The eye in my sky is crying - bluetry16

The eye in my sky is crying
See my fears roll down the street
Tears allayed by stares in space
A cell phone in hand, no dial tone, a blues band commands my adrenal glands
Understand it’s my wedding band, not a new brand of incense,
I take a firm stand on a crash land course stuck in the meadowlands of York
Passion fruit seeps from my sweat glands
Swerving into oblivion on the freeway, an alien shaman ~ that’s me
An alligator devoured my right hand – Now I have 2 left feet left
Beauty is nothing but a backdrop for the blues
We all want beauty peace a little food and empathy
I keep trying and failing to decompartmentalize; an exemplary fit
Lost my wit – cut it out stupid twit see what’s writ do as befits,
I observe others fare better
The eye in my sky reflects humanity’s tears their fears that life can’t be any better or go anywhere except to all one place eventually
Do you want to be easily forgot, your family there
A score or two more no one will know you
Damn give your shell to charity
No formaldehyde either, please.
I use the excuse I’m Jewish; bury me green please
I keep saying son it will pass you by before we come noon to sun
Is this how you want to spend your last day
My man loves his drugs
Almost as much or more than me
He gets them easily supercalifragilisticexpialidociouslly,
Tons of prescriptions legally
His drugs do him right
Momentarily maniacal he says he’s feelin’ so tight
I see him in a new light struggling to write
Doctrinally following clinical struggles, a mix of Geodon, Ambien Lamogine,
To name a few - some are noxious others only for allergies
Billy Jean’s not his lover; enervated after meds
no more energy when he’s through throw some synergy into the fray
Walking up Bombay Broadway
Brings me back to tears rolling down the street
I refuse to admit defeat repeat it all again and again
The eye in my sky is crying


Dubblex on Guitar & garageband

Bluetry Flowing

Bluetry flowing – coming and going

 

I’ve got the blues real bad flowing from my heartstrings to my hands    

My mind feels my heart sing misty blue for you

Heartstrings pull the red river roves of my mind stills 

Turns chill as the weather 

the trill of the river’s wake 

I am here waiting for you to come on home, just come on home

 

Attached like twins - umbilical cord traveling in space right alongside death, 

death and life - 2 ends of the same string. 

Fate, energy, beyond a memory, the stars, the moon, some stars make it some don’t, some have to fake it and still can’t make it, some of us have it and never make it from the bottom to the top It’s all in my head I assure you my Bluetry won’t cure you for sure if you’re poor demure obscure, secure or insecure and you got the blues come on and wail with me, baby 

You could slow your demise.

 

All the voices in my head tread lightly the pain is great I got the blues on download in my psyche, I’ma put it on pause take a breath let the light in through 

The darkened drapes covering my universe. 

My daddy said I was tone deaf, throw that in reverse.

Capitalize on this crazy bluetry ~ sing Nina Simone off key for you

Like a flower waiting to bloom; Like a light bulb in a dark room

I’m here waiting for you to come on home, and turn me on

Living the blues in the intimate language raising the decibel level for interpole, 

Internet language – you misheard  - dig out the earwax.

 

You remind me of my x-girlfriend he continues on a roll of faith– she’s in love with her own voice too. I guess we have interesting voices I said to defend us. Don’t know if he heard he’s busy feeling his own world. I remind him of a past love. He reported recorded ex gf thinks he’s crazy because he follows me on the internet all the way from India. Imaginary Legends, I can’t help it. It’s outta focus. I can’t imagine -Time gone, nothing matters anymore. Sex, whatever you need, free from fee on the Internet, no lies, all tried and true. 

 

A constant ache, I ain’t as pretty as I used to be. If only I hadn’t put on all that we8. You say don’t worry, it’s all transitory anyway, I’m waiting for someone - show me the way, on the other end, I’m not myopic – I can’t see that far, I’m water, a Pisces, I shape shift into form then when I understand them - I become more a part of who I am I am I am

 

Who’s crazy here? You say I’m the prisoner. I say it’s you. History sees the oppressor oppressed by oppressee. Let me break it down. You’re powerful. I got the balls to defy you – you’re no different than me. We got the same wires trapped beneath the dresser. I’m mother earth confessor, my ribs made this nation, I got the sensation to feel you I do. My ribs crush concrete – I perspire with desire light money rains right outside the window my rainbow manifests. Get outta my way I’ma hit the sky today, it’s my time to get me some, you hear me son. 

 

I’m Violet– a wild mad swirl of a girl inside my heart design, grabbed this for a new poetry line. I never refuse a gift of words I can use. Hey isn’t that a line from a poem? If not I’ll make it one. Violet coming at ya’ - from the Heights, born and raised here -so get down with me tonight, cause we’re all good. 

My pussy poem tribute to margaret cho

Have any of you seen Margaret Cho? Not many comedians make me laugh but she does. Usually with comedians everyone around me laughs and I'm like - you're so not funny. At one point I was hysterical. You've got to watch her My Puss on you tube.

I wrote my own My Puss poem. Not quite Margaret Cho's masterpiece yet but it will entertain.


My puss is pretty and pink
Your puss is ugly and stink
My puss is sweet like a flower
Your puss is dirty and sour
My puss is nice and tight
Your puss is loose and a fright
My puss is clean and shaved
Your puss should be hidden in a cave
My puss smells spectacular
There’s no vernacular to describe your ugly puss
Your puss is gaseous and has typhus,
My puss is a precious goddess
My puss smells like a fragrant honey bun
Your puss’s clit is like a Cuban cigar
It’s so bizarre, it chases men from the boudoir
My clits like a binary star
Your puss is funky with zits,
My clit makes men want to submit
My puss is clever with wit
Your puss is like a streetcar
You never know who’s on it
My puss is like wordstar
Made to savoir and fear like a jaguar
My pussy’s like a fresh breath of air
Like a green sweet pear
My puss promotes world peace
Your puss is like dirty used up grease
No sense to compare
My fragrant puss with your
Despairing brown bear
My puss is rare
It’s unfair warfare

Billie's Blues Dog Rescue #VIII

Billie’s blues on my mind tonight
I’ve morphed into Billie singing my blues to her blues we are one
Your protestations sink into my instrumentals
Everything’s easy to get on the Internet; you can get whatever you want to.

I’m a fool to want you, for heaven’s sake why am I in love, here’s a chance fall in love.

I race up the stairs to face closing doors #1 train, elevated, a second too late. For God’s sake, my breath jagged, voice barely whispers on exhale. A golden red-nosed puppy stands before me, jumps on the bench next to DubbleX. Eye to eye, dilemmas & sadness everywhere.

Dubblex says forget the train roars up the watches drama ensues. The dog shaking, wet & wary furry pretty fur seeking solace and warmth. Train pulls in dog runs for the open doors, crevice between the platform & train. I see him go under. I grab him by the flesh on his neck; pull him away from the closing door. Another moment stolen from death. The pup whines, returns to the bench. My heart skips a Billie holiday beat.

This revolution will not be televised it will not put the shine back on your teeth. How bout the belt from my bag - I greedily grab it. Pup accepts collar attempts to climb into my arms again.

Kneel down Johnny, heel, his haunches pressed to my thighs, crouched beside him, clinches the blended holiness of earth and sky. Pressed to my chest, his tongue sweeps my neck. Paws bleeding raw - ice & sleet on the pavement.
Let’s agree to be in love like a melody. Wet white snow falling huge flakes drop on my face. I can’t go where I want to.

Money you’ve got lots of friends crowding right your door,
but when you’re gone and nothing’s left, they don’t come round no more.

I want to go back when things were changing. Now things are suspended or turning backwards. I don't understand. Race for faith, blood bath, Kent State massacre, more prejudice now then before.

Baby pit follows me whining. I bend to examine torn ragged paws, bloodied from standing in deep salted snow, blizzards outside the station. He covers me with kisses, dutifully remains still a second then jumps on my chest. Here, boy, Here. I crouch down he throws himself in my arms shaking.

Downstairs the token booth clerk says cops are on their way. My heart booms, a gut reaction, not my future. I hold red nose with my make shift collar. He pulls me he’s strong, his attention span like a child’s eye caught by mischief, his shaking visible to everyone. Cops show up, act afraid even when they see him sucking my face. The sgt arrives & doesn’t know what to do. Finally a cage from the station arrives. I take charge, tell them how to put him in there away from my caring arms.

I’m a fool to want you. A red nosed pit bull with tail & ears intact. Will they find a home for him? My heart sings collateral let freedom ring, life on a hinge.

Blogging in Washington Heights

It's very pleasing and rewarding to be appreciated artistically. Thank you Carla Zanoni for featuring both of our blogs in your blogwatch. I have been reading Zanoni's Blogwatch since it's inception in Manhattan Times. Her blog, The Streets Where We Live is also enlightening.

I was featured on February 5th blogwatch and didn't even know it until a few weeks ago.

Here's the link to my feature. I'm on page 2.

The Cartier Street Review and Joy Leftow's Blog

A visit to The Cartier Street Review, a nonprofit online literary journal that features poetry, short prose, articles about and reviews of poetry, led to the discovery of the self-proclaimed “Poet Laureate of Washington Heights,” Joy Leftow.

Her poem “Blues Part II” was featured in February’s edition, but this Northern Manhattan resident’s canon and random thoughts about living in the city can be further explored through her home grown blog.

Make sure to dedicate some time to the reading: Leftow’s sometimes philosophical meanderings can be deliciously thought consuming.

http://thecartierstreetreview.blogspot.
com/2009/02/february-2009-

page-2_01.html

http://joyleftowsblog.blogspot.com

And now DubbleX is featured in this weeks blogwatch by Carla Zanoni. Yay - hooray for me - I'm a good publicist! And Hooray for Dubblex. He's so tickled to be featured.

DubblexDiaries

Poetry Prose & Photos with GCast Player

Not sure what a GCast player is, but it’s certain that DubbleX, the author of this site, is a talented poet with an ear for deep rhythm and rhyme. A prolific writer, DubbleX has a steady stream of poetry at the ready and posted on his blog. A Northern Manhattanite, the author lives with his partner Joy Leftow, whose work has been featured in this column before. They also co-edit The Cartier Street Review, an online literary magazine. DubbleX’s work has a definite sensuality and eroticism in unexpected places, with lines like “the island of Manhattan/ is a body of land/ surrounded by water Inwood is her head/ tracing down to a Washington Heights meringue nights neck/ sloping to strong Harlem shoulders.” Sizzling.

my first paid poem Is it Love or Excuses

Nothing to sneeze at. I didn't think it was my best poem but hell, it's decent and also nothing to sneeze at. Most of anything I do is nothing to sneeze at.


Back in the mid 90's I got paid $50 for a slam out on Long Island at some place called butterflies & oops - can't recall the second part of the name. Another time I got paid $100 to be on a cable t.v. show called words and images (Damn is this the name?) hosted by Willard Gellis.

Anyway for your delight, my first paid poem~ also available in mp3

IS IT LOVE OR EXCUSES

You avoid me because
you know I know
your secrets
the thoughts that make you ill
I know how you feel

Sometimes you utter nothing
at all & the tv gets louder
to drown out the sound
of my words, my voice
a discarded memory
of what’s left unsaid

We don’t discuss
what I think is wrong
as I record the trail you forge
with the sound of your voice
hollow in my veins
while I follow you room
to room echoing your thoughts
fill the room’s silence
Thunder claps in the distance

You say the echo is loud, too clear
you turn up the volume, cover your ears
while I bisect & categorize
the entrails of your thoughts
My unsaid words follow
the curve of your hips
As you move to and fro worrying
I’ll disparage what you say

I listen, record the flow
of your words, you want me
to share my observations
I do; for you they only personify
my excellent clinical skills
your firm lips cover my unspoken words
a poor excuse, a moment frozen in time
I like the way I feel about me
when I see myself in your eyes

Your eyes hold back tears;
you stare at me & hide your soul;
why should you share to recreate the pain
I don’t exist for myself or you
Your mind’s eye a reflection in glass
None of it real

Busy as busy bee me...

The latest issue of the Cartier Street Review is out after some delay and setbacks. Bernard's computer was down for a while as was his server so ...
The July issue is up and everyone is saying it's the best yet. All the poetry and short stories are only short of phenomenal plus there are reviews to read too. You have got to check out this edition. The art is popping too. I'm still seeking someone to do layout and also seeking another editor /reader with some experience. If you're interested please contact me at Violetwrites@nyc.rr.com.
The Cartier Street Review will cut back to quarterly. It was too much work to get it out every 2 months so we have cut back. We still have lives to live and writing to do, not just reading and compiling. Check out my new bluetry here, Money. I'm calling it to me and so far landed one edit job (paid cash) and have two possibilities for paid writing for September. Wish me luck as I'm tired of being poor.
Thanks go out to Thomas Hubbard, new editor on board and Dubblex as editor too. Thomas came on board as we were doing the last few final edits for this edition but I expect his expertise will come in handy in future editions.
Going forward, we are considering doing an annual print edition as well. We have to see how it all goes...
Thanks for stopping by and I'll have some new bluetry up soon.

Getting My Fiduciary Groove On ~ Bluetry #15

Get that moolah!
I hear the blues blaring in my head keeping time with the rhythmic beating of my heart
He says, you hammer away like a woodpecker at a tree I say why would I have to be

Mr. and Mrs. Perfect writing off into the sunset
Beset with other concerns can't keep up with the jet set; let me get a taste of java wet from the shower – like frost you turn the sweetest flower to dust
I live on a different planet ~ the moon of the desert sun

Pull out your clarinet and riff me some of them blues baby
Forget about fretting no sweat baby no job
you ain’t likely to get that little corvette
It’s money that’s what I want
They keep telling me the best things in life are free
But you can save that shit for the birds and bees
Throw me some money that’s what I want, a lotta money

Show me some affirmation for my saturation in my individuation; my infatuation is my collusion with occlusion the entire scenario’s a big illusion, stop your accusations, I’m into sanitation – clean this shit up I say!

Give me some antibiotic to cure me from my anti-bureaucratic ways ~ Your antagonistic acidic mean way is what made me leave you in the first plays – your acerbic reaction, you live in a theater play – you don’t give a fuck as you stay stuck in cliché mode lost in dismay -
your figure outlined in the doorway – you think my souls a fucking driveway, I’m familiar with your dossier
I sit and crochet another dread cap dreaming about that chalet made from stone and glass
Rolling meadows and sassafras – leave your morose ass behind while you seek a bypass
I could have it all if I only had some money
Did you hear what I said? That’s what I want Gimmee money

Your loving never gave me much of a thrill but it was useful to help pay my bills
I want some money that’s what I want, I know that money don’t get you everything it’s true
What it don’t get I can’t use that’s part of why I got these woodpecker blues
Now give me money that’s what I want

My life’s gone astray, I try to stay blasé’ hooray for me I’m gonna make some headway and it’s not all heresy – give me a little leeway I’ll show you some mayday

A floodway filled to the brim with resentment, I’m searching for a little contentment
a presentment that money’s the answer to my emancipation proclamation
your abasement antedated my abandonment, it’s no accident, I created a new precedence
and returned to my former craziness

I sing my money blues to you today; share the brilliant broadcast that money’s on its way
Money can’t buy you everything it’s true but what it can’t buy I can’t use
So give me money it’s what I want, Gimmee money – lots of money
Gimmee some money to cure these woodpecker blues
I’m not being greedy Gimmee money, that’s what I want


Notes & Credits:
The original Money that's what I want was recorded in 1959 by Barrett Strong for the Tamla label, distributed by Anna Records. The song was written by Tamla founder, Berry Gordy and Janie Bradford, and became the first hit record for Gordy's Motown flagship label. This version is written by me and is not the same as the original except for the refrain, money that's what I want. Other parts are similar but not the same.

Scrambling to keep up with the joneses - Bluetry #13

I never fit in with them anyway
A misfit, a bad fit perfect sit gimmee some tit, I never had any I just want someone to love is all I need
some nurturing spell my lungs a little tongue hung by a thread keep treading shredding papers there’s no end to trend starters
Call me one anyone someone no relief in sight
You’re right it’s so trite, frightened stay on the side of the good fight, I’m tight
You tried that elevator before - broken down on the ground floor
They keep telling me you’re a loser, I know you’re a poser and a lover not a chooser
I keep writing poetry
My life loves the word, worships the word is my shepherd I shall step lightly trip the light
The word leads me to lush pastures, maintains my poverty, my soul aglow
I want to be cured of the word
Word assuages my misery, my destiny lost and re-found
Refined this new york city landscape triggers my sensitivity
A wilderness of avarice device – my honesty misfired desensitized
I am woman warrior I warned you off the stuff again and again
Each card turns, Mount Everest - show and tell
Let me go home
Take me back to earth solid gold sold lust to trust dust me off cure me of this malady – it’s a fallacy – living in a helix galaxy
I didn’t want to do it … I didn’t want to do it
Thunder strokes the sky lightening cracks open mimicking my life
Reflected in images of why you do me this way
Pray stay a while ‘honey chile’ time’s a wasten' no more haten'
Hat’s off to Danny Kaye not too many know he worked for UNICEF
for three years under a one point five million dollar contract
Fifty years ago – what would that be today?
I’ll get out the calculator
Wow today in 2009, that's one billion ninety one million
Siften' cash through sand papered hands
hard cold cash stayen' in fashion
my heart’s with Danny Kaye
Bought a house sold it a second before foreclosure
Got some tequila to wash down the seizure
Ommmm shanti talliwacker zoom zoom to the moon
I want some poon-tang some boom boom in the poom poom
poetry in the poor house
I’m dancing with Danny Kaye
Moving on up
Lay lady lay lay upon this big brass bed

fooling around