POEM: lipstick is poison

Posted 30 March, 2011 in My poems, New York City, Poetry

This is a found poem. A man sat across from me on the subway and said these words exactly in this order. I just set them as a poem. I love New York City.

lipstick is poison

a woman’s pocketbook is a transmitter
she wants to leave the fucking book at your house

and then a government missile
will blow up your house

women are government agents
secret agent man

after 10,000 years, rebel command
will be able to beat back the government

proton torpedoes
the world belongs to us

whoever possesses proton torpedoes
will be able to rule the world with an iron first

women are government agents
secret agent man

POEM: no fences (for Amy Cervini)

Posted 24 March, 2011 in Jazz, Music, My poems, New York City, Poetry

I saw Amy Cervini‘s “Jazz Country” band at 55 Bar tonight. Amy was joined by Steve Cardenas, Anat Cohen and Ike Sturm. The music was gorgeous and this poem was inspired by the first song they played. I won’t name the song so you won’t have the melody and lyrics running through your head when you read the poem. And I shouldn’t have to point out, but I will, that although this is written in the first person, this is not a love poem from me to the happily married Ms. Cervini. Cool? Cool. There have been enough jazz feuds without me starting another! Anyway, enjoy the poem and go see this band.

From Amy Cervini's "Jazz Country" & Victor Prieto Trio

no fences
(for Amy Cervini)

if you had a horse
and I had a horse
we could ride horses
through our crooked village
with our clarinets
making all the children laugh
you in your circled dress
me in whatever a nearsighted fool
wears on a horse
no steeplechase for us
because our village has no fences
just streets that meet at oblique angles
and plenty of space for the angels
of our better nature to sally forth
with the sun on their wings
and clear water in their canteens
there may not be mountains
but we can see the tall buildings
and they’ll do

Smorgasblog THIS, Dave!

Posted 23 March, 2011 in Poetry

This post exists purely so that Dave Bonta will Smorgasblog it and create a loop.

POEM: the streets

Posted 22 March, 2011 in Jazz, Music, New York City

I wrote this poem while listening to Ben Allison, Mark Guiliana and Steve Cardenas at Kush. In defense of the trio’s reputation, I was not actually an “audience of one” as it says in the poem.

From Ben Allison at Kush – March 22, 2011

the streets

are my private space
where I go to get away
to be alone with all the others
who are alone together

walking the Bowery
is a moving meditation
a reminder that ill fortune is
as fleeting as anything else

I’m an audience of one
in a darkened club
talking to my faraway sons
on the phone before the band starts

really, it’s getting a bit ridiculous
I go from coffee shop to art house
to sushi bar to jazz club
no bongos, no beret, no one beside me

I waited a couple days
then gave up on this Zen bullshit
and sent the message anyway
broke a rule known only to me

let’s be honest:
no amount of playing it cool
matters at all
and who has the time?

pull up a pillow
let’s huddle around this candle
as the snare drum echoes
off these fake-middle-eastern walls

let’s all play guitars
or take photographs of dogs in sweaters
or paint ambitious murals
with no thought of tomorrow

let’s learn to hula-hoop
or juggle points of view
ride unicycles past
the unworthy gazes of businessmen

tonight I spoke with the one man
in all of New York who knows
how to use “vonce” in a sentence
and can play Al Green backwards

I’d like to dance in tiny circles
like they used to do in San Juan Hill
before the boxes
replaced the real people

I’d like to live in a tiny studio
eat rice and play records
with no space for anything
but room enough for everything

POEM: in spite of clouds

Posted 21 March, 2011 in My poems, New York City, Poetry

in spite of clouds

you can either kiss me
or give me a consolation prize
I’m hoping you’ll choose the former
because my spare room is full
of trinkets from the could-have-beens

there may not be sunshine
but we can dance like we had
long shadows to join us
spinning on the street corner
while the dogwalkers give us space

do you remember all the times
I didn’t tell you anything?
chose not to say what I thought
and hid my true feelings
in a cloud of jokes?

does reading Shakespeare
in this coffee shop
make me a hipster?
does writing this poem
make it worse?

my friends don’t believe me
when I tell them I ride trains
with famous people
or ascend in elevators
with TV comedians

but I like to think
I’d make up better lies
if my goal were to impress
I know for certain I’d be
kissing more people in my stories

that’s what I miss most
the kisses
real ones you can feel
through your whole body
like the roller coaster dropping

these clouds can’t last forever
the sun will be all the more brilliant
for our missing it
my shadow and I are waiting
to dance with you

My new self-help book is now available!

Posted 21 March, 2011 in Random Musings

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