Poetry by Karla Linn Merrifield

                        sharyn morrow CC



Sestina for the Guitarslinger


In pursuit of the Unholy Get Down—blues--
my sestina like your barrage of tones, Stevie Ray,
your grinding chords for my poem channeled beyond
through a wall of distortion, splattered guitar
notes, scattered words, all over the place of souls;
we deal in heavy-gauge strings, heavy-duty wanging, baby angel.

We’ve had our devils—your cocaine, Crown Royal, my promiscuity--
     but, o, lover-angel:
You, me, both with a weakness for the spiritual realm, our holy blues.
Your music, my poetry, a part of each person’s soul
whose lives we may touch, even on a Masonite git model from Sears, Stevie Ray;
we’ll play verses ’n licks, tune low, play hard, floor it, my poem, your guitar,
broken in three places, taken as my lines take me: beyond.

In thrift shop pimp suits, pleated pants, a fierce soul
and his full-bore grimace in YouTube’s vast beyond,
swerving jump, powerful chops, the look, the look of you, Stevie Ray,
and of my no-holds-barred angel,
total sensual experience of fingers, on-acid blues:
Right now I’m beat-up “First Wife,” Number 1, ’49 Strat guitar.

Yes, among your harem of guitars,
and your gigs-glory-girls’ souls,
your rock-pile-drivin’ blues
into their lives, mine, from far beyond,
your balls-to-the wall cast of cast-off angels;
we’re your spiritual swack-my-ass babes, o, Stevie Ray.

So, shred me like your Gibson E5-125 guitar,
dive-bomb my soul
with sweep-picked arpeggios of blues
and swift harmonic scales from your beyond--
o, my amplified angel,
twist this, my steel-strung body, Stevie Ray.

Upon our transcendent spiritual machines, Stevie Ray,
my unplugged acoustic, your volume-maxed “Jimbo” Tele guitar,
somehow twinned, earthling to angel
across veils, those living, those dead—our souls--
here, there, everywhere, beyond:
play no compromise—only blues.

You would also die for my Bloody Pearl custom-job guitar, but
you’re already dead, a beyond-soul, the only six-stringed-in-sextets 
angel doing this Stevie-Ray-Vaughn-blues duet. On me. With me.

​

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The Metric I Use Is Knopfler’s ’61 Strat


1978, I spent a stoned weekend 
at SUNY Fredonia (I think) 
when I first heard it
returned four years on 
for some eager younger stuff
a crowd of young boys
they’re fooling around in the corner

1987, I spent a stoned weekend            
on Vermont Street (I guess)
when I heard it again
unreturned divorcee material
for any kind of stuff
a band is blowing
Dixie double-four time

1999, I spent a stoned weekend            
on the Colorado River (really?)
when a doryman played it 
overturned in sand under 
stars for his impossible stuff 
You feel alright
when you hear that music sing

2007, I spent a stoned weekend            
in a trailer named Alis Elizabeth (yeah)
where a cassette popped it
turned on wife howling 
for more man stuff  
he doesn’t want to make 
it cry or sing

2017, I spent a stoned weekend            
in Hollybrook House (I believe)
when I needed it again 
unturned widow pillowing
toward the hollowed stuff
Thank you goodnight
now it’s time to go home

​

Karla Linn Merrifield has had 800+ poems appear in dozens of journals and anthologies. She has 14 books to her credit. Following her 2018 Psyche’s Scroll (Poetry Box Select) is the 2019 full-length book Athabaskan Fractal: Poems of the Far North from Cirque Press. In early 2021, her Half a World of Kisses will be published by Truth Serum Press (Australia) under its new Lindauer Poets imprint. She is currently at work on a poetry collection, My Body the Guitar, inspired by famous guitarists and their guitars; the book is slated to be published in December 2021 by Before Your Quiet Eyes Publications Holograph Series (Rochester, NY).

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