jump to navigation

Poem by Jade Blackmore – Thelonius Monk and Nellie in a Dream May 4, 2020

Posted by vscorpiozine in poems about jazz musicians, Veteran Poets.
Tags: , , , ,
add a comment

nelliethelonious

Thelonius Monk and Nellie in a Dream

Fingers make their own way across the keyboard,
At once thundering and adroit.
The green velvet curtains reveal a miracle or a debacle,
Depending on the prescribed mood.
The reefer smoke a given as
disembodied voices shriek from outside.

Killing time at the airport.
An impromptu whirling dervish
Out of his element
Amusing the masses.

A hotel room,
A clap of thunder.

“I am very sick.”
Cubist sound fades
Into quiet everyday life,
A picture window view across the Hudson.
The circuitry miscalculation
That formed a life,
Now steadied
Into routine,
As Nica’s
Cats roam free.
The daily walk down leaf-shaded sidewalks,
The untouched piano.

Somewhere in a parallel universe,
Nellie and Thelonius still dance
in a fever dream,
backstage at the Five Spot,
bits and pieces of
the East Village night
juxtaposed like miscreant stars. 

 

www.jadeblackmore.com

 

 

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

Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, Veteran Poets.
Tags: , ,
add a comment

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.
Tags: , , , ,
add a comment

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 Old Man Who Lived Alone February 11, 2020

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

 

The old man lived alone in an apartment by the freeway.
The TV flickered through half pulled window blinds.
Every Christmas, a poinsettia plant guarded the doorway 

Sometimes the man would stand on the balcony and smoke cigarettes with his next door neighbor.
He’d talk about the old days.
He used to live in a house in Beverly Hills
And rode hoses with his Dad as a kid.
Worked in radio for awhile, when the money was good

Sometimes, he would walk to a waiting van on the corner
with a small plaid suitcase
to visit a friend at a nursing home
way in the Valley. 

One day, the neighbor who smoked with him on the balcony said,
“I haven’t seen him for a week.”
The old man didn’t answer the door when he knocked.
He asked the other tenants, but no one else had seen him,
And none of them had his phone number.
The powers-that-be didn’t respond to the neighbors’ concern.
Still, the TV flickered.

When the old man didn’t pay his rent,
A last-minute phone call lead to a disconnected number,
and his body on the kitchen floor.
It had been there three weeks.  

The coroner van pulled up
to nervous whispers in the hallway,
And incense burning in the next door neighbor’s apartment.
Is that all you are
In the end,
A bad smell to be covered up?

The bushes push through barbed wire by the back gate.
The chipped edges of the dresser convince the living to pass up free furniture.
Collectible pocket knives are sealed haphazardly in a cardboard box,
With a scalloped edged-photograph on top.
In a scratched black and white haze,
A boy in a cowboy hat stands in front of a pony.
A few days later, the wind blows it away.

 

Poem by Jade Blackmore – Retirement December 8, 2019

Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, Veteran Poets.
Tags: , ,
add a comment

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 Robot October 21, 2019

Posted by vscorpiozine in 1970s, Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, Veteran Poets.
Tags: , , ,
add a comment

She never said she was Marilyn reborn.
Swallowing the incandescent air,
Nonchalant, bidding her time,
Kicking in the most superficial memories.
A vacuumed gutter of change,
Fabricating
The seed of a willow, or
The dandelion’s heir.

An absent goddess
A blonde robot,
Assured by the rhythmic lock of
Boots and whips.
It’s not right to leave the fold this way.

Greedy rogues
Wishing for more,
Dissolving into the arc of dawn.
They’re all fools.
The decaying flutter of heaven’s dollars
Is the only music they’ll ever hear
Tomorrow hangs in the balance
It only gets in the way.

Life’s background extras scatter like frenetic pinballs.
In the end,
The voyeurs got what they wanted.
Frozen in purgatory, empty vessels,
Chilled,
After the vampire left.

 

JadeBlackmore.com

*Another 40-year old poem I found in one of my journals

Poem by Jade Blackmore – Small Talk October 1, 2019

Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, Veteran Poets.
Tags: , , ,
add a comment

Small talk,
Transparent and barely tolerable,
Drops to the checkered sidewalk.
A chunk of cement strapped stilettos,
Costly and void, but always 90 proof,
Doesn’t sway the heart
Or stick to the ribs.

Butterfly stalker.
Fairfax Avenue graffiti
Covers up Rita Hayworth
With bountiful scars.
these words mean less
Than when
A bubble girl sang it.
That says a lot.

Words bounce back to you
And then up to the ridiculously blue sky
If there’s no one to catch them.

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.
Tags: , , , ,
add a comment

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 by Jade Blackmore – Down for the Count September 17, 2019

Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, love poems, poems, poetry, Uncategorized, Veteran Poets.
Tags: , , ,
add a comment

I liked you better when this whole thing began-
you were fun, a sleepy-eyed man-child
making Halloween faces.
A lizard-collecting therapist’s nightmare.
Now you’re just a liar like everyone else,
internal organs on the slab for peons to pick at.
There are no secrets between us.
Familiarity breeds contempt.
If I knew less about you, I’d love you more.

 

 

 

 

Poem by Jade Blackmore – The Mourning Dove June 11, 2019

Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, Veteran Poets.
Tags: , ,
add a comment

The Mourning Dove

The mourning dove
Perches and coos
on the balcony railing,
She acts as if she belongs there,
a frequent visitor,
a symbol of hope.

A few minutes later
She waddles on the ground
With her companion,
Surveying the mottled pink flooring
for crumbs.
We put out a plate
of crumbled homemade bread for them,
And it still sits there,
An open invitation
For cleansing and peace.