Fresh out of high school,
strong in body but dense in the head.
I once worked as a furniture mover.
The company was owned by a friend.
One time, he and I worked twenty hours straight.
At 5 bucks/per, I felt like Tony Montana in Scarface.
Afterwards, I was invited to a speakeasy
to play a little after-hours poker.
The warm beer was flowing for free.
Well, you know the rest.
I was busted in less time than it takes a robin
to preen his orange velvet vest.
My boss won all of my hard-earned mint.
Although I didn't have a license
Drunk bossman let me drive his sweet Oldsmobile '88 home.
Though smokey-eyed and flat broke.
I still was a happy little blue-collar pimp.
Wisdom beauty style and class
ignites the white house Obama
block party I'm in awe an yet my
shyness overwhelmed me I'm
awakened by the Harold washington
library simply taken by the youth center
my dad worked 131 st altgeld garden
many days of street jazz and speakeasy
time passing our lady of the gardens
writing plays for the church who am
I why I am king I am woman I am me
I am American native American my
ancestors were the founders of Chicago
Chekogo dusable museum John Batiste
funny curly blonde head African American
poet who am I why I am me I am you
The yellow neon sign casted a glow upon his chiselled cheekbones as the bustling sounds of a city that never slept droned on.
He carried his troubles with him, like a worn out cloak, weighing him down in his every step. His mind was entwined in a thorny thicket.
He has been haunted and bewildered since his introduction to her in a smoky speakeasy.
She was a siren shadow amongst strangers of the night, whispering his name in the breeze, intoxicating his psyche with a tempestuous flame.
She entangled him in a perilous dance, playing a game of chance.
Their encounters were like unbridled wildfires. She captivated him, consuming his soul with her potent allure. He felt engulfed, delicate as a feather in a storm, swept away by her force.
However he was a moth enticed by a relentless flame, she incinerated his dreams and made him feel hopeless. In the end, he succumbed to the hounds of disassociated reality.
His story concluded in tragedy, leaving his loved ones cries to echo through the empty streets of a heartless city.
she wore a diamond headpiece, which made her eyes look azure.
Her self-assured smile walked ahead of her dangling earrings.
Like a prism, she commandeered the entire speakeasy.
We men had heard of her, but none of us knew she was real.
One dapper gentleman stood up to ask her to dance.
She laughed; I am the entertainment, she told him.
Sit and watch. Her act was beyond exciting.
That was forty years ago, and I still remember her.
You left us a sound recording of the pronunciation
but I'm guessing my ien from yang
with no written list to escrow
I'm blundering trying to shoulder this word game
and my reve of speakeasy fades
like Icarus without wings
I'm left floundering
on the mais we
You've jettisoned espere again
and I'm still guessing at my letters
I need a dentist to perfect my rolling R
Perhaps it is weary.
In the mental hourglass.
I rummage through my recollections.
Along the back wall of the speakeasy.
when the public voice has spoken
Perceptions.
Grace from a bird's-eye view.
love's twisted rails
Smell stolen.
We slipped down the rainbow's edge.
Above my eyes, I have grey stripes.
Grey slits go over my eyeballs.
Written: April 14, 2022
Aite and Dolos have whispered
instructions.Her words wish me to
deceive him.
Then Aite said to Dolos.
He will gain nothing and his ruin
shall make Zeus smile.
Dolos are you worthy of trust? Dolos
don't ruin my plans. That even a God
can't trust you. Might you conspire to
have Aite's plan ruined, I may curse you
before Zeus and speak I'll of you amongst
those how wish me as there's. I shall
Whisper instructions to your ruin, this
speakeasy Aite!
Dolos spoke and encouraged his deceit
to have the woman pregnant; but of his
ruin might he prosper and the woman to
be deceived by him. Than men shall
worship the man. And Zeus will hate him
that he loves me!
"The Silent Speakeasy"
she guevara she
sashay speakeasy
monotone in neon poetry
notes not belonging
to diatonic scale of key
chromatic passenger a new story
she guevara she
Anagrams
rebellious
sudoku kings and queens
silent
dusty
schoolmaster (take off your te)
sedate
the eyes
bluest
glare
glean
she guevara she
the silent speak easy
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
“Golden Years” / Bowie
https://youtu.be/HRD0ghlFSgk
key, 9
The snow on the ground is aglow at midnight
A sheet of moonlight
Like a sketchpad with shadows
Stretched from tree limbs furiously penciled in,
A speakeasy dance floor from the 1920s
Mobbed and sashaying,
Doing the jitterbug,
With black arms and black legs
Pumping stutter-stepping,
Swaying forward then back
Hands risen as if polishing the air with praise
In a wind that creaks in these trees
Like kindling wood caught on fire.
Who is the ghost, here, in this freezing rhythm?
These poltergeist dancers?
Floating
Between now and then drinking gin,
Lit by a swinging winter lantern?
Or is it me? Weaving through the phantom crowd,
A traveler from the future,
Pardon me, looking good,
Carrying a tray of translucent light above my head?
Or is the celestial artist the true spirit?
The only one who really exists?
Yes, I think it is the brilliant artist,
The invisibly sketching Goddess bringing life to the long dead,
While lurking from her corner table, cold cigarette in hand,
Diligently recording history.
Oh oblivion of time and space I make my way to her,
A coming total lunar eclipse.
THE BEGINNING AND THE END
a time of rest
could be disputed
even with cash in everyone’s pocket
even with rosy cheeks on the young and old
even with the red carpet rolled out for one and all
millennium’s end shall proof our pudding
for in the beginning, it was only one tree, in mankind’s fantasy
a snake slithered, hushing out the pleasures
of all the eyes could see
it was like the endless ocean, the great deep
it was like the universe with plush planets
it was like a great feast with tastes beyond our ken
it was the deepest plum of drunken colors - flora and fauna.
it was the speakeasy with real party animals — purest
and lovely, soft and eye-appealing, a touch of heaven.
time of peace with all races
could be disputed
would we still separate like whites from yolks?*
would we still find jealousy and covetousness?
would our brother, Abel, still cause us to cringe?
in the end would we murder him?
1/30/2018
*egg metaphor meant as all folks, not specific to white.
Pasadena Big Band, On With The Dance
Nostalgic swing, singing the blues
So put on your dancing shoes
Get out of your chair
Dance like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire
Imagining we are stars in a speakeasy movie
Dancing the Charleston, we're ever so groovy
"CUT", shouts the film director, "next scene"
The music stops, it's the end of the dream
Tea Dance with the Pasadena Big Band
The waitress serves on a silver cake stand
Cup cakes, petit fours and cress sandwiches
Just like in the black and white movies
here came cummings at thirteen
an iconoclast when ikons (in a
russian sense) for me only
could stimulate edward estlin with his
speakeasy disdain at a time when
cash and cosby still swayed liberated
my captive sensibility but wait
there
was
more…
williams with his wheel barrow
red rain and white chickens
so much depended on joyces
confabulation of language modern
once along with living by
green stein and anderson and
papa plain faulkner southern
strange pounds petals recall
basho dragonfly cuckoo cicada
in
no
time
symmetry matters
© 2014 by Michael Jones
The city’s streaming lights are
incandescent veins,
you and I a runaway fizz of champagne.
From gilded parlor to speakeasy
we carom,
giddy bubbles out to carbonate the still night.
And the city is now sparkling,
intoxicating as new love.
Talk the Talk and Walk the Walk
Know Your Onions
Hey there Big Cheese
I think you are the bee’s knees
Not a bluenose or a flat tire,
But, ooh hardboiled & too Oliver Twist to resist
Let us skip the youths' rub & head far removed from the petting pantry
Share a jorum of skee at the local speakeasy
Now we are on the trolley!
Let us slowly ankle to the joint
I’m a copasetic-bearcat
Watch my gams, catch my point?
Oh hepcat I’ll get your handcuff or
This darb Sheba’s bank is closed for someone else
Butt me, you spiffy sheik
Cuz I’m stuck on you bimbo
Unleash
Know your onions & manacle this
Choice bit of calico,
You know you can’t resist
Then and then only will you wield me to your struggle buggy and
We’ll be jake!
The cat's pajamas!!
Berries!
Sunshine Williams
1920’s Slang
Making match sticks from the bridges
We haven’t yet burned.
Making match sticks to burn the bridges
We haven’t yet burned.
So busy with drinking cocktails,
sweating sex in hotel rooms,
Running from boredom
Soaking up the smiles from homeless on the pristine streets,
Widdling away the reflections in the shop windows,
That’s not me, I am me, here with a flask and an appointment
At a speakeasy, staying busy.
So busy making matchsticks we ran out of bridges to burn.
Michael F. Lewis
3/20/2014
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