Professional Cemetery by Johnny Masiulewicz

$2.00 added for shipping.

Praise for Professional Cemetery

Some of the poems and pieces in this collection have appeared in different forms: a screenplay, (“Freedom Blues”), a spoken word album (“The Sounds of Poetry”), as well as various literary magazines and anthologies. At his best, Masiulewicz blends the working journalist’s eye for story and telling detail with the dry irony of a boomer poet weaned on Brautigan and Grace Paley.

There is a strong sense of place here, especially with the longer pieces: “Nothing out of the ordinary ’bout this sunny Sunday afternoon; cold Hamms in the fridge, Sunday paper on the coffee table, fresh batteries in the remote, and the Chicago Cubs game beaming from my twenty-seven inch Zenith console….” (“7th inning stretch”)
Liz Marino, Chicago poet

The poems that work are the pieces that take a nursery rhyme approach to episodes such as being mugged and shot in an alley (“pushcart”), or the very short ones ( “the chair” ):

ravaged by subscrip-
tion to its sole purpose, its
slats and seat shattered, the chair whimpers from the junk-
pile, “too fat, too fat”

The prose, however, is wonderful – “initiation” is a slice of young city life, relating what ones does to belong, and is willing to do to others; “callous-hand man” is an excellent character study of a solid city type; “the mixology game” is a crackling account of a checkers match waged in Bughouse Square; “fingernails” relates an adult encounter that doesn’t fall victim to mere bar pickup cliché.

Each short story is a gem – concise, textured and fully realized. Give the poems an extra read, though – they’ll provide a workout for your imagination.

Larry Winfield, City Table Review, 1999

About Johnny Masiulewicz

Johnny Masiulewicz is a Chicago-bred writer, poet, and journalist.  His work has appeared in numerous periodicals and anthologies including the Chicago Tribune, Strong Coffee, Blue Sugar, the Chicago Reader, New City, Indelible Ink, Barfly, U-Direct, and Treasured Poems of America, and in the screenplays for the films Freedom Blues and Pale Horse.  He currently lives in Jacksonville, Florida where he runs a poetry open mike and publishes a magazine called “The Happy Tapir”.

Contents

professional cemetery
rain-snakes
avalanche-lost
initiation
sunglasses
wax
blind
sun voodoo
callous-hand man
frog envy
hatchet-job
frugality
bulldozers
extinguish
judas
manufacture
7th inning stretch
no sense
prey
hangnail
fishhooks
pushcart
packet of ketchup
weather vane
the mixology game
vampire
the chair
all
the bark
the moth
dead bird
botrytis
windmills
fingernails
man-on-the-moon
red
disbelief
the train
japanese lantern
singing owl dancing
walking
the sidewalk
crop circles

Sample Poems

professional cemetery

I am a professional cemetery
I burn you here
your ashes lay with in the folds of my robe
to anoint my eyes, lips and throat
when I reach for your memory

from your leather skin
I make my diggers’ boots
to stand shovels in my chest
and build the mound that seals you

I am a professional cemetery
I draw you to my green hills
your back I lay on cool stone
with a deep dark heat I surround you
and my kiss is pink satin
and all your awards

my hollows echo
the slow leaf wind
the steels of door-bars and enamel-ed lids
the footsteps of vacant family
and assure-ed lovers’ calm

I am a professional cemetery
I build pillared walls with your cage
your hair
shields from rain
your eyes
dusk lanterns

I swallow you
your rest is a glide through quivering night veins
toward rest in the dirt
and my repast once again

I am a professional cemetery
I guide you through these dark crypts
sometimes taking your hand
sometimes struggling
and I drag you bound

float through my flower-petal skin
my roots engirth your neck and back
sleep in this wooden-arm cradle
while I wait for hurricane wind-quake
to raise you to the sun

I am a professional cemetery
my words are prayers uneasy
my words are laughter uneasy and
comfort accepted by rote
my words are the selfish confidence of the lover
and the final selfless abandon of the enemy

judas

when I am bad
I am bad alone
so I know
who betrays me

but I would have
chosen judas
for the confidence
he gave me

vampire

if I could turn into a vampire
I could turn into a bat
and fly silent from your window
home to where my safety’s at
and I wouldn’t have to wake you
home to where my safety’s at
hanging silent like a bat

I cried hardly when you told me
that we should be just friends
no it’s not the way we make up
it’s the way we make amends
just a matter of survival
it’s the way we make amends
and keep our mutual friends

I’m exhausted, not from fucking
but the strength that it did take
when you asked me to come over
one more time for old time’s sake
and the distant pains were drummed up
one more time for old time’s sake
you remembered where I feel best
one more time for old time’s sake
and I read you like a bible
cover cover lover make
til the painful truth resurges
one more time my spirit take
and regret the vow I break

I cried hardly when you told me
that we should be just friends
no it’s not the way we make up
it’s the way we make amends
just a matter of survival
it’s the way we make amends
and keep our mutual friends

Visit Professional Cemetery on Facebook.
Other books published by The Puddin’head Press.
View our complete catalog.