which occurred in the hardwood forests of northern Wisconsin, where I reveled in the music my Dad made simply by naming things in nature, every symphonic word becoming a young boy’s first brookie twirling from a willow like a jewel.
[read the poem]
 
 
 Riding Double: 16 & Beating The Heat Let your imagination run western-wild and you might see Paladin on a mean machine. A tribute to testosterone-fueled puberty, this prelude to The Bucking Horse Moon is rated R, for Roughstock—on 2 wheels. [read the poem]
 
 Old Sorrel Mare Turning More and More Roan I choose to believe that the endowment we define as human is not reserved for one, and only one, species. Moreover, talk until you’re blue in the face, purple in the heart—you’ll never convince me that the soulful notes of our animal brethren are any less melodious to the ear of The Maestro. [read the poem]
 
 Wolf Tracks on the Welcome Mat It’s interesting, and perhaps ironic, how the old-time cowboy often and boastfully associated his distinguishing characteristics with those of the wolf. If you loathe the so-called reintroduction of Canis lupis to the American West, the wolf would like you to know it is not his fault. [read the poem]
 
 
  © Paul Zarzysk,. 2004-2014. All rights reserved. These words may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.    
       
   
© Paul Zarzyski, 2004-2015/updated 02.11.15