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Category: My poems

POEM: Heaven In The Record Store

Published 22 January 2025 by Jason Crane

Heaven In The Record Store

Nineteen, browsing the bins
at the lone record store in Potsdam, NY.
I walked out with three CDs:
The Berkley Concert by Lenny Bruce,
The Juliet Letters by Elvis Costello,
and Culture At Work by Culture.
Lenny because I’d found an album
in the stacks at my college radio station.
Elvis because I’d just heard
“Everday I Write The Book.”
Culture for reasons I can’t remember.
What context did I have for this music?
I grew up in a place with no record store,
the nearest one at the mall 30 minutes away.
Now here I was in a college town,
meeting new people who knew
way more music than I did,
with a well-stocked record store
and a tiny bit of money I’d saved up.
Heaven is a place where they have all the bands.

/ / /

22 January 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: a mis compas

Published 22 January 2025 by Jason Crane

a mis compas
(a memory of A16)

a stranger beside me
as the horses charged
spurred by armored pigs
batons swinging
we were against a low wall
the stranger and me
maybe a dozen others
2,000 pounds of people
10,000 pounds of horses
we slid along the wall
like swiftly moving shadows
escaping the charge
just as the teargas started

/ / /

21 January 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Now Is Not The Time For Metaphors

Published 21 January 2025 by Jason Crane

Now is not the time for metaphors

Meet your neighbors.
Build your cells.
Gather supplies.
Learn skills.

Stay loud.
Stay focused.
Stay angry.
Stay compassionate.

Cops aren’t your friends.
Soldiers aren’t your friends.
Politicians aren’t your friends.
Bosses aren’t your friends.

Now is not the time for despair.
Now is not the time for silence.
Now is not the time for metaphors.
Now is the time for action.

/ / /

20 January 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Today In Palestine

Published 20 January 2025 by Jason Crane

Today in Palestine

Returning to rubble isn’t going home.
It’s a start, though.

Streets filled with skulls, many with
sniper holes in the foreheads,
aren’t streets for children.
It’s a start, though.

Flattened schools, bombed-out hospitals,
dust that chokes the lungs,
turning the world gray;
this isn’t victory.
It’s a start, though.

Here in the “first world” –
so named for our self-regard
rather than our advancement –
we bear the guilt, the blood,
the shattered lives of millions.
This ceasefire will not repay that debt.
It’s a start, though.

/ / /

19 January 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Birdsong

Published 18 January 2025 by Jason Crane

Birdsong

Listen to Ray Bryant (Prestige 7098)
while the kitten sleeps
on his high perch in the sun
between two Palestinian flags
we’re using as curtains
because fuck landlords that’s why.

Ray’s piano is clearly audible
over the sound of no bombs.
Ike Isaacs’ bass is right there, too,
unobscured by drones or gunfire.
Nobody’s screaming interferes
with Specs Wright’s brushwork.

Every note of John Lewis’s “Django”
floats over the comfortable silence
like birdsong.

/ / /

18 January 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Fast Fashion & The Guillotine

Published 17 January 2025 by Jason Crane

Fast Fashion & The Guillotine

David Gahan was 21 when he sang
“the grabbing hands grab all they can.”
He turns 63 in May and that sentence
is even more true.
I’m reminded of the song because
I watched the video tonight,
projected onto my wall and pouring
out of my stereo speakers.
I watched it while eating
peanut-butter-filled pretzels
and drinking a Hank’s root beer.
It’s the very availability
of what passes for contentment
in our modern world
that prevents us from solving
the problem David sang about.

/ / /

17 January 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Building The Box That Holds Everything

Published 17 January 2025 by Jason Crane

Building The Box That Holds Everything

First you build the box, then you fit inside the box all the things you can think of. All your hopes and dreams and fears and rages, all the things you’ve told someone and all the things you’ll never tell. / Put these inside the box. It doesn’t matter how many there are. The box can hold them. / The next step is to put the lid firmly on the box. / THIS STEP IS CRUCIAL. / This is the step where many fail. They place the lid too gently or are not careful to ensure it is sealed tightly, holding all the things inside. Do not become another statistic. Press down on the lid until you hear the faint, almost whispering sound of the last little bit of air escaping. / The final step requires the most creativity. Where can you hide the box to ensure that no one will find it? This is simpler if you live alone, but even then you yourself may be tempted to open it, which of course cannot be allowed. Ask yourself, how do I keep the box safe from everyone, including myself? / Once you discover this place, put the box there and erase it from your mind. There. You’re safe.

/ / /

16 January 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Gravity & Equilibrium

Published 16 January 2025 by Jason Crane

Gravity & Equilibrium

The trick to swinging
across an open trestle bridge
is knowing how long a rope you’ve got
and whether, on the other side,
someone will be there to catch you.
/ / /
15 January 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Life Coach

Published 14 January 2025 by Jason Crane

Life Coach

I try to start the day
with rage
because I could die
at any moment
and I wouldn’t want
to go out happy.

/ / /

14 January 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Reflections

Published 13 January 2025 by Jason Crane

Reflections

1.

When I was a child I saw a ghost
down at the end of the hall.
Just a face, floating beside a bookshelf
in front of the workshop door.
It faded as I approached.
I never mentioned it to anyone.

2.

My grandpa took me to my first concert:
two musicians from New Orleans.
That makes Grandpa sound pretty hip,
but really he liked the clarinet player
because the guy had been on Lawrence Welk,
the squarest show on TV.
Still, my grandpa seemed pretty hip to me.
For years I carried a picture
of Grandpa’s saxophones in my wallet.
Like so many other things,
I lost it.

3.

You hold up a mirror to me.
I hold up a mirror to you.
With that one act we create
Infinite universes in the glass.
Uncountable possibilities
for love and connection,
using nothing but photons
and angles of incidence.

/ / /

12 January 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Food Not Bombs

Published 12 January 2025 by Jason Crane

Food Not Bombs

There was no school for a few days
so families ran out of food.
Read that again.
Bombs to drop on Palestinians?
Here’s a blank check.
But five inches of snow
means our children go to sleep hungry.
This isn’t a poem, it’s a scream.

/ / /

11 January 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: It’s Probably A Metaphor For Something

Published 11 January 2025 by Jason Crane

It’s Probably A Metaphor For Something

Midway through the whistling solo
the dog knocked over something in the kitchen;
that was the best take,
so now the clatter has become
part of the song.

/ / /

10 January 2025
Charlottesville VA

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POEM: Montreal

Published 9 January 2025 by Jason Crane

Montreal

The year I turned 39
I traveled North America
by Greyhound bus,
sleeping on the couches
of strangers,
reading my poems,
interviewing musicians.

The day I turned 39
I decided to treat myself.
I was in Montreal,
so I bought a ticket
for a boat ride
on the St. Lawrence River.

The night I turned 39
I found my way
to a singer’s apartment.
She brought out a little cake.
Somehow she’d learned
it was my birthday.

I left the next day.

/ / /

9 January 2025
Charlottesville VA

My tour diary from the day described in this poem.

A poem I wrote that day.

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POEM: Left On The Side Of The Road, Within Sight Of The GE Plant

Published 8 January 2025 by Jason Crane

Left On The Side Of The Road,
Within Sight Of The GE Plant

The lesson was learned young:
You have no inherent value,
and love can be taken away.
What child has the strength to resist?
Half a century of therapy and meds,
meditation and distance,
and still each morning brings
a renewal of doubt.
The winter sun is indifferent.
It shines on the worth and the lost alike.

/ / /

8 January 2025
Charlottesville VA

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