Winter-Poem by Jade Blackmore December 3, 2022
Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, Los Angeles poets, poets from Illinois, Veteran Poets, winter.Tags: Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, veteran poets
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It’s not cold enough at 50 degrees. The seasons are all mixed up.
We need a challenge, a thin sheet of ice, a specter from the sky.
A myopic wind chomping at the reigns.
Something to make the tribe tougher.
And then the window rattles you awake
To guarantee ice cube drudgery with each step.
The bridge across the river clotted with snow,
A crunchy and obstacle-ridden
reminder of your delicacy.
Square shards of ice in shoe corners, a numbing,
And then the reprieve –
A push through flimsy aluminum,
flesh crooked with cold pushes through to the crackle of home
The door hinge squeaks like a welcoming sigh
Then seals you into recovery,
A warm blast of love and soup.
Poem by Jade Blackmore – A Man of Some Renown July 24, 2022
Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, Veteran Poets.Tags: Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, veteran poets
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He was a man of some renown in certain circles. All the crusty bohemians, naïve wanna-bes, and adjuncts to the rich and famous crossed paths with him. You’d find him at blueblood soirees, art galleries, and biker bars.
“I met this guy in the Village,” someone would say, and drop his name, with no description or story attached. And their friends would chime in with unbridled enthusiasm. “Yeah, I know, he’s an asshole” “He owes me money!” or “A girl I work with is his mistress. He treats her like shit.”
But when he died, everybody was ready with a sound bite.
“He was an outstanding guy, a real trailblazer” they all agreed, “We’ll miss him.
Poem- The Quiet World by Jade Blackmore April 14, 2022
Posted by vscorpiozine in city poems, Jade Blackmore, Uncategorized, Veteran Poets.Tags: Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, veteran poets
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The Quiet World
Looking at the world from a window.
Apartment dwellers
laugh at the audacity of nature.
two raccoons overtake the parking garage
to make whoopee in plain sight.
The red finch at the feeder
thousands of butterflies skirting across stucco rooftops.
Then a phantasm shuttered the mountains, the planets, the movie scenes
with its’ money,
the lush green steppes only accessible
to the haughty and clueless.
The legacy friend who is quite sure she’s always right, the bluster, the vile and righteous path.
More sculpted glass in the sky,
a formula for escape or detention.
A squirrel scampers up the construction site fence,
another reminder
that the quiet world is out of reach.
Poem – No Brakes by Jade Blackmore March 2, 2021
Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, Veteran Poets.Tags: Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry
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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.Tags: 1990s, Jade Blackmore, New York, poems, poetry
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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 Old Poets December 28, 2020
Posted by vscorpiozine in Los Angeles poets, poems, poetry, Uncategorized.Tags: Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry
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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.
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: 1980s, Jade Blackmore, New York poems, poems, poetry
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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.
Poem by Jade Blackmore – Morning Song October 18, 2020
Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, Veteran Poets.Tags: Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry
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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 – Thelonius Monk and Nellie in a Dream May 4, 2020
Posted by vscorpiozine in poems about jazz musicians, Veteran Poets.Tags: Jade Blackmore, poems, poems about jazz muscians, poetry, Thelonius Monk
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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.
Poem by Jade Blackmore- End of Days April 10, 2020
Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, Veteran Poets.Tags: Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry
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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?
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