jump to navigation

Amiri Baraka and Rob Brown – Something in the Way of Things (in Town) January 18, 2021

Posted by vscorpiozine in poems, poetry, poetry readings.
Tags:
add a comment

Poem by Jade Blackmore – Redux- Talk Show in the ‘90s January 6, 2021

Posted by vscorpiozine in city poems, poems, poetry.
Tags: , ,
add a comment

Sometimes, she would press random buzzers in the vestibules of apartment buildings.
She went to parties with actors, Goth kids, and her co-workers from the S and M dungeon.
You’d always find her hanging out in a decaying apartment building with other squatters.
They’d watch Gilligan’s Island reruns, drink beer, and smoke pot. She had an affair with a guy who bought smokes at the 7-11 while she shoplifted a bottle of wine.
Eventually, he got her pregnant, and she had the baby. She sent her friends a photo of the newborn, a proud mama,  then dropped out of sight for awhile and retreated back to the old neighborhood.

She shared an apartment with a friend from the third grade.
The baby cried a lot.
After the first few months,
The once-doting Mama disappeared for days at a time,
Skipping out on rent and returning drunk.
The roommate threw her out.
Now the baby Daddy’s Grandma raises him,
and the parents appear
when obligated to do so.

Poem by Jade Blackmore – The Old Poets December 28, 2020

Posted by vscorpiozine in Los Angeles poets, poems, poetry, Uncategorized.
Tags: , ,
add a comment

They all gathered in a basement near the beach. Sunlight covered by brick and photocopies, the pesky blonde surfers sent packing, the scourge of suburbia long gone.    

The reluctant idol in western jeans ducks into his car, but he can’t escape. The parkig lot fence won’t shield him from the aftermath of his chosen profession. Every autograph paves a piece of soul flattened until he can escape incognito to another land . 

Neon-haired old woman
Swathed in black
Yells across the room
Even louder than she did in her heyday,
Oblivious to the background bro calling her an old hag.
Her former partner-in-crime ostracized
For having the wrong opinion.

The woman who raises chickens and grows corn in her back yard
Discusses Bukowski with a slouching, bespectacled poetry professor.
In a previous life he was a long-haired bass player, dropping acid and sharing girls in Golden Gate Park.

The wine disappears from red Solo cups as conversations intensify.
The words of fallen comrades echo in front of scratchy 8 millimeter films.
Self-made local legends, revealed to a select few.
Only those who crack the code understand.
Transference and time fade the intent,
but the spirit remains.

Poems by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal – Two Minutes and Sea Song December 27, 2020

Posted by vscorpiozine in Uncategorized.
Tags: ,
add a comment

Two Minutes 

Two minutes waiting
for the bus that is five
minutes late. It is
cold at Four Fifty AM
for someone used
to warmth. The bus is
late again like the other
day when it was windy cold.
I should have worn
thicker socks but I did
not want to be late
looking for them. I feel
like Forest Gump just
waiting for a bus but
without a box of chocolates
and no one around to
tell my tall tales to.

Sea Song 

The moon is foam.
Six stars fall now.
The end is near.
Six stars fall like leaky ships.
The sea eats its songs.
Fish multiply despite it all.
Exhausted, the sea eats lyrics.
The sea is right to consume all.
It sinks boats and
sings along with
its waves and skylike colors.
The sea is all show.

Read a review of Luis’ chapbook Before and Well After Midnight, at Clockwise Cat.

Merry Christmas!! December 23, 2020

Posted by vscorpiozine in Uncategorized.
add a comment

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.
add a comment

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 John Grey – To Feel the Power December 17, 2020

Posted by vscorpiozine in John Grey, Veteran Poets.
Tags: , ,
add a comment

To Feel the Power

The wooden bridge 
crosses the river 
at its most virile,
spring current,
as cold as mountaintops,
crashing and splashing 
against rock and bank.

None bother fishing 
in the torrent.
And swimming 
in its brisk waters
would be like dogpaddling
with a broken log.

All we can do 
is grip the railing,
lean into the spray,
act as momentary buffer
between snow thaw and gravity
before pulling away.

Elsewhere,
wide blue sky,
lack of wind,
presages a calm
that’s there for the asking.
But, for now,
we prefer 
the rage, the frenzy,
the turbulent spring waterway
that tells us what to do.

BIO

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Soundings East, Dalhousie Review and Connecticut River Review. Latest book, “Leaves On Pages” is available through Amazon.

Poems by Jack Henry – Saint Thomas Aquinas and ex November 19, 2020

Posted by vscorpiozine in Uncategorized.
Tags: , ,
add a comment

Saint Thomas Aquinas

the old poet sits under a dying tree
in a park near a crumbling church
as people gather for midday mass.

a dyslexic sun spins in disambiguation.
two men kiss as a breeze begins
to drift through branches and leaves.

the old poet awaits contradiction, as words
fall from the corner of his eyes and
children scream in delight,
for the ice cream man.

a police officer walks by, says hello, and pauses
briefly, asking the old poet about his day,
and any plans for the weekend.

the old poet does not speak, lost in transition,
from one point of contact to the next.
there is no connection only the unending buzz
of a phone call not answered.

ex

words
bleed
out from broken
fingers.
fractured memories
of a past
best left
to rot
in a
cage
i locked
them in,

so many
years
ago.

Bio:

Jack Henry is a poet and chapbook publisher. His poetry journal is Heroinlovesongs.com. His work has been published in Clockwise Cat, Poetry Warrior, Oak Bend Review, Rusty Truck, and other online and print zines.

Poem by Jade Blackmore – Midtown Manhattan, Herald Square, 1989 October 28, 2020

Posted by vscorpiozine in 1980s, city poems, New York, poems, poetry, Veteran Poets.
Tags: , , , ,
add a comment

1989 Midtown Manhattan

“Sign the Petition!!” The woman’s shrill voice echoes from outside the Chase Manhattan Bank on 34th Street. She walks back and forth holding a sign with a photo of a banned magazine cover with a meat grinder on it. Moms with baby strollers maneuver close to the curb to avoid her. Balding men in three-piece suits duck into revolving doors, and skateboard kids sail past, suppressing laughter till they’re clearly out of her view.

You walk into the deli, baggy-eyed and askew from being jostled on then train. The Bodega cat in the stockroom eats noodles from Chinese takeout container. You buy a raisin bagel and coffee

Even listening to Howard Stern on your Walkman doesn’t drown out the woman in a square-shoulder power suit standing behind you as she complains about how slowly the line is moving.

A punk rock girl with platinum strands (shades of Nancy Spungen) struggles with her umbrella as she passes a Hasidic Jew in a phone booth.

The streets whip up a mist of soot and sweat.
Oblivious,
the hot dog cart vendor sets up early
The old hippie dude selling used LPs,
knock-off Chanel bags and paperback books with covers torn off  from a folding table by Tad’s Steaks does brisk business.

The girls in bulky sweaters watch the marathon from a fire escape. Toothy smiles and subway murder headlines blare from the front page of the Post
As you turn the corner to go to your job pasting up ads for January’s edition of Teddy Bear Revue,

Spending the morning stuffed into a corner office filled with half-empty glue bottles, photos, photocopies of photos and a pot of Folger’s coffee. 

Man in a Santa suit walks out of the subway station into PJ Carneys for a highball. The Brooklyn girls get their nails done after-work, tangerine glow, key lime green, or passionate pink.
The manicurists wear light blue face masks and hand customers index cards with prices scrawled on them,
And talk to each other in Mandarin Chinese.

5:35 p.m. You exchange good nights with your co-workers through gritted teeth and speed walk pass Sbarro’s, Strawberry’s, and the Empire Stare Building. The lady with the poster still wails, more adamant than ever. Shoppers steer their children into Macy’s and office workers scurry like starved rats into the subway station.

Sometimes, it’s hard to believe
You were part of this hodge-podge
Cause the present is so static
and unassailably boring.

Leaf blowers wane in the background,
Replaced by a screen door opening and closing – then silence.
A screen, a book, a reset, then- nothing.

You dream of going back for just a minute
To be absorbed into the trivialities
of a forgotten world, before the rise of the  automatons,
before truth scattered into a thousand different pieces.  

R.I.P. Diane Di Prima (August 6, 1934-October 25, 2020) October 26, 2020

Posted by vscorpiozine in Uncategorized.
add a comment