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Ernest Slyman
Queens, NY
Poet, humorist, playwright and novelist.
Recent Activity
If I pull a word’s ears off, if I twist a word’s nose what will the sentence think of me? Do words look the other way? Does a verb know more than it’s willing to say? Nouns are all right. However they don’t always know where they belong. They don’t... Continue reading
Posted 41 minutes ago at Bristol Stories
Faye knew a lot about royalties from record contracts. There were few rattlesnakes in the city limits of Nashville than out in the wood that surround the area. Agents hissed from every snake nest. Polecats would come around and give you their business card. ‘That’s my picture right there the... Continue reading
Posted 1 hour ago at Bristol Stories
You know those airplanes that write stuff down on the sky? They know everything. And they cross their t’s and dot their ‘i’s. Their penmanship lacks something to be desired. Smoke gets in the eyes of the airplane pilots. Not every letter is recognizable. How would you like to read... Continue reading
Posted 1 hour ago at Bristol Stories
The moon’s forgot its hat. Left it at Coleman’s Cafe. The jukebox’s yammer awakens the stars in Sadie’s eyes. How they shine when she hears the moon speak of Bristol’s love for her chicken dumplings. and romance. Not till the stars sew up the moon’s mouth will the earth sing.... Continue reading
Posted 1 hour ago at Bristol Stories
Terror is the crunch, the teeth smashing us. I speak for all peppermints. I was elected to the high office of the Great Peppermint. The awful and menacing children who grab us by the handful. How do you think that feels? The looks in their eyes wild animals. You’d think... Continue reading
Posted 2 hours ago at Bristol Stories
Fulfillment. The emptiness inside fed a bone. Where did it come from? And what did it say? Fulfillment has God’s name on it. Religion is merely a cup of faith. Don’t need to add honey or sugar. Even though your first sip may not go down well. And if your... Continue reading
Posted 2 hours ago at Bristol Stories
The flame eaters. The poison drinkers. The daredevils, the fools and careless men who thought they’d live forever. Hold onto their religion. How important the Lord had become. Didn't the country singers know how important the Lord is in their lives. What happened. What did the Lord say that broke... Continue reading
Posted 2 hours ago at Bristol Stories
Have you noticed horses and pigs and most chickens don’t chew with their mouths open anymore. They use spoons and forks ever since we taught them country manners. Don’t play with their food no more. The push their peas and carrots around on their plate with their bread. You will... Continue reading
Posted yesterday at Bristol Stories
Were the acoustics irritated with the pill-poppers and the philanderers? Could the acoustics prove as liabilities. Give a country singer a wispy sound that sang like a canary in a hole in the ground. An empty whiff. Not at all full of tenderness. The sweetness pulled from the apple pie.... Continue reading
Posted yesterday at Bristol Stories
The microphone listened more carefully if you were a Christian. It could prompt you to remember a lyric should come up missing. Your mouth fumbling for the right word. Shaking like a leaf on a tree during a windstorm. The gale pulling the country singers tongue right out of the... Continue reading
Posted yesterday at Bristol Stories
Instruments sensed a lack of fidelity. Holding hands, smooching when arriving home. If a banjo looked up in time to notice a couple tenderly whispering to each other. Noticing the face regaled with merriment. The lips perked up. Ready for the good night kiss. Ears standing in the wings, just... Continue reading
Posted yesterday at Bristol Stories
What are the scandalous sources of voice decay? Lying could get your voice in trouble. It was like a worm that nibbled at you. Could eventually chew your voice up into little pieces. Feed an army of deaf and dumb country songs. All punched in the stomach, those country songs... Continue reading
Posted yesterday at Bristol Stories
The fans much impressed that the old timers, the washed out country singers, the ones that had fallen off the country music charts, broken their legs, cracked their skulls on recordings that sounded like polecats at a country jamboree. Sometimes they were old birds who tried to greet the morning... Continue reading
Posted yesterday at Bristol Stories
The burned out country singer stunned their critics. Too often it was said of old burned country singers that their voices dropped like the day’s laundry. As many times as they tried to wash their reputations those pill poppers and liquor guzzlers noticed the spots and tears didn’t seem to... Continue reading
Posted yesterday at Bristol Stories
When drunkard country singers played with the Bristol Sisters they were astounded. The change was remarkable. Their voices suddenly removing their raggedy jackets and trousers. Tossing their socks and shoes out of the voice. The voice squinting, trying not to see the terrible phenomenon. The old voice turning into a... Continue reading
Posted yesterday at Bristol Stories
If you’re just in the world for a few days you might want to visit Mrs Mumpower’s house. She’s got a vanilla layer cake you can flirt with. I know you’re usually rubbing your face with dirt. Beware the fly swatter packs a wallop. You could get hurt. And if... Continue reading
Posted 2 days ago at Bristol Stories
The gifted maple leaf singing like Enrico Caruso. When the wind pushes its red cart across the fields the maple tree lets drop its leaves. The terror that leaves feel when they let go is like falling in love. You’ve got your eyes closed. Lips pooched out like they were... Continue reading
Posted 2 days ago at Bristol Stories
Done like a broken nail not hammered home. The blunt instrument lifting a pot of flowers from the horizon. The orange sun bleating like a lamb. The sacrifices we make cannot exceed our wishes. One will merely grab the other and chew it up until the carcass of days that... Continue reading
Posted 2 days ago at Bristol Stories
You could find yourself out of hope. Don’t ever forget to bring home the bacon. The loss could set you back to a place where you don’t want to return to. Tomorrows live in bacon. Not ordinary tomorrows. Great tomorrows. You can hear them scuffling across the farm grounds of... Continue reading
Posted 2 days ago at Bristol Stories
I’m going to out guess the sun, knowing what the night knows — that pig tails taste like pork rinds. When you live in country town you love the sound of a twang, busting out of your mouth, hanging its boots up somebody’s head. The twang often a little pushy.... Continue reading
Posted 2 days ago at Bristol Stories
It isn’t known, nor would anyone mention in passing or blatantly call attention to it as necessary as it is to understand the intricacies of municipal government. Expect town ordinances to cajole the various agencies in Bristol. Virginia side squinting at the fine print. Tennessee side wanting the numbers to... Continue reading
Posted 2 days ago at Bristol Stories
County music spoke to everyone. It got inside them and grabbed every doubt. It was doubt that caused the misery in the world. It had a big mouth. Gabby as a barber shop full of loose lips. The doubt burst into every mind, climbed the stairs and reclined on a... Continue reading
Posted 2 days ago at Bristol Stories
During the early 1990s I was a member of the Fresh Meadow Poets. A group of Holocaust Survivors who dedicated themselves to promoting poetry in the borough of Queens. Rhina Espaillat founded the group in 1986. Her many prestigious poetry awards include the T. S. Eliot prize in 1998 and... Continue reading
Posted 2 days ago at The Poet Watch
It’s a place. It’s a town. Seven fine letters. Intelligent, tall, agile letters. They live in a small southern town. You’ve seen them your whole life. Yet you don't really know them. ‘B’ grew up in a small white stucco house on the Tennessee side. Grew to be a baker.... Continue reading
Posted 3 days ago at Bristol Stories