Fiction   Essays   Poetry  The Ten On Baseball Chapbooks In Memory



In Memory


Prince
by Jeff Beresford-Howe
In Las Vegas, he showed up at a club at 2 am and turned my scowling girlfriend, who'd stood, waiting, for four hours, into a barefoot funk goddess. (At the end, as we walked out of that show, the floor was littered with beer cups and heels.)


David Bowie

Ziggy is stardust now.







A Tribute to My Friend, Michael Jackson
by Deepak Chopra
That person, whom I considered very pure, still survived -- he was reading the poems of Rabindranath Tagore when we talked the last time, two weeks ago.




Philip Whalen
by Steve Silberman

Philip Whalen He was smiling slightly. Someone had placed three bright orange flowers at his left shoulder. One of the women sitting in the room invited me to offer incense. There was a profound stillness, and the funny thought came to me that when you are in a room with a corpse, the most important thing in the room is always the corpse.


Hunter S. Thompson

The cannon atop the tower fired, and Hunter's ashes fell over the assembled guest like gray snow, "Mr. Tambourine Man" blaring from the sound system on cue.




John Lee Hooker
by Phillip Poff

John Lee Hooker I was as big a JLH fan as there was, and there I was having a late breakfast with the Boogie Man.






Uneasy Kesey
by William Dean

Kesey's kicked it at last / He's shuffled off the scuffed Levi's / and dowager boots / and joined the coots / up there where the past / is all coffee houses, divas, and lies








George Was My Beatle
by Samantha Capps Emerson

I am eleven years old and I can sign George Harrison's autograph so well it looks almost like the real thing.







Jerry Garcia
by Jeff Beresford-Howe

Here's what I remember. I remember being a twenty-year-old kid from a fucked-up suburban family and deciding to go check out the Grateful Dead one day.














  Home Contributors Past Issues Search   Links  Guidelines About Us

 

Subscribe to the Slow Trains newsletter