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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 – Poetry Reading, East Village, 1990 September 18, 2019

Posted by vscorpiozine in 1990s, Jade Blackmore, New York, poems, romantic poems, romantic poetry, Veteran Poets.
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He dreamed of long legs,
intertwined with his.
A Cherokee priestess
in fringed suede,
fresh from the hide,
so fresh it still dripped blood.
And he wished for big brown eyes.
He dreamed of a madwoman
He dreamed too hard.

She read a poem
about the desert,
about skin and chains
and hookah pipes.
He stood in the back of the room
in cowboys boots.
He wore a stone amulet
on a chain around his neck.
She wore skull and hatchet earrings.
He wouldn’t have looked twice
if he’d seen her on the street.
He sees her clearly in a smoke-filled room
with the crash of beer bottles.
She smiled like an ingenue
but wrote like a white witch.
He fancied himself a writer
but her words made her feel like a dilettante.
His eyes made her feel
like a long-limbed Vogue model,
but his aura,
all black from hair to boots,
like a misfit with a ponytail
in the third grade,
and he was the cutest boy on the playground.

He touched her wrist,
as she put her poems into her backpack.
“You’re a witch,” he said.
His amulet brushed across her wrist vein.
“And you’re a shaman”, she said.

He bought her peppermint tea,
and she taught him about madwomen of the 18th century,
and he taught her about imitating Kerouac in the south of England.
They walked to her apartment above the biker bar
to consummate a beautiful lie.

A scattered night
transforming  mortals into magic, and
then back again.






Poem – We 90’s Poets by B.Z. Niditch September 20, 2015

Posted by vscorpiozine in 1990s, Boston, BZ Niditch, poems, poetry.
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by B.Z. Niditch

 Over Beacon Hill
in a sheltered lawn
on the Esplanade
it was a September day
as we 90’s poets
passed seeing show dogs
by hydrants
under a lantern’s rain
on our way
to speak for peace
by red cornices
on the Boston Common
of my student days
as we recall back
my perpetual adolescence
a marathon passes by
the Charles River
over mythic Longfellow Bridge
by an increase of first light
as oak acorns fall
we emerge strengthened
by the underground.
B.Z. NIDITCH is a poet, playwright, and fiction writer. His work is widely published in journals and magazines throughout the world, including: Columbia: A Magazine of Poetry and Art; The Literary Review; Denver Quarterly; Hawaii Review; Le Guepard (France); Kadmos (France); Prism International; Jejune (Czech Republic); Leopold Bloom (Hungary); Antioch Review; and Prairie Schooner, among others. His latest poetry collections are “Lorca at Seville” and “Captive Cities.” He lives in Brookline, Massachusetts.

His new poetry collection Everything,Everywhere is available at Amazon.com.

Documenting the Rise of the Los Angeles Poetry Scene January 31, 2015

Posted by vscorpiozine in literary Los Angeles, poetry, readings.
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Read about the book “A Higher Form of Politics: The Rise of a Poetry Scene, Los Angeles, 1950-1990, at this link

The 1980s were a great time for poetry in L.A. – Bukowski reading at Al’s Bar, punk poetry with Exene, Henry Rollins and others, and poetry readings at the Lhasa Club and Cathay de Grande. If I can find my flyer from the reading I gave with the L.A. Surrealist Alliance in 1985, I’ll post it..

Rock ‘N’ Roll September 12, 2014

Posted by vscorpiozine in 1990s, Jade Blackmore, Veteran Poets.
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As you can tell from the musical references, this poem was written in 1998.

Rock ‘N’ Roll

 God bless Michael Stipe, Sarah McLachlan, and Jewel.
I want to hug them all and take ’em out for a macrobiotic dinner.
But once in awhile, baby,
I want
loud guitars and leather pants,
a lead singer you can lust for,
with a dominatrix in the background,
blood flowing through the veins,
not ice water or Kool Aid.
Remember how it feels
not to think so hard,
to be so, so WRONG
that you come just from listening.
Remember what it’s like
to crackle along nerve endings,
to be gloriously and blatantly alive.

Copyright 1998, 2004 Jade Blackmore

Recollection and Other Poems by B.Z. Niditch June 3, 2013

Posted by vscorpiozine in 1990s, Veteran Poets.
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St. Marks Place , early 1990s

St. Marks Place , early 1990s – Photo from evgrieve.com

During the month of June, we’re saluting the 1990s zine scene and poems about (or inspired by) musicians, celebrities & other famous folks. Today we’re showcasing 5 poems by B.Z. Niditch, a widely-published poet of the 1990s. His  recent work continues to be featured  in prestigious magazines and on literary websites worldwide.


With our 1990’s hands
reaching out
even rebellious adjectives
are explored
our voices float
on graffiti walls
there is still time
for us poets
to speak out
without props
for our nature, gender
even for trees
when even
the Pacific waves
are unprotected
from our environs
like any physiognomy
and identity
our life needs a green card
for any foreign body
in the exposure
of our animated shelters
from every betrayal
we surrender only
to a compass of language
at every stage
under the pillars
of a rainbow flag
or at an urban read
for we open door poets
scenting no caution
or fear
to live among others
in a free sisterhood,
or on a brother’s sync lips
with a solace of speech,
for all the world’s Beat
dig to survive the earth.


no regrets on Sunset strip
trucking outside
the boxing shadows
of exhausting nights
unwilling to form
an accidental lane
of body parts
in flashed red lights
at a petrified scene
from our seat belt,
glassy and ripped
a Beat Poet
only a passes
by  running invectives
in a thirst
for language
on the steering
wheel of tangled
voice mails
now imprisoned
to answer
words sleep
walking on gaseous
shadows questioning
any empty disillusionment.
of a unfiltered future
in driving us
the fourth hour
with  an elegy’s stick shift
toward intervention
of buried grief on my
long sleeves
on highways of picture
postcard verticals
between    nights and day
where an imaginary
third lane energetic
synergy of almost humans
operates to a percolating
aroma under stars
by a felled holiday week end

on route 66


Rounding these words
in a memory of solitude
we discover a universe
in our graffiti scratches
on a city’s unclenched walls
throbbing with a kid glove
of half speech
unfolding what answers
and renews
in our absences
those thousand voices
in a palette’s drawing
of an indifferent time
forfeiting every exile’s
green identity card
with our prose exhuming
in our alphabet appearances.


Everyone has a pulse
of a chimera’s echo
in a poet’s mirror
like a domino of words
of a Beat’s immunity
interrogates language
passes on unspoken justice
in a captive passport
from a rapture
for our enlightenment
here in the gay 90’s
once again a stupid war
on the pale horizon
but not discouraged
we have not forgotten
the quivers of peace
and love on our flower
children’s breath
here on the waterfront
sprawled on a blanket
balloons are released
the crowds takes hold
of this poet’s words
from San Francisco
to Boston.


After watching
the Almadovar film
with my movie buff buddy
and actor in my one act play
back in Boston
talented Pillar from the Valley
that April night, 1990
feeling unconfined, etherized
from the dark theater,
when Pillar calls me hip
and almost falls
on the sidewalk face
and injures her own hip
wearing red high heels
doing a Marilyn imitation
near the cable cars
in the hills
hoping the harbor lights
along the waterfront
will make us feel a year
younger or sober
hoping for any phone message
or a message on my back
glued to our friendship
as it starts to rain
and we murder
a Spanish cinnamon roll.

BZ Picture 12  B.Z. NIDITCH is a poet, playwright, fiction writer and  teacher. He lives in Brookline, Massachusetts.His work has been published in Denver Quarterly, Hawaii Review, Antioch Review, Prism International and Jejune (Czech  Republic),  among others.

Call For Submissions April 15, 2013

Posted by vscorpiozine in Call for Submissions.
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Looking for submissions for Venus in Scorpio’s “Zine Poets of the 1990s” series. If you published or contributed to a poetry zine in the 1990s, I’d like to hear from you. Send  poems, memories, photos or scans of old zines to vscorpiozine@gmail.com

Article on 1990s zinesters More Beer than Money at this link

Accepted submissions will be featured on Venus in Scorpio Zine during May and June. Include links to your website, blog, and/ or publisher page.