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Guinotte Wise

 

 

Guinotte
Wise

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Guinotte Wise, New Lancaster, Kansas, as been a creative director in advertising most of his working life. In his youth he put forth effort as a bull rider, ironworker, laborer, funeral home pickup person, bartender, truck driver, postal worker, ice house worker and paving field engineer. A staid museum director called him raffish, which he enthusiastically embraced. (the observation, not the director) Of course, he took up writing fiction. Wise is also a welded steel sculptor.   He was educated at Westminster College, University of Arkansas, Kansas City Art Institute. 

 

Wise's new poetry book, Scattered Cranes, published 2017, is available from major outlets in paperback and ebook.  See Book on Amazon.com

 

Wise's poetry has appeared in Randomly Accessed Poetics, Shotgun Honey, Straight Forward Poetry, Switchback,The Vehicle, Driftwood Press, Linden Avenue Literary Journal, Futures Trading, Clear Poetry UK, East Coast Ink, Sequestrum Literature & Art, Mannequin Haus, Pea River Journal, Jazz Cigarette, Misfit Magazine, Rat's Ass Review, Pulp Metal Magazine, Dead King Magazine, IthacaLit, In Between Hangovers, Sinking City Review, Exterminating Angel Press, The Good Men Project, Your One Phone Call (Wales, UK), Avatar Review, The Offbeat, Longshot Island, TXTOBJX, Magnolia Review, Oxford Magazine, and Gambling The Aisle, 

His novel, Ruined Days, was released December, 2015, and a short story collection, Resume Speed, was released, June, 2016, both with Black Opal Books.

 

He was also the winner of the H. Palmer Hall Award for short story collection, Night Train, Cold Beer, $1000 cash grant and publication of the book by Pecan Grove Press.

 

Learn more about Guinotte Wise:


 

The following poems appear in Wise's book, Scattered Cranes.

 

Feeding Time

 

I clear my throat, ask

How do you call them

The old man, shirt buttoned

neck and wrists, points

with stubbled chin, says

Crank that sireen

and get the hell

outa the way

Horses dun and bay

Paints and sooty

improbably built

but agile as they

surround me with thunder

Passing right and left

Parting at me thank god

butts sinking as they slide

and stop clods tossed

clouds of dust, they bunch

and snort, ears pinned

for steam crimped oats

and I see the old man

smile, just a bit

 

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Cookout

 

It was in a cornfield, or a small town where a rodeo

was taking place in the rain. Or a campus. Or a song.

Music played somewhere, hamburgers cooked on

a grille. She wore a loose yellow cotton dress.

She laughed and dared me. I didn't take to dares

as some had burned me. I saw she would destroy

me so I was attracted and circled closer, then

we were alone, no sounds, no light, just the sense

of a light rain, others I knew had disappeared

or we had, she and I, would they wonder where

we'd gone, no we were not central to their

hilarity, they were stoned and drunk and

missed only themselves, and we pursued our

dangers without them. Later one would say,

"You could see her tits right through that wet

yellow dress." I avoided him after that, but she

was unavoidable, though her laughter had

gone somewhere. And she did destroy me, and

self destructed as they say. One said, "You

should have seen it coming." I did, I had, seen

it. Like an afterimage of fireworks in tightly

closed eyes, I see it.

 

 

Barbed Wire

 

Bobwar some Kansans say

not really worth a poem

sags and rusts and breaks

like folks. You know 'em.

 

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Drive-in Movie

 

The old pickup faces the wrong way

the bed toward the big screen

lawn chairs either side of the cooler

we climb up and sit chairs

creaking with our weights hers say

a hundred mine twice that

we share an ice cold beer illegal in

these rows of many eyes

and gravel crunches with each new

arrival turn them fucking

lights out someone yells behind us

and the new guy complies

but shouts back unheard or maybe

unheeded and the popcorn

dances with the soda beckoning

us all to the refreshment

center but Judy and I have our own

and the line is long enough

that concession is made to the start

of MGM's sound blastard

announcing good god almightiest

we have speakers on both

sides now due to a lack of anyone

parking next to us because

they don't want our lookee-downs

into their lowslung makeout

nests and their humid fumbling

The movie is one we saw

on TV just a couple nights ago

so we retire to the cab

and daring escapades that begin

with thrilling hand jobs

and ghostly moans we want our

neighbors to hear but we

dissolve into helpless laughter

I start the truck its gutter

mufflers coughing we head out

huge faces on the screen

behind us contorting shouting.

 

All poetry on this page
Copyright
b
y Guinotte Wise 2017 

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