monk jumps
trinkle ****** trane
criss crossin time
aboard idiocentric planes

whacky Hackensack moods
near my mysterioso home
round bout midnight gleaning
brilliant corner poems

hummin blue monk blues
i surrender dear
Bemsha swing cast away
Friday the 13th fears

melancholy ruby swigs
straight no chaser shots
just let's cool one
at the red hot 5 Spot

rollins and griffin jammin
hudson riverside house
Weehawken royalty bows
to a spiffy charlie rouse

we remember mintons
a vast creative flood
monk be boppin on stage
when in walked bud

red rooster clucksters
raising town hall roofs
consecrating spaces playing
Monk's hallowed tunes

"pianos don't play no wrong notes"
we heard Thelonious once say
his utterances on the upright keys
ingenious music maestro on display


Music Selection:
Thelonious Monk:
In Walked Bud

Marking Thelonious Sphere Monks Centennial
10/10/17 - 10/10/17
Orlando
9/28/17
jbm

five hundred words are not enough
to say all the things I need to say
but five hundred poems are **** sure enough
on hello poetry to get noticed

alas, I write poetry for the sake of poetry
just like good ole Charles Bukowski
cranking out words with a foul mouth
without a care for the audience

I write words for the sake of my soul
because it is the only time that my heart
feels free to be whatever it needs to be
without the world confining me

so **** straight. I wrote five hundred
words for my five hundredth poem
because I rarely write so many words
to express what is in my soul

I should be listening to jazz while I write this
just like Kerouac so my words will have a beat and rhythm
of the sounds of bebop, instead of a cadence of all my own
who wants originality when you can have novelty

everyone is nostalgic to recreate what has been captured before
the great writers and poets of our time regurgitate what’s been said
for me I don’t really give a **** about the words,
so much as how I let the words live out into my life through my actions

words matter because they order our thoughts and feelings,
they give shape to the amorphous images that play in our minds and hearts and once something comes into being, then oh man man do they have power
that’s why knowing the name of something really means something

who knows if meaning comes from the words, or words come from the meaning
did the chicken came first or the egg?
all I care about is how you cook the ****** chicken or the egg
fried chicken and I prefer my egg sunny side up

Bukowski eat your heart out as I write my stream of consciousness
five hundred word poem for my five hundredth poem
is it getting a bit redundant?
I am a firm believer that less is more

but sometimes I want my words to beat out like they used to
on old type writers like a **** machine gun
the beat flowing like the drums of a marching band
that gives life to even the worst of brass section

I don’t know if my heart can truly sing in a sea of so many words
I prefer capturing a single moment with 10 words, maybe 20 words
anything more than that feels like a waste
just like a coffee ice cream ruined by too much toppings

I am a minimalist at heart
even though I can’t declutter my stuff
holding onto old forgotten receipts
closet full of clothes I never wear

however, on most days my mind is clutter free
old resents are shoved out
fear written and jotted away
the book of the past closed

each day is a gift
freely given
each breath new

may you be blessed
may we keep sharing
for fun and
for free