"jett" poems
An eccentric free spirit
A major let down, no one understands the blunt sounds
A neighborhood built up by the ****** society, half naked puffed out chests
I'd rather pick my lilacs and dance to Joan Jett then deal with their meetings
I will celebrate my homemade life with a button stating,
"Save the wine who cares about the rest"
Freedom from the voices that screech
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 10:44 PM UTC
*Jett's a monkey boy, small and strong,
He swings through the trees like King Kong.
After a day climbing in the tree
When he comes down, what does he want to be?*
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC
Left bank beards
in Beat hotel rooms,
a boulangerie breakfast
down the street and to the left,
and for lunch fresh baked bread and brie.
Letters sent home to fathers and mothers
singing sweet serenades of Paris
dressed up in autumn shades,
cheques for the royalties that'll
get them to Belize to write and swoon,
chat up ladies in the early afternoon;
where hotel fees that are treble those in the 5th,
bookshop stalls that'll never be found
another closing-down-establishment myth.
They were climbing with oxygen
long before we came along,
base camp poems written under
floor lamplight right before
the eyes of others.
Jett powered prose and wine in the light
sleight-of-hand punctuation and uptight
editors looking for finer narration.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 3:52 PM UTC
i am grateful for stretch denim on days
when
**** it
is a fashion statement
for lavender laundry detergent
because that smell reminds me of the home i've built in my head
for tea at
2 a.m.
when all the things i've done race in my head
because the next morning, i usually get my **** together
for colds
because they make eating an entire roll of cinnamon buns
completely justifiable
for the mountains that surround me
for NPR and good, rated M fanfiction
for def poetry when i can't find the right words
for finding a pack of cigarettes when it is only
11:30pm on a thursday night
and i am well past drunk in a slightly damp armchair
for harry potter and neil gaiman
for when twenty dollars fills up my gas tank
for my grandma's potato salad and biscuits with honey
for feminist zines that make me want to smash the patriarchy
for burts bees chapstick and jasmine-green tea
for friends who let me cry on their
bedroom floors
for books that keep me entertained
(even if that means me crying in my bathtub while reading them)
for courtney love and joan jett because those *******
have ridden in my car with me over many
heart-breaks
for well-water and sulfate free red wine
for johnny cash and new orleans and whiskey
for salt-- because that **** can wash away anything
for farmer's markets and co-ops
for bottles of water and for cookie dough
when my mouth
is the consistency of cotton and my mind is a little bit gone
for warm days in January and cold days in September
for breakfast and for hikes that begin at five a.m.
for summer nights drunk on wine and a little too much fire
for friends who call me 'momma bear' and for friends that call me 'baby bird'
for poems that give you cold chills
and flowers stolen from my neighbor's yard
for skin that smells like the sun and sage
for beeswax candles
and the smell of clean laundry
for days when i wake up and realize
i could have died on a bathroom floor
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
Mama
These girls
Here in Jamaica
Are very pretty
Them got
Long jett black
Curly hair
Butter brown skin
Ivory white smile
I think I am
In love with them
Them bodies shaped
Like a glass coke cola bottle
Them walk around here
Basking in the yellow sunshine
Mama them girls here
Too good for me
To let them go home
Me wanna pick some fruit
On this island of Jamaica
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 12:40 PM UTC
yes i have to admit it
Black is beautiful
ya **** right it is
not just
"The Black People are beautiful" but
**** it "Black People are Beautiful"
we have a everlasting Black beauty
that live inside of us
say it with clarity and
say it with gusto
say it like you really mean it
ain't no shame in my game and
ain't no sunshine when she is gone
you gotta work on your
pronunciation phraseology and semantics
to truly represent it
listen i know what
the hell i am
talking about because
Black Folks have their own
definition of Black beauty and
it ain't in no **** Webster dictionary
its more spiritual then anything else
most Black People know
what i am talking about
Cleopatra was a very beautiful
Black African Queen
even the Roman emperors
feared and respected her Black Beauty
(Mark Anthony for example)
the ancient Romans had a real crush
on this beautiful jett Black Women
thus made a man drop to his knees
with the power and glory of
her Black Beauty
unfortunately in the mass media
Cleopatra is always portrayed or depicted
as a Caucasian European woman nevertheless
so wonderful is our true blackness
beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Black Beauty is our reality and
we own it until the end of time say amen and
thus we are still admired by the world again
we control our Black Beautiful souls
we must create our own
Black Beauty Products and
stop given our money away
to other people that misrepresent us and
don't give a **** about
how we look on this earth
Stop taking our stuff
make me mad the way
they treated Michael Jackson
you know about the derogatory
insensitive racial jokes
so we shall be the judge and jury of
all shades of our rainbow race
don't be scared anymore Black People
its ok to be Black and sometimes
words hurt but we must hold
our heads up high with dignity and respect
i know just how you feel and
i know we got some real Black Sheep
in the family tree claiming to
be something that they ain't
remember this Black People
we are the Black Roses
that shine for thee
in the Garden of Eden and
the true reflection of God's light
Oct 20, 2012
Oct 20, 2012 at 7:11 PM UTC
In a town just up the mountain
straight out of an old John Wayne movie
where there's no parking lots
just places to tie up your horse
and the jail has one cell
and you'd expect to see Billy the Kid
breaking out of it any minute now
joshua trees
and tumble weeds
and all the bars have swinging doors
and there's a coffin leaning up against one of the walls
of the bar with the swinging doors
that's where you took me to your favorite place in the whole world
a restaurant
where a different band plays every night
with a different sound and a different look
from ones composed of old hippies and cowboys
playing their accordions and mandolins
singing old folk songs that everybody just knows
you don't know how you know
you just do
and then to the band of kids
straight out of suburbia
singing songs about ******* and heartache
with their hair slicked back
and their pants rolled up
and their moms are sitting right there
in a table right in front of the stage
eating burgers and salads and talking about the burgers and salads
then there's the girl from New York
she spells her name real weird and keeps her hair long and flowing
just like her dress
and she sings about empty motel rooms
and the Bhagavad Gita
and she tells stories in between songs
and there's writing all over the bathroom walls
little gems like
"what would Joan Jett do?"
or
"punks not dead, punks sleepin' drunk"
but mostly
just names of lovers in hearts
sometimes just initials like a secret code only they know
and the dates that they became lovers
there's paintings on all the doors
horses and hookers and cowboys under the stars
and all the walls around the stage
are covered in license plates
one from California from 1939
one shaped like a bear from Canada
one from Saskatchewan
wherever that is
and all the drinks
come in mason jars
and all the candles on the tables do too
and none of the chairs match
but that just makes them all unique
you're sitting in a one of a kind
but the whole place is really one of a kind
and that's why it's her favorite
she finds all these things to be just beautiful
not to mention the bartender keeps giving her free drinks
because it's her birthday and they take her word for it
and she's making friends with all the hippies
and she's dancing under the strings of lights
and we're kissing under the dark black sky
and I've never seen her so happy.
s.mndi
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
.*well back in my days (2 years ago)... you could groove to Patti Smith sing her rock 'n' roll ****** and listen to American Head Charge cover the same song... you could actually listen to Die Krupps Nazis auf Speed... back in my day - you weren't deemed a 70 year old nostalgia steam-train... while still in your early 30s; good luck finding that Patti Smith track... might as well resort to róże europy: kości czerwone, kośsci czarne (european roses: red bones, black bones)... and to think the *** pistols got away with their shenanigans... 40 years prior; Patti Smith! come on! it's a great tune! or tuning... whichever.*
racial slurs... so the suffix in
schwarze-negger is
a collective private property?!
Dr. Dre can say it,
as urban insult,
and i'm reduced to a colonial
past that isn't even mine?!
can i say the names
of countries like Nigh-ger-ia...
or Nigh-ger?
can it just be an urban
slur these days?
compared to spawn,
yes, black panther *****
***** on a lemon before
******* on ***
what's next:
yo... walking *****
the **** well... if we're
in the interracial Olympics,
i once ****** a bony black
girl with a Kama Sutra slim, tight,
that it wouldn't require a 12"
to penetrate a Ghanian lard
yo-yo...
pulverized
the soft pouch of flesh where my
***** originate from
using her coccyx...
****
even i didn't expect
finding out the riff...
on joan jett & the blackhearts'
song i hate myself for loving
you...
i'm with the Ire on the topic
of racial slurs...
instead of "offense"...
we resort to head-butts...
like the two Posen bucks...
running headlong into
a bare canvas...
comment section?
well... obviously i take off
my Francis Bacon mask.
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 12:33 PM UTC
Together we probed mysteries of the dark
Though you said true love was for losers and saps
(Oh God how I loved you, my Joan Jett of Arc.)
You moaned like a ****** those nights in the park
As I tried to snare you with all of love’s traps.
Together we probed mysteries of the dark.
I was a way station, no more than a lark,
Though I searched your eyes for a trace of perhaps.
(Oh God how I loved you, my Joan Jett of Arc.)
I sought to engender romance’s first spark
In the wake of unfettered zippers and snaps.
Together we probed mysteries of the dark
Our orbit of something completed its arc;
I sang Ave Maria, you whistled Taps.
(Oh God how I loved you, my Joan Jett of Arc.)
One morning the truth hit—cold, brutal and stark;
You’d left unannounced, leaving me to collapse.
Together we probed mysteries of the dark
(Oh God how I loved you, my Joan Jett of Arc.)
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 7:05 PM UTC
one thousand
blackbirds
peppered the
magenta blue sky
with their
jett black wings
crisp skylight
and
the
voice of the wind
something so beautiful
that
make all of
the
blackbirds bend and sway
Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 10:23 PM UTC
the
soul of night
a
jett black panther
with
fire and brimstone eyes
ivory white fangs
stalked
its prey
through
the
black panther night
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC
August 2012
I see her
Walking to class.
She doesn't look at me.
But I could feel my life change
in 1, 2, 3
September 2012
I meet her
On the top of the stairs
Her fingers combing through
Her brown hair
They had to take a break
To introduce mine
With a more than friendly shake
October 2012
I talk to her
It felt surreal
She likes Joan Jett.
So do I
November 2012
She walks me to class.
"Do you like me?"
I waited so long
To hear those words
Roll of her ler lips
And now, I don't feel it.
December 2012
We stopped talking..
Although she tries.
January 2013
She stopped trying.
May 2013
I miss her.
But I don't have the
right to say that,
Do I?
July 2013
We're talking again
I miss her
August 2013 P. 1
She's trying to get over me
I saw it coming
But I was so close
To having her
please
August 2013 P. 2
I saw her
She held my hand
I missed her so much
September 2013
I'm confused again
I lost my feelings for her
again
And I cant imagine why
Why this is fair?
My life, my brain, gives her back
To tear her away?
This is going to break her..
I don't want to break her..
Its not fair.
October 2013
I kissed her
Or maybe she kissed me
Either way
Our lips touched
It was so fast
So short
But it was a kiss
And I srill feel her soft lips
Linger on mine
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:05 PM UTC
Tender wife
And I rest where the blue's are
Rocking rod, Joan Jett
A night to remember
To never forget
**** light
A cigar of maroon
The night was our entrance
For the next honeymoon
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
night is
a jett black panther
with
whiskey yellow eyes
sitting
on its
hind legs
silently
waiting
for its pray
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
her hair is longer than I realized
and it smells familiar
my stomach feels off as I
stare at the posters on the walls
because I’m not sure where to look
(she’s so naked as am I)
I decide the top of her head is fine
then I decide to let my heart
murmur which I've been
avoiding since they diagnosed me at 7
but I'm exhausted and orgasming
really takes so much out of me
I decide I’ll only do it three more times
then I decide just this once
I do it all again the next night
because I’m trying to live my life
that doesn’t fully explain my reasoning but it’s all I have to offer
there’s dozens and dozens of
different versions of her and I
want to put it into writing that I
only ever liked two of them
I’ve never before liked each and
every part of a person
I've also never even been
close to admitting that
so I think this is at least one
part progress poem
she’s playing with a kid and I know
it’s supposed to turn me on but it’s
just making me feel physically ill
I wear my bathing suit bottoms
as underwear
she texts me that she’s not
even ******* wearing any
I’ll sleep in her bed if I want
to only because
there’s not really a point to
sleeping in mine
it'd be nice if I wanted to,
but I don't
so I go home
she chain smoked her entire
pack of american spirits
lying completely naked on
her ***** nylon carpet
I realized about halfway in
that I didn't want to touch her
I turned to my left to a shrine
of Joan Jett and then
I choked on her **** piercing
for the very last time
she got upset and tried to
question what went wrong
for the first time in my life
I just shut the **** up
because blaming it on her
star sign felt too insensitive
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 8:12 PM UTC
His old guitar is where he left it,
Still strung and tuned as on that day.
I remember he would play for hours.
Rock and roll he loved to play.
He never got to hold his grandson
or sit with him in his rocking chair
He's not a name that most remember
but fans of Joanie Jett still care.
For all you who love rock and roll
He wrote your anthem, he penned your prayer
I'll play a cover on my Fender
as the old man rocks up heaven's stair.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
I woke up in love today
I wasn't in love late last night
In fact I went to bed alone
So, something just ain't right
Cupid shot his arrow
But, he'd better check his sight
'cause I woke up in love today
And I wasn't late last night
I figured I'd go drinking
To the bar, scene of the crime
Nothing felt that different
Hit the jukebox, dropped a dime
Joan Jett hit my eardrums
Grabbed a beer, and nothing more
Then I saw her hair a' flying
As she danced around the floor
An angel in a flannel shirt
High boots and tight blue jeans
She was dancing with no rhythm
To a song from in my teens
I wasn't gonna join her
I can't dance, and I won't try
I just waited till she spun around
Then I'd try to catch her eye
The waitress brought another drink
I paid, and she was gone
And my dance floor angel
Disappeared after that song
It must have been more lust than love
At least that's what I think
I looked around the bar for her
And I had another drink
The waitress took her bar rag
She wiped my table off for me
She put her hand on top of mine
And said this drinks for free
I thanked her, and she smiled
Left her number by my phone
She said why don't you call me
I'll be off when you get home
A few more drinks and smiles
And I left without a glance
But by then I had forgotten
The dancing angel and those pants
I can't remember calling
I don't remember much at all
But I woke up in love this morning
And I don't remember it at all
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
The literal worst.
Some might say Nixon- the criminal in charge
Martin for the tear he let the native’s tread
Hoover for the shanty towns that rose
Fillmore who let the escaped and finally free be returned to captivity.
John Taylor the whig who wasn't a whig but manifested his Ideas in us going west.
Warren G Harding and the Affairs
James Buchanan who started the war.
But the worst were the ones who never got to be.
The literal worst because I got to see a world that will remain unknown to me.
And they are:
Jessie
Charlene
Victoria and Shirley
Belva
Elaine
Carol ‘n Patsy and
Cynthia McKinney
And who can forget Joan Jett Blakk the black Drag Queen
Because Despite what the winners want you to think WE do not look like James Buchanan!
Warren Harding!
John Taylor and all the other men who have persisted to reign.
And still, we sit here and watch as all other make strides in the field we claim to have created.
Brazil
Germany
India
Israel
Iceland
Ireland
Liberia
Norway
Pakistan
The Philippines
Sri Lanka
South Korea
And the UK
I hope I live long enough to see America rise to the silent challenge of its peers.
To see a woman at the podium
To see a woman at the desk.
To see
The black woman
The trans woman
The bisexual woman
The old woman
The unmarried, unmothered woman
The minority woman
The asexual woman
The not so average American woman woman.
The bleeding woman.
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 11:32 AM UTC
Two tall, spotlessly white pillars stand in front of me,
looking through, blue sky and white clouds come into view.
Sitting on a wooden bench with faded paint,
Thinking, dazing, confusing.
Looking up, the dazzling sunshine leap to my eyes,
Reflecting the flag waving in the middle.
A few sparrows fly across the sky,
Several squirrels ran across the lawn.
Taking a deep breath,
I can taste the cold breeze.
Suddenly the calm was broken by the rumble,
Looking down, turned out to be a car passing by.
These remind me of something,
That spring is far away,
Deep and unforgettable.
Memories will not fade,
Stories don't get old.
Feb 4, 2020
Feb 4, 2020 at 9:11 PM UTC
thousands
upon thousands of
blackbirds
pepper the
royal blue sky
with their
jett black wings and
words they
dream to sing
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
My first love was a boy named Zebba
He was really sweet
My first kiss was a boy named Rainbow
Magic when our lips did meet
My first date was with Woody
We went to see Joan Jett
I'm still looking for the love of my life
But I haven't met Agamemnon yet
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 4:43 PM UTC