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	jimmymac
	PROFILE About me Friends (7) Poetry (22) Prose (1) Photography (27)

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jimmymac, 8 january 2012

Luna

Na zimno przesilenia
magnes aksamitu
magii Luna
ściąga

cicho wzywa

szeptanie
delikatne czary
w marzycielski uszy

przekonujące
kochanka
rosnąć
quixotically
bałamuctwo
go z
ciepły sen
z zimy
first sen nocy

ona wezwanie
chce kochanka
wzywając go
do naśladowania
jej wyraźny
pociągający światło
oświetlenia
samotny czerń
z ponury wszechświat

jej
uwodzicielski uprawnień
przekracza odległości
tysiąc przesilenia

jej
zdecydowane światło
pewny znak
szelki żadnych słabości
ośmiela pragnienie
kierowanie zaproszeni
nieprzewidzianych
miejsc

stojący
w obecności
moja twarz jest koloru
odzwierciedlone przez
Wspaniałe światło

moje serce
pieczonej
przez
dokuczliwy
blask

fali roiling
z zadumy północy
odpływa
jak mój
ziemnych cień
rozpoczyna się przejść
nad
niezatarty
biel

I świadek
moje ciemne oblicze
zaćmienie twoje światło

zanieczyszczając się
obawiając
na zawsze
oznaczyć
musujące srebro
z podłości mnie

bez wstydu
Twój uśmiech
allays mój strach

zrozumieć
Przewiduje się
wyrażenie
z moich
coy powściągliwość

słodki śpiew
śpiewa
nieograniczonego
marzenia
delikatnie
uspokaja
można tańczyć
przez wiele
księżycowe noce
z upragnieniem miłośników
tylko, aby powrócić ponownie
w biel dziewicza
przez
niekończące się cykle
czasu

wydany
ulgę
porzucając
wszelkich ograniczeń
teraz
Ja
przywołać się

moja ciemność
Twój biel
ras
zmysłowy
pomarańczowy
słodsze
następnie
otwarte mango

ona zasady na niebie
niebieskich monarcha
zmuszając do Mars
bezwolnym rekolekcje
komendanta
potężny Orion
do koła miecz
podczas
Wenus
kipi
z zazdrości

moja forma
zaczyna się połknąć
do linii
i
miękkie krzywe

moja ciemność
znika
w
zapraszając pęknięcia

należących do
ciemne zagniecenia
miękkie fale
słodkie pagórki
zmysłowa kraterów
place zabaw dla gejów
na ustach
tajemnicze kopce
chętnie zbadać
rękami i
limbered palce

Don Kichot Eros
zapach przypraw
pęcznieje w mojej głowie

wszystko
kopercie
jak
Duch Święty
figlarnie gier
w chowanego
promiennie ruchu
przez
zaciemnionym zadaszenia
z pięknego lasu

nozdrza wypełnić
z
tang przyprawy
zapach
Caribe

twarzą ukrytą
w grube warkocze
z szaleństwa czerń

coraz Unhinged
przez oczy mówiąc
tysięcy języków
jak szepczą usta
radosne płacze

cichy pocałunek
z pomarańczowym nocy świeci
wijące się ciała
płaskie razem

drapieżnymi wąsów
kształt opadający
poduszki chmury

drżącymi wargami
rozwijają się uśmiechy
alabaster pereł

ciemność mokka
samb przez
w nocy

ona oddycha
jej imię miłośników

Luna wanny
jej cynamon krzywe
w pyszne
mango światło
oferuje bardzo dużo
dollops
z brodawki

peeking
szeregowych
drifting
I zrzucić
na morze
świadomych snów

pitnej z
ciemnej otoczki
jak warkocze
jej
słodzone gniazdo
zwilżoną mój członek
w świętej komunii
na głodne usta kochanków

jej nogi tancerzy
cienki, elastyczny
nieograniczona
i otwórz
słodki smak
gładki
tak miękkie
w dotyku

pełni
naszych rumba
se los tango
con cha cha cha

lekkie kroki
blisko pieścić
kinetycznej zamieszanie
dziki śmiech
wypełnia żagle
śmiałych szkunery

Luna uśmiech
Polecenia
mórz
na falowanie

un poco loco
ola de feliz
los hablamos
un contrara
la estas
la esta

lawenda niebo
w godzinach porannych
zmierzch
inspirować
Szpakowników
zwiastować
dnia wschodzących

nadal
pijany swigging
kocha nektar
sen skrada bliżej

wyznając
małych żałuje
upadła
ofiara
do pasji ponownie

Luna
wraca
jej kochanka
zwierzęta piersi
z delikatnymi palcami

głosem
lekki jak powietrze
śpiewa
wiersz
do jego ucha
namiętnych nocy
piękna sztuka
pragnienie, aby wyrazić
szczere prawdy

Mango spożywane
Luna wraca biel

mój cień oddala
na nieistotne
nicość

nagi
Stałem
niestety świadkami
Dark Horizon
wyprzedzanie
moim kochankiem uciekającym
połykaniu jej
w małe kawałki
jak rano krople
ostatecznej welon
na twarzy
z obecnie
zniknął miłość

Wybór Muzyka
Grant Green, Moon River

JBM
Oakland
19.01.11

number of comments: 4 | rating: 4 | detail

jimmymac, 5 march 2012

Jazz Kisses

I blow tiny
jazz kisses
onto your
sweet petunia
lips

flutter delicious
notes into
lazy daisy ears

soft breath
puffs bluesy
tunes onto the
nape of a
lovely
curvy neck

I smell
bold begonias
whisper pink
secrets through
gyrating eyes

I roam
the flowers
blooming from
every luscious
groove

I pluck
the bows of
deep swing
heart strings

I blow
rose pedal
jazz kisses
from my
tippy tip
to teeny toe

Music Selection:
Esperanza Spalding, Little Fly

Oakland
3/1/12
jbm

number of comments: 2 | rating: 2 | detail

jimmymac, 1 april 2012

The Birds of the Nile

the river flows as
living memory

the birds of the
Nile are its
knowing eyes

fly catchers
ply the rich
delta
probing
sediments
of sand
washed
from
distant
Nubian
mountains
eons
ago

layers of
recollection
go fathoms
deep

shrieking
gulls
plumb the
mud flats
with heroic
persistence
as they did
when the
first rafts
drifted out
of the
Great Rift
ferrying
civilizations
forebears
to the
opening chapters
of world history

the first
seafarers
competed with
greedy spoonbills
to navigate
porous
papyrus
crafts
through
the narrow
channels
of the
Damietta,
transporting
ideas, skills
and goods
to build an
emerging
world

mallards
troll the
same
gentile
eddies that
goaded the
Mother of
All Waters
to float the
basket cradling
Yahweh’s
infant prophet
Musa, into the
loving arms
of Bithiah
who nurtured
the vanquisher
of Osiris’
galleries of
Gods

a litany
of conquests
rolled on the
silver waves
of this river

conquerors
maneuvered
the truculent
currents
like sharp
eyed hawks
skimming the
pliant waters
with well
extended
razor quick
talons
picking the
Nile’s bounty
clean

this fertile
delta remembers
more than
6,000 seasons
of harvests

the
cycles of time
has produced
seasons of plenteous
abundance and
desperate privation
all cleverly exploited
by generations of
fearless herons
who wrangled
the demons
of hardship
to route the
dread of hunger
expelling despair
from the Egyptian
DNA, etching
a new hieroglyph
of freedom onto
survivors hearts

the Niles
sorrows
and glories
perpetually
wash this
magnanimous
delta
surely as
the gentle
wakes
of feluccas
continue
to lap its
shore

the marshes
have not withered

the verdant
reeds prosper

flamingos find
the water
rich in fish

in due
season
the red
lotus will
paint
the arcuate
alluvial
fans in
scarlet
autumnal
hues

In the
Valley of
the Kings
the shadows
of migratory
flocks mark
the foundation
stones of the
pyramids
as they did
when slaves
pushed them
into place

the eternal
lines of
pharaohs
rule has fallen,
their gods
imprisoned
in hieroglyphs
adorning their
royal tombs
on display
in the worlds
museums

the weathered
pyramids continue
to crumble

the face of
the sphinx
withers away

torrents of
blood flowed
in this rivers
currents, now
strained clear
by the reeds
anchoring
its banks

the fleeting
rule of regimes
are pictured
as momentary
reflections
skimming along
the ripppling
water; the
rise and fall
of rulers is
captured like
the shifting hues
sunrises and
sunsets bespeak
upon the waters

the ascending
waves of
the Sacred Ibis
dance atop
the Nile’s gray
waters; the
river jumps
to life as the
graceful wings
take flight
to foreign
destinations;
expecting
to return
again as
the cycles
of seasons
round once
more

as the Nile flows
its memory deepens
the eyes of the birds
watch and remember

Music Selection:
Gary Bartz, I've Known Rivers

Oakland
3/31/12
jbm

number of comments: 2 | rating: 4 | detail

jimmymac, 5 march 2012

Watching Homs

the world is adorned with a million windows
the bleakest night has a thousand eyes
daylight shines into the globes darkest corners
truth will ultimately expose all lies

NASA’s satellites circle
Tropic of Cancer latitudes
cameras pinpoint the disease
metastasizing in the body of Homs

from stratospheric limits
sensitive lenses read the names
magic markers have scrawled
onto white sheets covering the dead

YouTube gets Oscar consideration
for grisly cinematography
a real-time visceral docudrama
of panting fascists gleefully tramping

through the desecrated streets
coolly administering a coup de gras
to a city on its knees, pleading release
from an orgy of incessant bloodletting

twitter records desperate tweets
the batting wings of endangered flocks
furiously thumbing into the blogosphere
calls for UN intervention that falls on blind eyes

BBC reportage,
the global gold standard
for journalistic excellence
scoops the stories
of London based FSA partisans
awaiting repatriation to scatter
Bashar’s Kodachrome killers

Has the All Seeing Eye
who has graced us with sight
laughingly cursed us with vision?

Does the
One Caring Eye of the Universe
bless us with perception
to haunt us with images?

Has
The One Thats Sees Everything
blinked closed the eye of compassion?

Has the horror of Homs
become too much even for
The Universal Eye of Love?

the opened eyes
of a dead child
reflects our
cold winter
of indifference
demoralizing
dehumanizing
a watching world

Music Selection
Grateful Dead Eyes of the World

Oakland
3/2/12
jbm

number of comments: 2 | rating: 1 | detail

jimmymac, 20 march 2012

The Passover

two wars, two wounds
four deployments in ten years
the trauma, the scars
the waste, the tears

a soldier driven to madness
numb warriors driven to drink
a lost decade of blood-lust
gives a nation pause to think

how virtue becomes nightmare
how ideals implode and die
how the paradox of intention
is undermined with hidden lies

fighting wars to kill terrorists
on obscure Afghan plains
generations of young ones
sentenced to death and pain

the tramp of bloodied footprints
march strait to a profiteer’s bank
depositing lucrative spoils of war
fill contracts to build more tanks

woe to the battlefield heroes
who answered a country’s call
decorated with broken families
and home mortgage defaults

a minds discombobulation
nurses a spiritual malaise
fuels emotional breakdowns
kindles smoldering rage

kneeling to medieval potentates
to win hearts of corrupt Afghans
guard Loya Jirgas of narco kingpins
spill blood to defend tribal lands

the call of deranged duty
maniacal as a video game
lines of the real and phantasmagoric
firm only in minds of the insane

the Skype connection broken
won’t see the kids face tonight
a landmine took a buddy’s leg
some hooch will set things right

the brain starts quickly buzzin
a zillion scenes flash in the head
better paint blood on the door jams
the grim reaper gonna thresh the dead

don a suit of Kevlar armor
the invincible angel stalks
to avenge blatant inequities
he suffered here and in Iraq

a land washed by bloody oceans
scarlet splashed on every door
death prowls along dark roads
a passover finds no safe abode

the screaming eyes of the angel
inflamed with red spikes of hate
seeks to still the heaving roil
his raging heart could not abate

he murdered a sleeping family
and found another to share its fate
a desperate act to cleanse himself
to find a profane state of grace

this pilgrim of death was not finished
cool retribution must square accounts
a burnt offering to the Lords of War
speak the deeds sermon on the mount

dragging live and dead bodies
stacking unholy piles in the hall
no angel to stop this Abraham's hand
this grotesque executioners pall

Staff Sargent Bales was arrested
He now sits in the prison of his thoughts
does his trembling mind have knowledge
of what his awful hands have wrought?

or does a trembling nation
so much in love with war
understand its complicity
with what it should abhor?

the blood of innocents drip
from every American sill
as the passover approaches
the stain invites an angel’s ill will

Music Selection:
Charles Gounod,
Funeral March of a Marionette

Oakland
3/19/12
jbm

number of comments: 1 | rating: 2 | detail

jimmymac, 18 january 2012

Blue Monday

its a blue Monday
after Super Sunday
Americas 45th funday
yesterdays spectacle

the dip is done
the broken bones
of buffalo wings
fill giant glad bags

the ridged ripples
of broken Doritos
scattered on the floor
wait for a vacuums hum

dead soldiers rattle
a melodious cascade
the aroma of flat Bud
plunge into recycle bins

ribbed Trojans
dripping bagged jism
rim plastic trash cans
confirm an orgy's frenzy

the game forgotten
commercial reveries remain
seared into the briney mush
of compliant olfactories

collective hallucinations
successfully branded
a new and improved
global consciousness

Madmen Shamans
ebulliently channel
transactional zeitgeists
from the ripped boxes of
Best Buy plasma screens

Monday morning
water cool scuttlebutt
the planet is buzzing about...

Google's cool slap
of IPod clad automatons
the vanquishers of IBM's evil empire
Apple's brave new world is next
("meet the new boss,
same as the old boss?")

we all dug
rolling with Eminem
through the glitzy
streets of Motown

How cool is 8 Mile?
The hoods lookin good
angelic chorus lifts spirits
Swing Low Sweet Chrysler

The artistic types
faun over
the graphic beauty
illustrious aestheticism

moving story line
the epic journey
of the worlds
greatest brand

heroic product marketing pros
rival Jason and the Argonauts
sojourning trans-formative odysseys
of clever packaging and fat tail shelf life

holding precious real estate
of living imaginations
infecting hearts and minds
of future generations

realizing
everything
ends better
with coke

The State Farm Pre-Game
Jimmy Johnson's new coiff
jawed away with his old boss
rattlesnake booted Jerry Jones

A poignant embrace captured in
living color on grand jumbo trons
lording over a cavernous palace
a new stadium for Homeboys

Jimmy J asks Jerry J
"Why you overpaid
for The Boys New
Crib?"

"A billion 4,
a palace for the masses".
Jerry breaks some news
with an impish wink.
"No expense is spared
for the peeps."

"I always make out,
get a good return. I
make a profit. Ain't
America great."

This year Super Bowl
went Hollywood
and installed
a long red carpet.

Mike Strahan, collared
Harrison Ford.
Bagging his greatest sack
on a dazzling red rug.

"How many Super Bowls
is this for you?"
Strahan whistles
through his gaped teeth.

The aging Indiana Jones
came to promote his new flick,
"Cowboys and Aliens"
(I'm told an early Cannes
favorite. And it should be. Spoiler alert,
the movie is a moving story of an American tragedy.
Romo blows another one
throwing an interception in overtime.
The Aliens return it 95 yards for a touchdown.
Boy's lose again. America's Team vanquished by bubble headed Martians.
All of Texas weeps.)

Indy
coolly quips an answer
whipping with sarcasm,
"after today, one."
yuck yuck
lol

Strahan continues
to stalk Ford like a
scrambling quarterback,
"where will you be sitting?"

Ford shrugs
"dunno,
somewhere
up-there,
I guess",
he points to
the lofty
luxury boxes.
Royalty sits
next to God
in Jerry Jones
house of the
people.

Ford dons a green scarf.
He's down with the Pack.
Another sunshine fanny
in the seat.

Michael Douglas and Zeta Jones
arrive in time to hear
Keith Urban sing
"Who Wouldn't Want to be Me?"

"He's alive
He's free
Who wouldn't
want to be me?"

Indeed who?

The parade
of heroes
continue.

The walking,talking
little S Corp, LLC's
dance their way
into the stadium
on resplendent
cushions of red.

Terrific brands
all earnestly
questing to
urgently
deliver
messages
to promote
themselves
and plug
shameful
products.

A Black Eye Peas
teaser
blinks onto
my giant
flat screen.

Will I Am
a black man
in a blacker mask
marches down the street
zapping people
with a ray gun.
(fascist culture is so cool, a
little light on liberation,
but damn does he look bad as all get out
in that leather rumble don't fuck with me
outfit)

Jamie Foxx on the royal carpet leaks
that he yodeled three tunes
at a pregame party for Jerry's Kids;
T Boone and the Big W among them.

Quick cut
to Jamie's
new movie
Rio.
(I wonder if its
about Mexicano's
crossing the river?)

Wealth
Power
the perfect
image of ourselves
take a pill

I am Limitless
a new movie?
I've seen this one before.
I think I'm watching it now.

Just Go With It
Adam Sandler,
Jennifer Aniston
Americas sweetheart
teamed with Americas
kosher jokester.

He looks hot
in his droopy
pretend
don't give a shit
orange sweatshirt
and acid washed jeans.

Jennifer's tits, legs
what can you say
about America's sweetheart?
I think Brad Pitt
made a big mistake.

Bill O
is next.
Posturing,
arm wrestles
with the Prez,
shadow boxes
with the Big O.

"Muslim Brotherhoods
Rendition
Mubarack goes off the reservation
knows where the bodies are buried"
OMG!
OMG!

(Do we really need a dose of Fox Fear?
Is there no escape from the pernicious harangue?
Don't they know its Super Bowl Sunday?)

Bill O's drive by continues,
"Obamacare,
why do Americans hate you?"
Great journalism by this Fox thug.

Bill O is
haughty,
arrogant,
disrespectful
a despicable bully
and a self serving blow hard.

(My bladder is busting.
Its a great time to take a piss.)

We escape to
the freshness
of Owen Wilson's
smiling face,
playing two hand touch.

His bent nose
shining
he trots about
Jerry's field
carefree as a child.
(Is this a pitch, pass and punt
contest for A Listers?)

Other stars
join the light fun;
goose cheerleaders
give the cabana boys
hand-jobs
and themselves
a well earned blow-job.

Its an orgy of photo ops
product placement
a sizzling collection
of dancing brands
prancing on the gridiron
of the New Cowboy field.

Ashton Kutcher
peeks over the shoulder
of a tweeting W.
I'm impressed
W knew
how to use
his thumbs.

Mrs. W's
permanent smile
was clearly visible
from the stadiums
cheapest seats.

Condie sat
way to the right
quietly stewing
lamenting
lost opportunities
of a gig as NFL
Commissioner.

On the stadiums floor
the frenetic dancing
of the
bumping
brands
fast
approaches
ecstatic elation.

Hollywood's version of
Whirling Dervishes; is
immediately stilled
as the solemn portion
of the program
commences.

The Declaration of Independence
is read by a bright galaxy of stars
accompanying armed service personnel
and other diligent American's.

"We hold these truths
to be self evident"

"United colonies
levee war,
dissolve bounds,
our day of allegiance
lives, fortunes and sacred honor
freedom is common sense,
free, equal, united"

CEO's
imprisoned
in Jerry's
luxury boxes
overcome
with
emotion
pound fists
on the glass
smearing
cocktail sauce
on the windows
of the suites.

Illegal
Chicano's
bravely
step forward
with rolls
of Bravo
and Windex
to wipe
it clean.

The focal point
of festivities
seismically
shifts like a
tectonic plate
almost as large
as Jerry's Stadium.

The stampede
of cheers
thunder like
canon shots,
the patriotic
ramparts of
militant
free market
capitalism
supplants the
shallow frivolity
of consumer slavery.

We are
compelled
to kneel
to celebrate a
Eucharist of
nationalism.

My partner explodes,
"Can't watch a football game
and view it for what it is,
a fucking football game."

The Fox
broadcasters
dedicate
this segment
of the show
to our military.

I squirm in my seat.
Sorry,
but the declaration is about
free people in free societies
not militarism.

Next up
dis old cowboy
Sam Elliot.
He knows
how to speak
the language
of real football fans.
Finally, a man of the people.

Sam introduced the cities.
He starts with Pittsburgh.

"Built on steel
a place where
terrible is good
these are the
enduring qualities
of this great American City."

The Steelers
make a timely entrance
onto the floor of the stadium,
as millionaires erupt
shaking their terrible towels.

Sam's
fuax
folkism
for
Fox Sports
continued.

"Green Bay is Title Town
the people never quit.
Crafty veterans are winners
exhorting all to greatness"

Images
of Lombardi's
toothy grin
fills my 72 inch screen.
A visitation by
America's Saint,
the sanctifier
of all competition
anoints the proceeding,
the quest to claim
the trophy named
for the games
very own
Archangel
of the
Gridiron.

The extended gig of
Lombardi's ghost
has haunted America
for over half a century;
has reportedly been seen
stalking the stage
on Broadway.

The anointed
Packers sprint
onto the field and
millionaire cheese heads
taking big bites out of life
erupt in cheers.

My hi def wide screen
made by Sharp reports
Battle of Los Angeles
opens 3/11/11.
The Chicago Code
premiers on Fox
sometime in March.

Walter Payton
Man of The Year Award
is presented
to an NFL Player
watching the game
with the troops
in Iraq.

The millionaires
don't cheer,
but the Fox announcers
are verklempt
overcome with patriotism.

Michelle Lee,
star
of Fox's hit show
Glee,
poses in front of a
sanitized choir
in blue uniforms to sing
America the Beautiful.

The beautiful song
is but an opening act
for the musical centerpiece
Star Spangled Banner.

The cameras cut
to a smiling W.
He can't get into Switzerland
but dammit, he won't be turned out
of JJ's OK Corral.

Christina Aguilera
takes center stage.
She mounts
the silver football
crowning the
Holy Logo of the NFL
to sing the hallowed
Star Spangled Banner.

She fumbles her lines!
She forgot the rockets red glare!
The Steelers are crying.
The Packers are angry.
Ice melts from the stadiums roof.
The foundations of Jerry Jones
new stadium shakes.

A fly over of 4 fighters in formation
appears to be unaffected by the flub.
The planes do not crash.
They stay in formation.

The pilots spare Christina
a strafing and drone strike.
The republic remains
secure for now.

An unfamiliar announcer
addresses TV land.
He offers an apology to the fans
who cannot be seated.

The fire marshals
have revoked
Jerry's seating plan.
Greed got the better
of this man of the people.
Cowboy Stadium
is overbooked!

What is happening?
Is this America?
An ATT commercial
arrives just in time.

ATT has a new plan for America.
They encourage us to live social
with the new ATT AG.
Free market solutions
always work best.

Michael Douglas
reads another
patriotic exhortation.

"United we,
see the journey
of Acme Packers
as our journey."

"We see the resolve
of US Steel
as our resolve.
Big dreams
believe the best
journeys are
celebrated together."
(I'm down with that.
Whats good for Jerry Jones
is still good for me.
Right On! Check this stadium.
Power to the people!
It may not apply to the people who
will not be seated but tough nuggies.
This is America dammit. Everybody
can't be seated at the table.
Even if they paid for their seat.
This ain't Red China.)

Neon Dion and other inductees
into the Football Hall of Fame
tosses the coin.
Steelers' call tails.
Heads it is.

At half time
The Black Eyed Peas
descend from
an upper Valhalla.

Still attired in
black fascist threads
The Righteous Peas
start wailing as
white metallic minions
dressed as
Imperial Storm Troopers
gallop to surround
their idols.

Precise formations
goose steppin bops
choreographic steps
the visceral porno
perfect counter-point
to swabbles of wiggling Peas.

Slash,
Guns and Roses
guitar hero
gunslinger
strode on stage
winging
this gal of mine
in choreographed
unison with
the leggy
Fergie.

Pumping it louder
the spectacle incites
the dancing
Imperial minions
quick steppin
and fetchin it
as Usher descends
in white unison
to leap and dance
over nasty
black peas.

The Gods
are descending
upon us.
Their words
have become
flesh.

The BEP's bleat
"kids are dying
wheres the love?"
Art does mirror life.

The neon hearts
of cheap
glow sticks
light up
the time
of our lives.

We are
cubed box heads
happily dancing along
the 50 yard line
answering China's
resounding drum
of frantic proletarians
bashing away
neocolonial disgrace
during the opening
ceremony of the worlds
greatest Olympian
display of
the pounding will
of an emerging nation
arriving on the world stage
with urgent insistence.

In America
we party on
every night
swiping
revoked
credit cards
for express lane
exits at the
local Walmart.

We are proud
highly personal
bar codes!

We refuse to be
marked down and flung
into discount bins at a
Tupelo Dollar Store.

Our light of life
flashes across screens
directing the trading pits
at the Chicago Board of Trade.

Each Super Bowl Sunday
souper bowl beggars
collect canned soup
for hungry Americans
at the local Shop and Drop

begging for larmen
boxes of Kraft
freeze dried noodles
and cans of Progresso
the feast of kings

A triumph
of the
Will I Am
BOOM BOOM
Says
Will I Am

I finish my bag of
Cool Ranch Doritos
and lick my partners
fingers clean.

Music Selection
Steve Miller,
Livin in the USA

2/7/11
Oakland
jbm
(WIP)

number of comments: 1 | rating: 3 | detail

jimmymac, 5 march 2012

A Cool Bullet

another cool bullet
to the head

a sudden death of
an American dream

the smart uniform
of a young officer

pressed and squared
sharp as a West Point salute

lay blood stained and crumpled
in a lifeless heap on a hospitals floor

the furious efforts of
heroic triage teams comes to naught

trust, respect and idealism
lay victim to an assassins whim

the dreams of another young patriot
prematurely commended to a cold grave

forevermore his body to moulder
returning to earths royal dust

an assassins work speaks
hard blatant truths

we somehow
refuse to hear

leave Afghanistan
to the Afghans

its time to leave
the ungodly places

that murder our dreams
and betray our children

Music Selection
Tom Jones
Green Green Grass of Home

Oakland
3/1/12
jbm

number of comments: 1 | rating: 3 | detail

jimmymac, 15 february 2014

5 Pointz

we wuz celebratin
40 years of Hip Hop
at 5 Pointz

dashing tags
reclaiming the
lost land

speaking for a
community of peeps
routed from their
last stand

making statements
about remembering

tellin stories
about ourselves

giving the drab
dead industrial
sarcophagi a
a face lift

freeing the
entombed
mummies
to let em
walk with
the living
again

seein things
in a new light

reciting our
biographies

writing an epic
autobiography

splashed across
3D murals

spoken in the
lexicon of
gobsmack
multicolored
neon graffiti

testifying to
the ages with
our urban
hieroglyphs

the symbols of
life in the hood
may history be our
witness to aromas
rising from cracked
pavements teaming
with bodegas,
public projects and
store front fantasies
played out in all its
grueling detail
on the corner of
walk don’t walk

them snaps
real down home
expressions
of real people

until some
capitalist
douchebag

his pockets filled
with low interest
money

whitewashed
it away

he thinks he
owns the
5 Pointz

he thinks
he can
erase our
memories
with a gallon of
Sherwin Williams

he thinks
he owns our
perdido
graffito

and is well
in his rights
to launder our
epiphanies over
with the bland
tag of privilege
he thinks his
dollar bills
can buy

we raised this
place from
the dead

that old warehouse
where men and women
once earned a paycheck
was murdered by
Michael Milken
and his posse of well
heeled predators
busy leveraging
livelihoods by
offshoring them
to Third World
plantations
transforming
the natives into
wage slaves
tagging this
strange alchemy
progress

now this
latest incarnation of
Morley’s Ghost stalking
Bloomberg’s Metropolis
haunts the neighborhoods
with a wrecking ball
of entitlement

razing our hood
to build soulless
high rises where
they'll warehouse
dead people
ginned up
on pilates,
chai tea and
elevating
themselves
through life
scoring the
latest fab
yoga gear
on the
urban outfitters
website

the frackers
are gobbling
the land

strip miners are
gnashing away
at the mountains

now the predators
are eating our art

always famished
never satiated
the beast gnaws
away at its
kill scattering
the bones of
of the living

but this
half assed
midnight
whitewash
will never stand

already images
of the holy ghosts
scrawled onto
the Wailing Walls
of 5 Pointz are
bleeding through
the veneer of a
landlords greed

and as the
future tenants
of the proposed
highrise columbarium
snooze away the night
dreaming of leading roles
in star studded schemes

we’ll be taggin
the streets
reciting our
righteous presence
until our last dying
aerosol breath
escapes our
paint stained
hands

Public Enemy:
Fight the Power

Oakland
11/20/13
jbm

http://nypost.com/2013/11/20/5-pointz-fans-try-to-retag-legendary-graffiti-building/

number of comments: 1 | rating: 2 | detail

jimmymac, 16 january 2012

Epitath for Bull Conner

Bull Connor,
like the Dutch Boy from Haarlem,
put his finger in a hole
to plug a burgeoning leak.

But Bull Connor,
unlike the boy from Haarlem,
did not foresee
the raging torrents of history,
smashing against
the crumbling walls
of the porous dike
he sought to buttress.

His decadent heroism
held no moral authority
to sustain
his ungodly labors.

His savage dogs,
hungry for meat
bent on aggression
for a twisted masters bidding
were devoured
by the teeth
of a movement
hungry for justice.

His water cannons,
tiny water pistols,
pissed
into the mighty squalls
of a raging hurricane
that blew the stinking urine
back into his face.

The weight of history
moves with the just.

Untruth,
archrival of justice,
is blown away
like an expired candle
snuffed out,
blessedly extinguished
from the first breath
of a glorious new day.

Bull Connor
doesn’t rest in peace.

He stands on
the other side of the river.

He is the rich man
driven by
insane thirst
begging for water
from a comforted
Lazarus,
now secure
in the bosom
of Abraham.

Bull Connor
looks across
the chasm of fire
he knows
he'll never bridge.

Medgar Evers
and MLK Jr.
stand as keepers,
collecting tolls
for a heavenly passage
from the wages he earned
for his earthly work.

A forlorn
Bull Connor
forever searches
deep empty pockets
for fare
as Martin
and Medgar
patiently wait
with outstretched palms.

Music Selection:
The Soul Stirrers,
Jesus Gave Me Water

MLK Jr. Day
1/20/86
NYC

jbm

number of comments: 1 | rating: 3 | detail

jimmymac, 5 january 2012

I Like Jazz

Ko Ko to Go Go
a prelude to a kiss
dance with Chubby Checker
lift a slo gin fizz

Head bobs to Be Bop
flip the B Side now
mellowtune in monotone
two ears for stereo wow!

Wonderment of Duke and Miles
swinging kool birthin boplicity
urban crush the hipsters rush
jazz joints cross the city

Firery sax emote a clash
strain ears of credulity
Lester leaps creative heat
nips harden on my titties

Max taps exotic wax
Django's quick pickin
finger snaps flip my lid
lips deliciously sippin

Eurozone a Zen zone
a blue infinitive smokin
big peeps dig don pink wigs
fat spliffs hot token

My new suede shoes
walks west end blues
Pop's cornet got me tippin
his open blast first to last
I like cornbread, barbecue
and fine home jazz cookin

jbm
Oakland
3/12/10

number of comments: 1 | rating: 1 | detail

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