Sending poetry to the world
look how we became the stars themselves!
each hand waving to a sound
rocketing through our bones
rain fell
people sang
united
stadium a solar system
vocal chords straining and the only
fissure that of time:
youth-summer-black-white all orbiting an encore.
[from the Jay Z, Justin Timberlake concert last night in Baltimore – the song Forever Young, in tribute to Trayvon Martin, the entire stadium lit up with phones, the entire stadium singing along]
***
One summer, I saw a Texas-style Paul McCartney
in a dark mahogany leather coat
slurring to Bob Dylan’s “rainy day woman”
outside the full moon at a wrangler bonfire in
Colorado.
Last night, I saw a gray haired woman, four feet tall,
in full length tattered gown
swirling in her mess of beads
and her hands in the air like she was
summoning back
the 60’s.
I saw myself tripping on the old Baltimore cobblestones.
I saw myself drunk with Janis and having a grand old time.
Harmonies tightly weave as
thin clouds hula the moon tonight.
One crab, alone, swims like a small
girl dressed in white, spinning.
The old men on stage appear to be
apparitions from a past volant –
all long hair, flowers, and sweet blue eyes.
Reminds me of this poem:
Riding my bike at night (and Russian classical music)
http://www.presssendpoetry.com/2010/08/riding-my-bike-at-night-and-russian.html
happy rainy Monday~
and in a sunken corner of the coffee shop
the man dark slumped over and buttoned
bottom to brim in black, stares at her
in ankle boots with such a heel, tapping.
In a fractured instance he appears
to her a tired blues man, a fortune folk teller,
and all around them the caffeinated air hums…
pour me a glass
of Domaine champagne
pairs well
with a faux fur coat
stilettos, nothing else –
you’ve got a guitar slung
low, singing Stills,
chasing the light as it
dims down low, oh,
just the way we like it.
why does
the wood here smell
of urine
two dancers find their
own
rhythm while an old lady
walks out
with her dog
straining
to leave
all the while
the upright bass
competes violently
against
the trumpet
and the man on my side
says, with whiskey
breath,
i hate myself this
much.
one un-
intended
bend and
the blinds give us
passer-bys
a distorted
view
of a man
in black
cork bottle glasses
fancing himself
a regular
ol’ Johnny
Cash
and all
around him
green house plants
choke piles
of life
as
silent chords
hit a low
note.
wireless problems persist…. but these morning poems might be interesting in their own right (maybe)
Bob Marley grooves the
morning, coffee seduces
jam, “feel alright” now
when rain falls
in the nascent glow
of a streetlight,
it seems to wear a veil,
a widow’s gown
you and i
have felt the distance
between two knees
sitting too close
it’s taken its toll
the bells of the church
agree – and inside
The Beatles lament
the loss
and turn
defiantly –
those headlights in the rain.
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