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All the Lobners | Print |  E-mail
Written by Donald Lobner   
Wednesday, 07 January 2009

Donald Marlowe Lobner is a local resident and self-proclaimed “simple farm boy” began his serious obsession with writing poetry in July 2000 when he wrote his first poem to his sweetheart, Miss P.  He continues to write and to be obsessed.

Donald Marlowe Lobner

Flannel and Silk

Of a red color
on the porch
sits a watering can.

Late afternoon
the mistress’s  caress
lifts the can
and dances flower to loud flower
which glow in the sun.

She talks of growing sunflowers
and dahlias while humming
birds
feed over the dish
of her missing cat.

Tears fall
on her breasts
that touch the flannel shirt
she wears
and I touch

that flannel.

There exists
in her silk softness
like corn sprouted in old soil.

What has grown lush
during the day
is eaten
in the dark.

Sunflower Lobner

Walking Insane

The moon
floats
behind cellulite clouds
into a wrinkled dawn.

How much
does a pelican weigh

as it drops
out of the sky
thick ankled, and splatters
silent water? Packed tight

as a stone wall
pelicans surround the limb
of a submerged tree
where they crowd
each other

as church people
pray
to their deity
and the insane
walk the streets.

The pelican feels
joy snatching fish
from a neighbor’s beak. Should

my similar behavior
weigh heavy on me?

Overweight Lobner

1949

Cat bats
a leaf trembling

mama sits
on a speaker eyes

batless short
hair forties style

cat-eyed glasses
papa peers through

bat eyes
mama’s sad mouth

off daddy’s whiskey
death east

of the fifties.

Batty Lobner

Migration of Man from Hunter to Killer


Up here
on Cow Hill

crickets become silent
as men
on hard wide legs
who don’t bruise easily
hunt.

Migrated off Cowhill
man forms villages
into cities

a civilization
severed from goodness
becomes ugly.

The hill bottom
where concrete
meets grass
shines as snakeskin
in the sun
and urban quail
nest on concrete in stairwells

warns of decay.

Dark
under silver-barked oaks
smothers summer heat
that drifts
down Cowhill, rustles dust

over big-fanned
Tom turkeys
gray hens
and their chicks.

Death from above
is clean
without malice
as the hawk
snicks a chick.

The cows 
wide-eyed
run wild.

When men
have slaughtered
into a steep cooling night
his concrete
will crumble
into black earth
and quail will visit
in golden grain that quivers
with soft moon-fall.


                                   Rustle Lobner

Fatherless Corpse


Telephone poles thick
as guilt
are planted in bright sand old
as thin lizards

where black rock

squats on the horizon
under a humped cloud
swelled like an August tick.

The gray dog
carries her past
bistered phone wire that hisses
desolate as song

she counts
on the tip of her tongue
‘til  her roof
is raw

some say
 toes are the first to die.

The Carney boyfriend waits with
tenants who watch
ten ants explore
the flophouse floor
where Doug drug the carcass in
and flopped it on the floor.

All that was left
a pile
of cooling guts
and the bunny
head staring.
Bunny liver
is bright red. The gray liver

of society
is laden with fat.

Flower water, alcohol, crank, prayer
and all the voodoo Aunties
couldn’t heal the Sheriff’s daughter.

She leaves a pale-necked
pedophile hi-fi man
in a burning house

and heads
to tomorrow’s

kindling.


                    Toeless Lobner


Pink
blossoms fall

dead

mother’s water breaks

black earth flowers.

Gardner Lobner

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great job mr. d!
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miss p should be proud!
Tiffany Wise-West , January 30, 2009

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