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Three Poems-Jade Blackmore September 14, 2010

Posted by vscorpiozine in Uncategorized.

..and finally, some poems from your editrix..

A Few Small Nips (Frida)

There is no pain
more intriguing than her pain.
Her stoic face invites no pity.
A news story in a Mexican paper
sparked her muse.
A man knifed his girlfriend, twenty slits to the heart.
He doesn’t understand the handcuffs.
Turns to the policeman and says,
“But I just gave her a few small nips.”
There is only the tear you shed for Diego.
And suddenly, there is no man left to cry for.
There is only one woman left,
Naked and bloody on the bed.
With a black-haired man towering lazily above her.
The burning bed stitched together with straw,
The clandestine retching of a bulimic starlet.
A statuesque lie.
Dark tables in roadside diners.
Jukebox blares “Your Cheatin’ Heart”,
Dough-faced miscreants in eighteen-wheelers
Hoot at high school sluts auditioning for Spearmint Rhino.
A night in America,
Breeding the future inhabitants
Of domestic hell.
A steel corset covers a corroded heart.
How could you go back to a man
Who had an affair with your sister?
A Manhattan socialite wouldn’t forgive you for it.
In the end all you have
Is a dream of New Mexico,
A baby doll,
And memories of some Christmas party conversation.
“All that matters is that you leave your art.”
Some little scrap of life.
You can’t refer to a polished floor
When you’re depressed
Or bring it with you
To a foreign country.
A tender hug.
A handwriting analyst in leather pants says,
“What you need most is love. This is what you must strive for.”
A kiss at the edge of the world.

Another Night In L.A. (1983)

I was staying at one of those pay by the week places just off Hollywood Boulevard when I first moved to L.A., working as a parking lot cashier in Brentwood during the day (before it became a real famous murder site).  I’d stumble down to the lobby with a hangover from the night before and drink three cups of coffee from the vending machine (I loved the tiny red and black cups- they had pictures of playing cards on ’em.), to wash down a pack of butter cookies with the jelly in the middle.  (Sometimes the vending machines had pinwheel cookies instead.)  Then I’d get on the bus, and check the band listings in the “Weekly” on the way to work.  After eight hours of writing in my notebook and listening to Dead Milkmen tapes in the cashiers’ booth, my friend Tony would pick me up and we’d go have dinner at Barney’s Beanery, hoisting beers in one of the booths where Morrison used to hold court.  Then we’d go to the Cathay, our favorite Hollywood dive, drink watered down tequila and watch  punk rock bands.  They all had fun names, like Vagina den Tata, Severed Head in a Bag, or Haircuts That Kill.  One time we saw a band called the Mentors, a buncha guys in black hoods who grunted songs about the 4F club, (“find her feel her,fuck her, forget her”..) “What cultural significance!!!” someone yelled from the back of the club.  When the bar closed up, Tony drove me back to Howie’s Weekly Apartments, and I’d get three hours sleep before stumbling downstairs to the lobby for those tiny cups of coffee….

The Earth, the Sky and In-Between

To lose myself inside
Your masterful voice
would mean something
In the best of situations,
But now
After my fulcrum
Has evaporated,
It means even more.
When I curl up inside it
I am reborn.
The errors of
I am the earth
You are the sky.
The sky is infinite
To be lost in it
A gift of 12 red roses
forever paid.

-Jade Blackmore


A Few Small Nips (Frida) appeared in the Spring/Summer 2010 edition of Blue Moon Literary & Art Review



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