Humorous tales of a small southern town called Bristol. Fables of farmlife and country music. Writing influenced by Edward Lear and Lewis Carroll. Guitars that feud with fiddles. Children who turn into pigs. Church bells that talk. Cornbread that tells the truth. Butter that sings like Hank Williams. Stars that fall to their knees and pray the morning sun will save them. 'We're friends Jack said...I give him the measles. He give the whooping cough.'
Tales of Buttermilk
Country music has the fine qualities and the ingredients of buttermilk biscuits. The recipe for country music resembles the prize winning recipe for The Carter Family biscuits. Which comes down to to 3 cups all purpose flour, 2 tablespoons sugar, 4 teaspoons baking powder, 1 teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon baking soda, 3/4 cup (1 1/2sticks) chilled unsalted butter, cut into 1/4-inch pieces and one could kiss you on the cheek cup buttermilk. Hard to say how many people in Bristol secretly devoted to their sweetheart. Buttermilk. She's got a pretty white dress wears around the house. She can smile. Ask you to take out the garbage, paint the garage. Buttermilk has a voice like Patsy Kline.
When a raindrop strikes a cornfield, just as the sun is setting, people in Bristol hear a church bell. You look up at that night sky and you feel like it was trying to tell you something. The cabbages know what it means. The sky is full of raindrops. They come to ring the cornfield. The raindrops are good at making cheerful sounds come from farm crops. Once a row of string beans rang out with an arpeggio. The raindrop played a few bars of 'The Star Spangled Banner.' Which I can tell you startled the beets and nearly scared the heck out of the eggplants. Two watermelons burst out laughing. And a row of okra nearly fainted.
Guitars Talk Like Minnie Pearl
If you hear a guitar wake up a little grouchy. Maybe been up all night thinking about how much it hates fiddles. Don't you know the guitar is superior to every musical instrument. I refer you to piano's recommendation. Let's not underestimate string instruments. They tell the truth, mostly.
If you live in Bristol you know you don't speak or sing when a guitar's tongue is wagging. Some guitars have no patience for people jawing. Besides, the guitar knows more than any man alive.
It knows the difference between right and wrong. It know everytime a guitar says something people write it down. Cause guitar's are famous for telling the truth. If a guitars walks into a room, the trumpets bow their heads and pray. Drums hit the road. The fiddles their rights to a trial. Plead guilty to murder of a guitar in an alley just off Interstate 81.
bio: Ernest Slyman is a member of the NY Dramatist Guild, His work has appeared in the "Young Women's Monologues From Contemporary Plays: Professional Auditions for Aspiring Actresses, edited with an acting introduction by Gerald Lee Ratliff/Meriwether Publishing His work has been published in
I am wishful my work exhibits a proper dose of hyperbole. A sense of discovery, irony, and wryness and misadventures in wild metaphors, paradox, symbols, free associations, non-sequiturs, and an enduring sense of beauty and what we hold sacred.
I seek poetry that pries open the locked door, the stuck drawer or window.
I believe in the magic of language. How it believes in us more than we deserve. How language has the capacity to find some good inside us we would never know about without poetry. Some timeless truth that awakens we have in common. The purpose of writing a poem serving to bring us closer together. Share the deepest secrets about ourselves and allowing us to imagine all the things for which we yearn.
I seek to write poetry that discovers the world and our place in it. Reveals the most hidden things, invisible things which may be made obvious, if we can only see them by the light of a poem.