on unemployment (revised)

I slide low down into my chair.

Looking at the phone Looking at the phone Looking at the phone …

              Out my window, rain drops jump the asphalt alive, rain
              Pours so hard my world greys into one large cloud
              Shimmer and sliding freely. Trees shake and shudder.

Phone lies so still. I am
Waiting on the call Waiting on the call Waiting on the call Waiting on the call Waiting

Old Buidling on Keith Ave. in the Canton Industrial Park

She sighs over heavy machinery, coal, ship dock hands
a headless apparition
from a more affluent era
her sequin flapper dress just
metal window frames rusted
a shimmer from broken glass
against the backdrop of a dark
modern October cloud bank
she once was someone statuesque
the men couldn’t take their eyes off.
Now, phantom, feel the wind blow straight through your spine.

"Centrifugal" by Douglas S. Jones

wonderful poem~ it compelled me to share 😉 hope you enjoy!

American Life in Poetry: Column 395

Here’s a delightful poem by Douglas S. Jones about a bicycle rider sharing his bike with a spider. Jones lives in Michigan and spiders live just about everywhere.


The spider living in the bike seat has finally spun
its own spokes through the wheels.
I have seen it crawl upside down, armored
black and jigging back to the hollow frame,
have felt the stickiness break
as the tire pulls free the stitches of last night’s sewing.
We’ve ridden this bike together for a week now,
two legs in gyre by daylight, and at night,
the eight converting gears into looms, handle bars
into sails. This is how it is to be part of a cycle—
to be always in motion, and to be always
woven to something else.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2011 by Douglas S. Jones, whose most recent book of poems is the chapbook No Turning East, Pudding House Press, 2011. Poem reprinted from The Pinch, Vol. 31, no. 2, 2011, by permission of Douglas S. Jones and the publisher. Introduction copyright 2012 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

American Life in Poetry ©2006 The Poetry Foundation
Contact: alp@poetryfoundation.org
This column does not accept unsolicited poetry.

Charles (on the corner)

A prophet
preaches to the scratched
hood of my car.
Hidden beneath baseball cap, dark wool
suit too big for slight bones,
He bows beneath
the weight of a necklace,
trinkets only he understands.
The heat a cloak over
dry and marbled outstretched hands; yet
He does not sweat.

He speaks—
prophecies, poems,
ancient secrets absolved
into Baltimore humidity
any recompense. Without
any baptized soul

(revised poem, previously posted)

PUBLISHED – EveryDayPoets Anthology II

My most lovely friends,
Happy news! I have two poems featured in the newest EveryDayPoets Anthology II. WOO! That’s right; this lady is in print… which surprisingly, in this age of digital everything, still feels oh so good…..

Get your copy today and support a great group of international poets!

Happy National Poetry Day!