A POEM FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION

This piece was written in 2013, for me the newest work. Unlike my “prolific” period in the early 90’s living in Boston, I turned more toward fiction in the last 15-20 years. At this point, I find poetry difficult to write. Brevity requires more precise word choices.

By one friend, I was dubbed the “Bard of Boston.” This was largely due to long hair and a goatee, along with using Shakespearean metrics to enter poetry slams. In those days, your persona was developed and you stuck with it. This limited your development.

It was in thinking back on that time period I wrote this piece, a reflection of being called upon to recite, yet again, what most folks knew of your work and requested most. I last read this piece at the OWFI Conference in 2022 at a Thursday night open mike.

DO THAT JAZZ POEM

The cigarette is burning down almost to my fingers

And I’m worried that I may not be able to tap-tap

out a proper be-bop beat,

so fast, so sweet

with a whiskey burn that comes from the street.

With sweat pouring down over the keys,

I’m unable to unlock the door to

The secret revelations.

There is the heartening cry for more, Please!,

Give us your spiritual sensations.

We want, we want, we want that

Proper be-bop beat. But I can’t give

you no more, when you’re sitting on my hands.

Your unrealistic demands plead and pour

through me like altruistic sweat.

I want to ride; I want to fly like a bird,

sacred in the sky, burnt out on the ground.

I want to go my way with pride,

Long angling stride,

And so so far away from the lost and found.

You want me to do that thing,

slender reed or plucking on an A-string.

But I don’t do for you like you don’t do for me

Because you can’t see through my eyes

And never will.

You want me to do, to do, to do

to myself what I cannot do to you.

And if I go (or if I stay)

What will you say to me? Stay or go?

No. The time is ripe for a proper be-bop beat.

Listen! Sit! Yes, have a seat and I will

tell you a different story.

Keep your eyes open and alive while I

strive to reminisce. Just a little kiss

to put you to sleep

and then I’ll slip out into the night.

Wide awake the next morning, a fright

comes into your heart. What seems

to be a vanishing act

was only just a dream.