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RPPS

11694 -- Fullosia Press --


"IF LIBRARIES WERE OPEN
AS LATE AS BARS,
WE'D BE DRUNK ON LEARNING"
---J Bourke
Rockaway Park Connections
Introduction to Fullosia Social Linx Arthurian Legend American Standard Jive Fullosia Dictionary Heraldry of the Society Labour Day Celebration Canadian Society
Editor

Dateline: 2/27/00 11:50:59 PM EDT, Rockaway Park NY, The Home of Philosophy
Contact: Dean RPPS (The Society)


Welcome to 11694 Fullosia Press on Line.
Sponcered by the Gentlemen of the Society

Fullosia Press: Front Page ---- Social Linx

Duane Locke


Dr Locke presents his own brand of poetry.
the Judge
The RPPS

The Rockaway Park Philosophical Society was formed in 1971 by three friends the Dean, the Lord Baron, and the Mentor, with the purpose of encouraging the spead of uselful ideas. In 1977 the Society was incorporated and added its Lord Presidentwhom, the society declared, restored to the family's Sommersett titles forfeit in the reign of Edward VI.

The Society recognizes no titles of distiction save its own.

The Society actively promotes American culture sponcering its own School of National Philosophy to expound the Fullosia the summation of true knowledge and urges adoption of a national tongue, to wag in the forums of the world.

The Society as it did in its infancy promotes exchange of ideas in its undertaking to espablish the union of true intellects who have awakened from the superficial placidity of the politically correct world.

Join with us in the Fullosia!

Dr Duane Locke
Duane Locke, Doctor of Philosophy in Renaissance Literature, Professor Emeritus of the Humanities, Poet in Residence at University of Tampa for over twenty years, he has had over 2,000 of his own poems published in over 500 print magazines such as American Poetry Review, Nation, Literary Quarterly, Black Moon, and Bitter Oleander. The author of 14 books of poems, Mr Locke recommends his latest WATCHING WISTERIA which may be ordered on line. His exploits as a cyber-poet are worthy of song. Since Sept 1, 1999 he reports 665 acceptances of his poems by online e zines. Listed in PSA's WHO'S WHO as one of the top twenty nature photographers, Dr Locke proudly claims 45 of his Alley photos are accepted on line.

Alley Photoes are a unique collection. These are pictures of discards and trash in alleys. There is a search for a design that speaks beauty from what people have thrown away,

A true dilletente, Dr Locke also excels as a painter. Currently his one-man show of over 30 painting is on display at the Pyramid gallery in Tampa.

Accolades include the Edna St. Vincent Millay, Charles Agnoff, and Walt Whitman awards,

Dr Locke now lives alone and isolated in the sunny Tampa. His recreational activities are drinking wine, listening to old operas, and reading postmodern philosophy.


Poems by Duane Locke

2716 Jefferson Street
Tampa, FL 33602-1620
Duane Locke

WHEN THE LIPS WERE ALIVE THE LIPS SPOKE LATIN

In Roman gardens
Heads from statues of heroes
Blacken in grasses,
Their black lips
Kissed by shadows
Of dandelions
Falling apart in the breezes.

DANAË

The redhead wore a short shirt,
She looked like
Klimt's Danaë.
I wondered how
One becomes
A shower of gold.
I suppose one
Has to be a god.
I asked her
If she believed in God.
She said,
"Yes, Zeus."

THE OBSCURE MAN IN REMBRANDT

In this chiaroscuro
I was the one
Always in the dark.
Although on rare occasions
A light streak
Would illuminate my ear lobe,
My full face never seen.
At times, I almost
Made it to a lit place
Where my face
Would be visible,
But it was always obscured
By a shadow from a helmet,
Or from
A large red feather
On a wide-brimmed hat.

AFTERNOON BY THE GULF AND A YELLOW BIRD

After white wine
I feel asleep
By a gum tree stream
That had alligator,
With leaves mud-caked
Across his forehead.
When I awoke
After dreams
Of a crow
With light blue wings
Flying through
My bedroom
In an Italian castle
And of bright grasses
With spiked globes
Like Danish lamps
Sticking out
Of a skyblued rain puddles,
I saw a tiny yellow bird
Sitting on my knee,
She bowed, pecked,
Hopped away.
I, extremely happy,
Stayed still.
The yellow bird returned,
Danced across my chest.


PILEATED WOODPECKERS

I heard their exciting music
As both pecked on the bark
Of my backyard dead avocado.

What were you doing, woodpeckers,
In my rundown neighborhood
Where nothing is natural.

Did a racial memory bring you
To what is now a desolate place?
Are the forests all gone, you have no home?

I watched the red flicker
From the darkness of their feathers.
I feel a joy never felt here before.

Soon, the woodpeckers flew away, never to return.
I'm glad, no one should be sentenced to live here.
But thank you, woodpeckers, for the moment of happiness.