Published: 22 October 2025

The Blues Have Got Me Beat

The Blues flattened my fedora into a beret,
stole my zippy-de-doo-die-ay,
gave me a saxophone,
told me, “blow it kid, you can never go home.”
I keep snapping my fingers to invisible sounds
and I squeak confused the squares to confound,
it’s times like these I do believe,
the Blues have got me Beat.

My Shakespeare reads like Kerouac,
I bought a ticket to Paris though you never can go back,
I tore a Brooks Brothers suit to hang it on my door
and there’s two guys lying on my living room floor
arguing whether a white man can sing the blues,
or is it all just some 20th century repeat?
And that’s when you know –
the Blues have got you Beat.

I sold my home and bought a club,
where I sell espresso and absinthe.
My girlfriend was born in leotards
and they’ve never been rinsed – since.
I’ve shaved my head, grown a goatee,
I’m starting to talk phonetically,
this phone call’s coming to you from me
‘cuz brother – I must insist,
oh sister, don’t resist,
‘cuz in case you just missed
the ineffable fact I lay before you Jack
then I must repeat
the Blues,
the Blues,
I believe the Blues
… have got me Beat.

More Poetry:

tattoo

tattoo the outline of love onto your imagination
etch your name on swirling winds, blow away
the sand of the desert to see what is written beneath
erase your epitaph, replace it with a date
of your choosing; ink is mightier than the world

now that you see

now that you see
her naked in her beauty
do you understand
the love at her command

Stereopticon Of Autumn

parallel clouds incise carmine and burgundy
brazen pink, sultry purple, jewels, fine wines

russet dry bushes vainly weave
in field of golden straw
that lay down long ago

Canoe

Curve of gunwales, pair of lips that skirt a kiss,
point into the wind, and cut through like a beautiful
smile cuts through a room of empty compliments;
try to keep up, you are tested on the crest of each wave,
the full mouth of your canoe sings into the storm,
you must propel both into the words of its song.

Hallowe’en 2025

Carved flickering monstrous faces, magic
light bends trees with molten sneers,
street bobs with pumpkin globes,
channel markers to guide the dread.

Notebook

I no longer trust notebooks,
they are not reliable.
I have lost too many;
I grieve each one.
I cannot commit to another,
I have lost too much:

Related

tattoo

tattoo

tattoo the outline of love onto your imagination
etch your name on swirling winds, blow away
the sand of the desert to see what is written beneath
erase your epitaph, replace it with a date
of your choosing; ink is mightier than the world

read more
Stereopticon Of Autumn

Stereopticon Of Autumn

parallel clouds incise carmine and burgundy
brazen pink, sultry purple, jewels, fine wines

russet dry bushes vainly weave
in field of golden straw
that lay down long ago

read more

0 Comments

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *