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Poem – No Brakes by Jade Blackmore March 2, 2021

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He followed a straight line from
Long, humid Rust Belt weekends
And thunderstorm beatdowns
To a deposit of decay,
A past his prime rendering.

It only took a costume change,
The printed page,
And a few drops of blood-red paint
To separate the genius
From the criminal.

There’s no limit to exploration, the shaman said.
But he was born to find the end point,
A clichéd and public wall,
And crash into it
Like Norma Desmond on acid.  

Poem by Jade Blackmore -Party Night at a West Village Magic Shop, circa 1992 February 7, 2021

Posted by vscorpiozine in 1990s, city poems, Jade Blackmore, New York, poems, poetry, Veteran Poets.
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The triangle of city veins
Connive with shadows and sulky corners.
A taxi pulls up to the curb
and a motley trio filters out,
all East Village berets and black overcoats,
clichés made flesh.
Red and blue lights flash from the front window
Of a magic shop,
Bathing the revelers on the building’s front stairs
In a post-apocalyptic light.

Artists and dilettantes scatter on the sidewalk.
They smoke joints and drink vodka from repurposed 7-Up bottles.
A disheveled man wearing sunglasses strums an acoustic guitar. His gruff gargle of a voice punctuates the blended conversations about auditions, art galleries,
and coke-addicted boyfriends.

The night’s honoree gave his regards, but stayed safe and warm in his cushy suburban home.
He sent his sidekick instead, a hyper but amusing misfit with slicked back black hair.
Still, the oblivious horde gathered, armed with red Solo cups and tales of punk rock debauchery
The beret-wearing trio held court with him all night.

After two drinks, they talked dirty to the fortunetelling mannequin in the corner.
After three drinks, they confiscated a set of exploding dice. The fall-out resulted in a toppled book rack.
After four drinks and an impromptu “Cut a lady in half” trick, the owner kicked them out.
Undaunted, the foursome stumbled to Gray’s Papaya for hot dogs and Pineapple whips.
The magic shop never hosted any parties after that.
It’s a vegan restaurant now.

Poem by Jade Blackmore – The Last Decent Man in New York City (1990) December 22, 2020

Posted by vscorpiozine in 1990s, exes, Jade Blackmore, love poems, New York, poems, poetry, Uncategorized.
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The Last Decent Man in New York City

You don’t wear black turtlenecks.
Good.
Don’t buy one.
You don’t make obscene gestures while talking to clients on the phone.
Good.
Don’t start.
Curious words scrawled,
a frazzled New Year’s resolution.
A blend of teddy bear
and hippie charm,
the only man in modern times
to look sincere in a ponytail.
You care about what you do.
I see it in your face,
I read it in your eyes,
blue and gray without the clouds.
My only regret in the toughest city in the world
is that we drifted apart.

Poem by Jade Blackmore – Morning Song October 18, 2020

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Morning Song

The birds sing at the same time every morning,
As the sun peaks through the opening at the bottom of the window blinds.
Burrowed in the tree or hiding near the bushes,
They bring a wake-up call that supersedes the rustling of garbage trucks and revving Ferraris.

A Monarch butterfly flits between buildings,
announcing the countdown to Halloween in orange and black.
The days grow shorter,
And neighbors hibernate
In offices or stores or kitchens,
Like the seasons never changed.

The year finishes with a whimper for some,
An electric jolt for others.
Humans trifle and bay
Over imagined allegiances –
it’s an ongoing trait.
But the unbanked landscape goes on, oblivious,
Greeting the day without judgment.

JadeBlackmore.com

Poem by Jade Blackmore – Yesterday’s Blonde August 5, 2020

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Yesterday’s Blonde

She goes down the escalator
In a wide brimmed straw hat
And blindingly white post-beach dress.
Her legs still tan and lithe,
Her toenails a perfect hot pink
As they peek out from designer sandals

She clutches a teacup Maltese,
The white marshmallow dollop
Favored by her fallen predecessors.
A lone reporter shouts to her from the airport terminal,
And asks about her latest bad boy lover.
With a voice still sweet and ladylike,
She responds with an anatomical reference.
“Why did the cops come to your apartment last week?,” the reporter shouts.
She waves him off as the escalator steps carry her out of sight.

Cut to a mugshot of a disheveled woman with bloodshot eyes and a witch’s hair nest.
Yesterday’s blonde becomes today’s snarky sound bite.
Disposable.
While her ex cavorts with his younger- than-their-daughter brunette wife
In a boat on some pristine lake.

Poem by Jade Blackmore- End of Days April 10, 2020

Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, Veteran Poets.
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End of Days 

The hyacinth weaved along the trellis and
Wafted a faint scent last spring,
but now you really notice the smell,
like perfume on some elderly lady with too much rouge and a pillboxbox hat.

The air neutral but sweet, the spotless clouds gather, their delivery undiluted by a third party.
The cardinals chirp, releasing sound instead of noise at rush hour
The musical notes sent into the skies like some ethereal realm.

But there are reminders of the not too recent past
The wooden beams rise up to obscure the mountains,
leaves blow around in a cyclone the momentary motorized whirring
drowning out the bird arias.

The sirens still rage every now and then,
red lights flashing,
a few lone figures
Hold hammers or machetes in the dark,
Crawl out of tents
With glass pipes and bags of trash.

The rain cleanses the streets,
Unencumbered by cars, or children on skateboards,
Or bickering couples.
Is it the template for Armageddon
Or a reset, another chance
For humans to make it right
upon their return?

 

 

Poem by Jade Blackmore – Grandma’s Dining Room Cabinet April 7, 2020

Posted by vscorpiozine in 1960s, Jade Blackmore, poems, poems about families, poetry, Veteran Poets.
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Grandma’s Dining Room Cabinet

It was there in the background of every family photo – the sliding doors looked like glass, but moved at the touch of a finger, like plastic.

The contents were for show, a cornucopia of memories.The serving dishes and silver-edged white-plates were stacked way back in the kitchen cabinets,And the portly relatives we only saw at Christmas and Thanksgiving brought them out of hiding.

The cabinet came from Montgomery Wards or Sears. Delivery day was always an event, and Grandpa would direct (and correct) the deliverymen until Grandma calmed him down. She give the guys a tip of buck or two before they left, but made sure Grandpa didn’t see. (“It’s their job,” he would say sometimes, “They already get paid enough.”)

The blond sides of the cabinets felt like wood grain, but the bottom drawers were heavy like wood when the little cousins playfully pulled them open after dessert.
The wine glasses and carafes line the first shelf of the cabinet, resting on an old Christmas tablecloth with a holly and berry pattern.  

Framed photos from holidays past line the second shelf.
Grandma and her brothers and sisters in their polyester finery posing around the family matriarch, the great-Grandma we only saw at anniversaries, weddings and funeral dinners in red-boothed banquet halls,
Cousins in pleated, green plaid Catholic school uniforms,An Easter line-up with all the kids sitting on the plastic-covered couch – the baby cries as the teen cousin rolls her eyes.

The photographs of Grandma are out of my reach now,
The wine glasses dispersed to recipients unknown,
It’s been so long the memories, the pictures in my mind, are faint,
But the feelings they conjure bring tears,
And that’s all I have to remember her by.

Poem by Jade Blackmore- The Christmas Tree, 1999, Park Slope December 31, 2019

Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, New York, poems, poetry, Veteran Poets.
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Two girls carry a Christmas tree from the Seventh Avenue lot,
Scotch pine needles littering the sidewalk
As they maneuver it home.

Young Moms pass by with baby strollers,
Their children bundled in faux fur jakets
Young lesbian couples with blue and pink hair
Canoodle on the way to the indie bookstore.
The Hasidic Jews smile and nod,
The bearded professors ignore them,
The cigar-smoking Teamsters walking out of the dive bar
Leer and ask if they need help.

The roommates veer across their trash strewn front lawn,
as their neighbor holds open the fraying wood-lined  double glass doors.
The tree dodges narrow hallways and jutting bookcases as the girls hit their mark-
a pedestal in the corner of the spare room.

They cram the noble pine with 99 cent store garlands and ornaments
Except for the obligatory carved woodblock Santa from the local craft market
That cost more than all the other decorations combined.

The tree, you know, it’s sort of there,
With no children or significant others to enjoy it.
It shields no whimsically wrapped presents
Or puppies in Santa hats.

It’s a backdrop for a photoshoot.
The blonde girl wears a Marilyn Manson Satanic Army sweatshirt,
poses with a giggle
and a glass of champagne
It’ s all so very end of the millennium.

The branches shed after New Years’, needles on the hardwood floor.
Cheap glitter ornaments shed tears.
The tree is finally trussed up on the curb,
Nearly naked,
In the middle of January,
The wood block Santa plucked off at the last minute.
Battered branches share a mud puddle
with a few Juicy Fruit wrappers
and a rusty pocket knife.

 

 

 

 

 

Poem by Jade Blackmore – Retirement December 8, 2019

Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, Veteran Poets.
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When you’re young,
you leave your hometown
because it’s too easy and boring
and come back
when you’re older
because it is.

 

Poem by Jade Blackmore- The Old Couple and Their Cat October 27, 2019

Posted by vscorpiozine in cats, Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, Veteran Poets.
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Photo by ChromaConceptVisual

The Old Couple and Their Cat

He sits between them in the middle of the night
Until he wanders off
Underneath the half-broken grey shag tower,
Or a chair covered by a Turkish robe.
He sits at the edge of the bed guarding them from vermin.

In the morning,
They rub his marshmallow white belly,
And brush him when he commands them with a squeak.

He sees her and darts
From the end of the balcony
Back to the door.

Runs under the old man’s desk
Purring and trilling,|
to comfort him when she is out of town.

They give him treats when they have an evening snack,
So they all eat together as the blue light fades.

Everyone else
who cared
Is only a phantom now.
In the quiet of old age,
The old couple and their cat
protect each other.