Wanted to thank you for your moving letter remembering
our time in class so many years ago.

I see you’ve been busy since! I too paint, often add words
to the works, sometimes what I’d call poems (allowing
me to claim partial vispo status, I think.

Especially enjoyed the technique of your self-portrait
here.

Flourish! And ”thanks for the memories,”

Barry

723 Longfellow Rd. Anderson, IN 46011 home: (765) 643-3606

email: jhulse23@att.net

Thank you for reading my letter. I am writing to you to seek publication for my new book of poetry

Haiku on the Bush Administration

The book is about 150 haiku poems poking fun at the Bush administration. I would also like to include 20 photographs of some of my paintings in the volume. Reviews of my last book called my work a combination of Art Buchwald and Hunter Thompson. My latest book The Best and Worst Job I Ever Had (selected poems 1985-2005) with proceeds going to The Paralyzed Veterans of America. It is my dream to do something to help those wounded servicemen and women and to honor my family and friends military service.

I am a published author of six books. Most of them are historical and political books. The last five are The Best and Worst Job I Ever Had (selected poems 1985-2005), Villains of the Impeachment: Sex, Lies and $50 Million Taxpayer Dollars, Democracy for Sale! : The Two Year Search for Extraterrestrials and Campaign Finance Reform, From the Beats to the B Sides and Teachable Movies for Elementary and Middle School Classrooms.

My short stories, essays, and poetry have appeared in more than two hundred magazines all over the world. My work has also appeared in 25 anthologies including, “Mythic America: An Anthology of New American Poetry” (Crescent Moon–England). I am also a featured poet in the 1997 through 2000 editions of The Poet’s Market and have received awards from The Bay Area Poets Association, The Southern Writer’s Association including The International Poet of Merit Award as well as The Shakespeare Trophy of Excellence.

I also have a great deal of publishing experience serving as an editor, indexer and ghostwriter on a number of projects. Titles include What’s It All About? dealing with world views on religion from the ancient Greeks to Einstein’s Theory of Relativity and Nothing Sacred (Women Respond to Religious Fundamentalism and Terror) about the treatment of women in Muslim countries, Resistance to Modernization in Africa, In the Shadows of the Holocaust and Communism for Transaction Publishers, American Methods: Torture and the Logic of Domination for South End Press, Indian Yell by Dances with Wolves author Michael Blake, The North Korean Economy for Transaction Publishing, 79 Essays on Graphic Design for Princeton Architectural Press.

Also Easy Prey written by former Secretary of Defense, William S. Cohen about the fleecing of America’s senior citizens due to con artists and other scams. Other titles include The Best American Movie Writing 2001 edited by director John Landis, The Gangs of New York which will be the basis for Martin Scorsese’s new film, Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood, the autobiography of 60’s R&B singer Eric Burdon, Bonfire of the Humanities and Ludwig von Mises: Economist for Intercollegiate Studies Institute.

I did my master’s work at New York University and have made dozens of short films from 1984 to a current project, which is the completion of a documentary about epilepsy for The Sundance Film Festival. While attending NYU I won an essay contest that asked the question, “Why do we miss Andy Warhol?” My award-winning essay consisted of four words: “Because he is dead.”

If you have any questions please feel free to contact me.

John Hulse

723 Longfellow Rd

Anderson, IN 46011

765-643-3606

jhulse23@att.net

Katrina coming
George Bush tells New Orleans
take very deep breath

Palin did not know
that Africa was a continent
thought it was a vowel

Republicans sing,
“Barack the Magic Negro”
drink from white fountains

Wide stance Larry Craig
got arrested in bathroom
tapping feet to close

President McCain
Bomb, Bomb, Bomb, Bomb, Bomb, Iran
not a good idea

Dick Cheney, VP
great white hunter of old men
shoots them in the face

President George Bush
did much damage to U.S.
could be al-Qaeda

Tenet, CIA
slam dunk you motherfucker
screams at Jews in pool

Dick Cheney’s secret
shouts, “Mein Furher, I can walk!”
That’s the Dick I love

Joe the Plumber’s first
love, will always be toilets
but likes McCain too

Bush ducks flying shoes
footwear of mass destruction
fitting legacy

Romney blasts China
China looks puzzled and asks,
“What’s a Mitt Romney?”

Paris Hilton’s ad
called John McCain, “Some old guy.”
Where does Britney stand?

Farewell decider
daddy put him in the White House
Hey, Hey, Hey Good-bye

The McCain campaign
is starting to eat itself
The Donner Party?

thousands for wardrobe
being a small town hockey mom
really expensive

Laura Bush memoir
searching for the right title
I Am With Stupid

Bush, the decider
a country’s blood on his hands
choked on a pretzel

Idiocracy
building smarter government
begins when Bush leaves

Palin, you betcha!
needs to look good for Russians
spying on her house

President George Bush
gave farewell address to country
says, “So long suckers!”

Bush ducks flying shoes
dodging personal danger
since the Vietnam war

The Bush recession
no effect on value of
McCain’s seven homes

Governor Palin
seven million for book deal
Neiman Marcus, happy

Bush economy
people standing behind him
just to get free shoes

Bush friends leaking names
Valerie Plame, C.I.A.
terrorists rejoice

Bush reacts quickly
not to Katrina, of course
but to flying shoes

Bush, war president
covers up Pat Tillman’s death
trying to get votes

NSA listens
to Americans phone sex
sticky, sticky mess

The Bush’s new home
segregated white neighborhood
no blacks allowed

Bush economics
employers cut one million jobs
Heck of a job, Bushie!

Condoleezza Rice
in the form of a mushroom cloud
lies us into war

Hail to the conch voiced man.

He, with the coals of a thousand storms along his brow,
The sound of him some infinite embodied carillon,
Strides the beach below the silver bellied birds.
Each slams its own ephemeral eclipse,
a shadow on the shrinking sand.

But soon the city men, the nitty gritty little literary men,
(as is their wont with those whose eyes
are full of skies the colours of which they have not seen,
whose ears can hear the music ever hidden
in the mouth of the condor and the hawk,)
they ring him round and try to beat him down.

A dying of a subtly different kind
approaches in the singing of his mind
He knows these city men they also die,
go slowly down and daily.
Each moment spent wasted a smooth stone spinning
their faces, their fears, their fancies, to vacuous moons
til softly, like the faded depressions on sofas
abandoned lonely by grandparents to the odours of memory
their dreams fly out the window then
to find a sleeping four year old and start again

He shrinks and sinks (not caring, for the song is all) below
their blows all bleeding but (inside) unbowed
and sings and sings and sings to them.

They do not hear.

My email: dasleben@fairpoint.net.

Would love to hear from you, fill me in on your life!

Steve Cushing
Pioneers of the Blues Revival