Seance Conveyance

Let’s have a seance, come with me
It really won’t be scary
Eat cake with Marie Antoinette
Cocktails with bloody Mary

Let’s hold hands and explore the depths
Of eerie necromancy
Conjure up Sid Vicious and
Ask him if he killed Nancy

Let’s gossip with Joan Rivers for
The low down dirty scoop
Ask Andy Warhol what’s the deal
With the Campbells soup

Write poetry with Morrison
And lunch with Julia Child
Dress up with Liberace see
If we can cop his style

Tell Fred Rogers his cardigan’s
Forever inside out
Ask Edvard Munch what the hell
The dude’s screaming about

Make puns about losing your head
To poor old Anne Boelyn
Call up Jimmy Hoffa and say
“Hey, where have you been?”

And so we hold hands darken lights
The scene spookily set
And see the messages spelled out
With Oiuja board’s planchette

“Oh spirit please do show yourself
And say to me your name
Winehouse? Jackson? Marilyn?
Belushi? Kurt Cobain?”

I hear a phlegmy cough the smell
Of mothballs is distinct
She says ‘It’s your aunt Sylvie dear!”
Come on, what did you think?

I speak to you beyond the grave
It’s awfully hot in there
Plus I can’t rest not knowing if you’ve
Got clean underwear.”

'F-E-E-D-T-H-E-D-O-G . . . Hey that's spooky! Why would your granddad say that?'

‘F-E-E-D-T-H-E-D-O-G . . . Hey that’s spooky! Why would your granddad say that?’

Spirit of Radio

Edith worked the overnights
She sat there all alone
With nought a one for comp-ny but
His relaxed dulcet tones

That somehow did emit a sort of
Subtle sexy growl
And she would join immodestly
For his signature howl

“A whooo this is the sly dog here
I tell you I don’t bite
But I’ll bark and growl and take you
Through the lonely night

We got some Pistols coming soon
And then the Violent Femmes
So be sure to tune in right here

And Edith listened as Sly Dog
Would play her favorite tunes
Pretending he spoke straight to her
Beneath the waning moon

She’d answer all his questions and
Converse quite easily
With the voice she found on her
Radio frequency

But one day Edith spoke to Dog
Near had a heart attack
Because dear Edith was quite sure
That Sly Dog answered back

And she tested her theory sure
That something was amiss
Until he said it loud and clear
“Hey what it be, Edith?”

From that day on they chatted so
‘Bout all that suits their fancy
Like whether the Foos were all that
And whether Sid killed Nancy

And whether it’s Beatles or Stones
Or if Kurt’s recognition
Would be so if he hadn’t died
Or Fender over Gibson

And times when it was just about
The sun was due to rise
They’d get all philosophical
And just talk about life

Then one night Edith came to work
To Sly Dog said “Hello”
But there would be no answer back
She thought “Where did he go?”

She tried to find what happened but
All her attempts were thwarted
When she found that all Sly Dog’s shows
Were always prerecorded

But Edith bound back quickly
And not one to be depressive
Now she swears her new best friend
Is Flo from Progressive

This poem is dedicated to Wolfman Jack, Rodney Bingenheimer and all the overnight deejays who were there before overnight meant prerecorded.

Also thanks to Syl at Syl65’s Blog for his poem 10:55: You’re On The Air for inspiration.