PSA 2015

featured in the poetry forum October 5, 2015  :: 0 comments

To all the victims and survivors of the current genocides/holocausts and more specifically to the brother who wore deer antlers on his head while his white co-worker-agents dressed in camo and guns posed with him laughing for the camera. Brother man, when you got up to shave that morn, did the foam on the mirror say, nigger die

The predatory nature of…
5 nanoseconds of fame 2015
Am I still smoking that shit
I could have sworn I quit 2 decades ago
Ms Wanda can you still hear us
Ms Maya are we still communicating
Are the hailing frequencies still open
Are the 4 Kings assembled for the summit
Or maybe I should just title this
PSA 2015

editors note:

To countermand the current hashtag sensation; this Public Service Announcement to color coded folks, for whom privilege is hard-gained, if ever, but mostly never granted… – mh clay

A Bookless Education

featured in the poetry forum August 12, 2014  :: 0 comments

She sits at Jack In The Box
No less than 3 sweaters
Shrouded by one very used coat
Socks and shoes
Have seen better roads

Wary at first
Till 2 days later
She eyed me with trust

We talked about the necessity of mommas
The loss you feel when they are gone
“I’m 98 years old”
I stared at her wrinkle-less face
Decided to take her word for it

Her oldest son died
At a domino game
Cause of death
The crossroads at the intersection
Of a bullet

One brother was killed
Over some dope
We laughed about old men and young women
The curriculum of economics

For my finals
I pressed 2 dollars in her hand
For a cup of coffee
I was told
what to give God
To recognize blessings

editors note:

A paperless degree for a cuppa joe – not spilled on your lap, but into your soul. – mh

Orange and Cinnamon

featured in the poetry forum June 10, 2013  :: 0 comments

Her hair in a quick up-do bun
rushing for the am rail
Captains and dommes of industry jostle
along with the flotsam and jetsam.
My purse on my arm
Your lunch bag on my lap
Not quite contained into designated spaces
How to peal and cinnamon an orange
without the expense of a dry cleaning bill
The cinnamon puffs in the air;
fine particles escape the maroon container
I close the lid
eager for the rush of citrus and cinnamon.
Tell me what you smell you command
I remember our smiles
Us walking in the sun to the park
With a peach, orange, and honey in a bag
Your patient way of guiding my hands
Cinnamon a fine dust over your breast
Freckles adorning them like a lady’s shawl
meeting the orange tang of my tongue
I take the orange from your stomach
kissing the place that held the orange
blow the excess cinnamon across your belly
inhale the scent of clean air
lightly place a section of orange
between my lips and into your mouth
You handed me the peach with a smile

* Upcoming publication in “Dampen To Bend” Coal and Femficatio Publishing 2013

editors note:

Sweet and spicy picnic pleasure; delivered with love. Nice! – mh


featured in the poetry forum December 12, 2012  :: 0 comments

Autumn NY
Song Repetition
Jazz was
the constant equation
was Jazz
Be Bop Jazz
Parker, Porcino, Wetzel, Metome,
Varsalona, Jacobs, LaPorta, Williams,
Phillips, Mondello, Caplan,
Orloff, Smirnoff, Harris,
Manne, Iborra, Hefti
Skit skat
No other
place could they meet
Maybe a
crowded table filled with
chicken wings, Blintzes, boiled eggs,
Pierogies, lox,
minestrone, beer, vodka,
tea, coffee, bourbon
Skit skat
No other
time was then
In a
closet crammed with
scarves, umbrellas,
raincoats, sweaters,
wraps, cardigans
Skit skat
On a
stage with
bongos, voices, hands,
drums, French horns, guitar,
piano, harp, trumpet, oboe
Skit skat

editors note:

She’s showing us the only refrain which never holds back; skit skat – thanks for that, Linn! – mh

The Professors of Jazz

February 24, 2012  :: 0 comments

The party smelled of Magic Shave “new improved smell”
Dutch Masters, weed, chicken wings, boiled eggs, and Crown Royal
shooed from the grown up talk
Now stinky foot, I’m gonna show you the right way
to listen to jazz
If you have to eat spaghetti dogs every night
Invest in some Bang and Olufson speakers
I got these on the black market
Those Danes know their speakers

Seated in the best seat
in the middle of the floor
with a big pair of earphones
This, Uncle Son said brandishing a lp cover with
Miles’ stern face staring at me
is who you listen to
I have the architects of jazz right here

He gave me a coffee mug
with a picture of the Rhine
put a capful of his whiskey in
grabbed some sugar cubes
stirred it in my cup
put some coffee
stirred that up
This, he announced
is what you drink
when you listen to
the PHD’s of Jazz

She Sounds: For Sweet Poppa D

featured in the poetry forum February 24, 2012  :: 0 comments

She sounds like sweet peach mint tea
That was stirred in the good pitcher
From the china cabinet
That is served on a tray
With tea cakes

She sounds like a
Morning on a lake
With two bamboo poles
With only one with a hook in it
And a poetry book
On a swamp boat

She sounds like breakfast
In the city debating
Pancakes or waffles
And you know that stuff
Is bad for you
But you order extra
Butter and syrup

She sounds like
An evening in a sharp suit
And an orange dress
Dancing in socks and stockings
A party of two

She sounds like she wants
To undress me
And she wants it now
With a delectable cackle
And no reason to blush

She sounds like a beginning

editors note:

Oh, yes, indeed! She sounds exactly like that! – mh

Blue Kiss

July 27, 2011  :: 0 comments

If I could describe the blue
In Monet’s lilies
It would be eclipsed by
The wrinkle in your dress
Hidden by your off-white shawl
Your mouth pressed
On my cheek in an ‘oh’ of pleasure
The after-image of your smile
Your shoes leaving an arrow
For me to follow

Blue Muse

featured in the poetry forum July 27, 2011  :: 0 comments

Monk you refused to become background noise in some tin ear
Fuck peaceful tinkering you growled while your ivory’s screamed
Take me to that place where Bird flies red
Monk anoints us and Mingus grabs you and won’t let go
Take me to the trinity of jazz and bless
until the blues is released

Jazz Instigates

featured in the poetry forum March 12, 2011  :: 0 comments

Jazz contemplates with a cigarette
Lit by a jeweled hand
Why Blue’s always sings about
Breaking up happy homes
Shit where is the happiness
In torn apart rooms
With shaded eyes
Now this music
She waves towards the quartet
They wail the same refrain with a
Little loss but no one gets hurt
Not really you see
While she writes Blue’s number
In maroon lipstick
On a linen napkin
That will be tucked in a silk shirt
Voices layered on the mirrored floor
In folding waves to delight

Blame It On The Sun
Wilton Norman Chamberlain Talks To Ray Charles Robinson

featured in the poetry forum March 2, 2011  :: 0 comments

Sharing a bottle of gold registered cognac
their cigars resting in a crystal goblet
silk knee high stocking feet resting
on a burgundy calf leather footstool

How does it feel man? You know,
when the lights stop shining on you?
I know you can’t see the lights but
damn man, you know what I mean.
when the heat stops shining on your face.

Baby, it’s like this,
you create your own sun.
Give it a name like the only woman
who didn’t love you for your money
or power, or none of that
make sure you stand
inside her smile