Billie Holiday

Rain falling on this tin roof

Sounds like

Magic falling from Zodiac Stars

Billie Holiday’s voice

Plays through these round speakers

It’s about as close to

A perfect ending

On a long hot day

As one could ask for

My memories move through music melodies

As I listen and see her face in my mind

Her smile said it all

Without having to say anything

Gardenias dressing her hair

The horn section is

Blowing beautifully behind Billie

Notes intertwine with notes

Stitching each verse together

With record needles

Following fine lines

On slow spinning vinyl

Raw open emotion

A voice wrapped with every tear

She ever shed

Every love she ever lost

Every love she ever found

Keep singing, Billie

Keep falling, rain

Soon

I will be asleep

Singing songs of slight shallow snoring

Until the morning sun wakes me

And

I start a new day

Once more  

Yes, Billie and raindrops falling

Are not a bad way to end a long hot day

7.2 Billion

Red Light Theater always has

A captive audience

Cast members

Hold cue cards

For you the director to read

“Will work for food”

I guess we all work for food in

Some way or another

Just remember

Hustle the homeless Hustler before he hustles you!!!

But

Whatever you do

Don’t look them in the eye

You might see your soul

He’s one of the 7.2 Billion people on the planet

You know?

Standing on the corner of your city

Or frozen to death

On a bench in Central Park  

Or her

Stepping off of the city bus in the rain

Plastic bags stretched tight with can goods

A warm salty meal

I guess is on the menu tonight    

And then there’s those

Meeting for brunch after tennis

Or those

Building the next city high-rise

Or those

Two

The hooker standing at the top

Of the interstate bridge

And the cop pleading for her to step down

Her tears falling onto the cars speeding below

With drivers just wanting to go home

Lies And Deceit

X-raying the mind through dreams

Bubblegum wrapper and battery fires

Guide my way

Two skateboarding sisters greet me

Each holding diamonds with numbers

Etched on their side

That only my eyes can see

They open a book of naked faces

And say in unison

“Lies and deceit get folks far at first

In the land of the conscious

But they are of no use here

In the land of the unconscious

Truth is all that works within this world”  

I awake momentarily

To the sound of

Dog claws clicking on the wooden floor

It sounds like a typewriter

In my exhausted state

The dishwasher moans and hums

As it gargles and discharges

Dirty water from its plastic insides

Then

Back asleep I go!!!

A woman sits on the edge

Of a ship’s railing

The ship tilts slowly

Back and forth  

Like a metronome

She’s wearing an all white dress

Her big eyes are looking off to the sea

She says, the waves remind her of

Mountain top cliff drops

She then coughs a key up

Into her mouth

Handing it over she whispers

“There was nothing more than a sunset

Nothing more

Than the beginning of night

The beginning of everything

When one awakes in a dream”

It seems

Inactivity brings the most activity

When eyelids shut for sleep  

Fish

Falling far

I free fall

Right out of the sky

I’m safe for the moment

For

Just underneath me

Is life’s swirling lagoon

I’m almost certain

As certain as one can be

That fish never sleep

Like people today

With

Their caffeine mornings

And nicotine nights

They’re always on the go!

Yes, yes, like fish we’ve all stopped sleeping

Rising energy cost

Might be from

The worlds inability to call it a night?

To sleep

To rest

To just shut its eyes

Maybe

The rippling waters from human progression

Will ripple a change?

Or it might

Change nothing at all

For the prowling Piranhas

Still must feed

They want

They need

They are needy

While our world is pushed to the brink

Providing perfection and instant gratification

Has created

A disposable discarding culture decades long

It seems to always start small

In time it grows

It grows over time

Like mirrors to the scale-watching bulimic

They refuse to see what’s in front of them

I fear at times

We as humans are just smart enough

To destroy everything before us

Our planet with its

Seas of floating debris

Skies painted with pollution

So thick in some cities

Some say

You can’t even look at the stars  

Yes, we’re just smart enough

To destroy it all

All the way down to the fish

Not sleeping at night

3 Poets 5 Stars

“We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.” Charles Bukowski   

I recently ordered books off Amazon from three poets I greatly admire. Each have their own unique view of the world that surrounds them. At the same time, I felt these poets were a good fit for this review. A review I hope will shed a little light on their work and provide a glimpse into three of today’s modern poets.

I’ve always been fascinated with the counter cultures that thrive in the world of writing, art, and music. It seems each movement over the years has had common threads within them. Things like friendships, introductions to other artists, and the support of each other’s work to name a few.

Over the years these artistic movements have had their scenes and places provide platforms from which to grow. Now the modern poet’s platform is the internet. Poets can send their work out to the world and instantly get feedback. But, this also means the web can become flooded with work from thousands of writers daily. So it helps tremendously to have spotlights cast in the direction of good poets who might slip past readers in the river of writers flowing by today.        

Mallory Smart’s “Fear Like A Habit” was the first of these three books to arrive in my mailbox. It is a wonderfully written book of poems. You can feel the fire and energy in Mallory’s words as you read each line of her work. Her love for the craft seems to radiate from each page of this book. She is a breath of fresh air in today’s world of writing. A voice that will be heard for many years to come. Mallory Smart, a poet of the people, born from their echo. Read her today. 

Kateri Lanthier’s “Reporting From Night” was the next book to arrive. The best way I can describe Kateri’s work is simply beautiful. The love for her family, for life, and Toronto shines so bright in this book. As I read, I was taken back to similar situation and fond memories of raising my son.

As I flipped each page, a poem I once wrote called “Daniel Jones, Toronto’s Son” along with Jones’s work kept popping into my mind. He was another poet from that city whose work was remarkable. After reading “Reporting From Night” I realized Toronto also has a daughter named Kateri Lanthier. She, along with her sisters of poetry, make that city alive and breathing with words. Toronto, the city of poets. “Reporting From Night” is a must read for lovers of life and poetry. 

Robin Richardson’s “Knife Throwing Through Self-hypnosis” was the final book to arrive. This book is explosive in thought. Her mind is truly one of an artist. Each line I read was so creative and perfectly placed within the poem. Robin’s words displayed the same meticulous thought in their arrangement as a chess player would use carefully moving knights and bishops. I was not surprised having read some of her work online and seeing her YouTube clips. She is someone I will read for many years to come. A true artist, fearless with her words of poetry. Check out her work today.     

 

Giraffes

Going viral is a good thing

With bad things, sometimes

It forces us to see

Man’s senseless acts

Like the

Despicable devastation of dehorning rhinos

Or hacksawing tusk

From the last of the wild elephants

Leaving their bloody bodies to

Swell and rot in the African sun

I saw this photo the other day

Of someone posing with their

Freshly killed Giraffe

I thought

Who would kill a Giraffe?

I mean really, who would kill these plant eating giants?

These harmless creatures

That roam the scorching savanna

I was dumbfounded…

As the day went by

I could only see in my mind

The sadness of it all

Giraffes with twisted up lifeless bodies

Gray tongues hanging from their mouths

Drops of blood dripping softly

From their noses

And again I thought

Who would kill a Giraffe?

I guess it became a photo for the shooter’s scrapbook

Or a topic for water cooler reminiscing

“What’d you do on vacation?”

“I killed a Giraffe!”

“Oh, did it charge you?”

“Did it endanger your life?”

“No, but it’s dead just the same!”

Imagine if there were really the existence

Of Unicorns

Or Bigfoot

Their heads would certainly be

Side by side with the Giraffes

Hanging over a mantle

Trophies for the dinner party gawkers

To click champagne glasses together

And

Toast to the terrifying tales of tangling

With these spotted horses on stilts

With stretched necks in the sky

And again, I wonder

Who would kill a Giraffe?

The Patrolman

As I sit drinking coffee

Reading Patti Smith

Sitting in an old iron chair

In front of my home

I suddenly see a spotlight searching street to street

Home to home

Yard after yard

A patrol was combing over my neighborhood 

Untangling its strands of night shadows

With his bluish white beam of light 

Until he was center stage

Well really

It was me that was center stage

Of his onlook

At least for a moment

Satisfied with my

Book choice and coffee cup steaming 

He drove on and kept looking

All over

Shining his light

I guess the thieves are on the prow this morning?

Drug fend ambitions

Trying to provide for the next high

My niece said last night in a post

A murderer was on the loose

Over where she lives in the next town

That the authorities had found a body

Dumped down the road from her home

She said, there were policeman searching

Up and down her road for the killer

She said, she was sitting up this night

With her rifle

No doubt her baby would sleep tight tonight!!!

Now

A few hundred feet away

The silence is broken by a loudspeaker

“Get down on your knees!”

“Make no sudden moves!”

No shots were fired

And

The lights in the night

Finally stopped flashing

Another was locked up

And

The patrolman

Finished his patrol