Saturday, April 6, 2019

Coffeehouse Poem # 336

I see a woman from a
Few days ago, entering
The coffeehouse
Her ebullience  could melt
All the snow on the ground
Her red checkered flannel shirt
Black jeans and winter boots
Make  her the poster girl for
Lobster boat chic
I tell her i,'m charmed
By her loveliness
She says, she smiles
Cos it helps her stay

A Stranger In Moscow

Moscow is a long way from 
But America will never
let her children go hungry
and the song plays again
as men sit at the table
in the community kitchen
searching for brotherhood
we still believe in democracy
though hackers crown our
I tell a friend about a russian
poetry book, i downloaded
on my tablet
i wonder if anna karenina
could spit rhymes on point
and look cool in bling ?
i pray to god daily, but i still
believe the election was
but he's just a man,
we are a country
i won't allow myself to
be blinded by the bling
of the christmas lights
and black friday specials
i know who i bow to
i hear the song again
as i walk the streets
of moscow
i let the rain pelt me
it feels like diamonds
a comrade walks by me
he speaks to me in a 
" moose and squirrel "
it feels like home
                                    --For Andy

Mary Jane And Winter

Snow rarely fell on Hillsboro
But it blanketed the town
And Mary Jane took her daughters
Blake and Miranda to make
Blake said Mary Jane was
As pale as a snowflake
Which Miranda was quick to
Point out was a derogatory term
Used to describe a millennial
Who was progressive,  which
Mary wasn't, but that she was
Merely the color of a snowflake
Blake laid down in the snow 
And made a snow angel
Which made Mary Jane
Pretend she was with the
Black Diver skiing.
She saw the way he glided
On the skis, like an
Expert. When Mary Jane
And The Diver went ice
Skating, they held each other
Hands as they spun around
Mary Jane looked at Miranda
And Blake, pretending they 
We're biracial children
Night married to day
She caught a snowflake
And held it in her hand
And thought about the 
Black Diver
And how a simple choice
Could have lasting 

Audrey ( Nude )

I've looked at thousands of
Pictures in my life
A woman's body is
A poem
She  is a song
that doesn't begin
Or end

Yet, when you gave me
The black and white
Nude of you
Stretched out on the
I accepted it, though  not
Eagerly, but with
As your better half
Stood in the

I looked  at pictures of his
Horses, like you, you
Were just another
Trophy he

I no longer have
your picture
And just as well...

Why be reminded of
Of what you can't

Coffeehouse Poem # 328

The barista walks around
As dedicated as a worker
Bee, her arms bloom with
She sings, therefore, she is
Her hair like fire
Is all the warmth I need
I stand outside to take a
And little pieces of
Her are falling as
White Christmas comes

The Trombone Player

I came to the recital
hoping to get a little of
myself back
i watch her walk around
practicing, a young black woman and
her brother, helping her
set up for the performance
she walks around, brass
horn shining, like i once
did, her sound, a 
fingerprint, floating through
the room on it's wings
i had to fight the senior band
members, as part of my initiation
into marching band

i hope she doesnt mind me using
her as a conduit, to keep
my love of music alive
she continues to practice,
her hair of mini dreads
flaming, like a proud torch

in her face, i see myself
again, 35 years ago,
riding the journey of black
notes, from afternoon practice
to pep rallies, to game days, to
concerts and symphonies, I now

she puffs her cheeks
as she stands in the 
playing the song i've always

Erren Kelly

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...