Tag Archives: Jim Spurr

The Summit: For the Sage of Shawnee: Jim Spurr

The Summit: For the Sage of Shawnee: Jim Spurr

Rumors of a sage living in Oklahoma
disseminating wisdom like some Okie Yoda
Pez dispenser reached the Gulf Coast of Texas.
In serious need of any wisdom freely given,
I climbed into my Malibu and headed north.

The rumors said this sage held court
in a high place in or around Shawnee,
so I headed to the Arbuckles, climbed
all fourteen hundred feet to the highest peak,
to find an old fellow sitting there in bib overalls
and a John Deere hat. “I suppose you looking
for the Sage of Shawnee? Suppose you heard
he held court at a high place and expected to find
him here. Well, he ain’t me. I just work here shooing
the ill informed away from these dangerous peaks.
The one you seek can be found at this here address.”

I thanked the man for his guidance, fired up
my GPS and arrived at the bottom of an endless
staircase that took me two days to climb. I finally
arrived at the top, beset with doubts. (I mean
if this guy was so freaking smart why didn’t he teach
in a place with an elevator?) I arrived to find a sign
that said Welcome to Knuckles, and sitting alone
at a table next to the bar was this man with Shawnee
emblazoned on his t-shirt. He looked at me
and said, “My name’s Spurr. Take a load off.

I once went to college in this here town. Read a book
by a monk named Rabelais. It was long-ass book
too. I read it in chapel. I never liked chapel much,
but that’s another story. Anyhow, this rebel monk
at the end of his long assed book said the meaning
of life can be found in the clinking of wine glasses,
but he was French you see, so he didn’t quite get it
right. Barkeep!” In front of us appeared two cold mugs
filled with beer. “Cheers mate!” We clinked glasses.
And in that one clear note, I’ll be damned
if I didn’t begin to understand.

Guest poet, Jim Spurr

Jim Spurr: Distinguished 82nd Airborne Veteran ~ Poet Laureate of Shawnee, Oklahoma ~ Moderator of the very popular monthly Open Mic ~ Happily married to Aline ~ Award-winning author of Open Mike/Thursday Night and Hail Mary, On Two

The Medics Are At The Door and The Band Is Playing Loud

“ They were a long way from home
in a crowded hall where everyone
who could join in joined in.
They could hear the music.
They could feel it. It would be a part
of the healing process. “
Statement by: “The Hospital Administrator”

A steady cadence
pounded the sheet vinyl floor
accompanied by
an early day rock drummer
smilin’ and catchin’ his sticks
in mid air.
Patients moving in and out
in smooth quick step
while
chanting a Blue Cross Be-Bop beat
complimented by an array
of musical arrangements
screaming that they were
… a part of the cure.
Doctors and nurses not so sure
but willing to listen
to the shrill opera of last year’s hip hop
along with
Mister Boots Randolph’s
Yakkety-Yak Sax alone and loud
in an old country corner store
with tables out back on the patio
and everything depending on
the rhythm section to do
what the rhythm section was supposed
to do in the first place.
Furnish a healthy heartbeat.