2:29 pm at my boy Barry's house in Brigantine, and I grab my black Eddie Bauer jacket I got at Harrahs Casino and dash out the door because the 501 to Atlantic City is due at 2:30 and I rush to corner, one hand deep in my right pocket for my change as the bus trembles up, then realize I only have $20 bills which yesterday the Treasury Dept. announced will carry a portrait of Harriet Tubman on with Andrew Jackson's now on the backside and the bus glides past and I curse our 7th President, only it's the kind of day that Bill Withers sang about and the next bus isn't due for an hour, so I stride and revise a poem in my head which I read last night at the World Above reading at Dante Hall, one of the best open readings I've been to since Its Your Mug shut down and I change the poem's title to "Portrait of the Artist as a Starfish in Coffee" because my cousin Derri Dias (who is a gorgeous actress in LA) posted a video on Facebook of Prince on The Muppets Tonight performing that song which grows on you like the hair in your ears and I decide to change the last two lines from a simile to a metaphor by cutting out the word "like" which I suddenly don't, and now I pass a brother out front of his house digging a hole in the grass between the sidewalk and the street as if putting in a new mailbox or planting a small tree or maybe just burying something we won't mention and I turn on to Brigantine Blvd. which is limited to one lane because a crew clad in yellow T-shirts with lavender lettering that reads "TCM Paving" is redoing the asphalt and I want to pull out my iPod but my Shure 535e earbuds are too good at isolating outside noise which is dangerous on this busy street and now I'm rising up one side of the bridge between Brigantine and Absecon islands and I peep white birds wheeling in the sky and that signs on the Borgata Casino and Harrahs are both purple and just as I crest the bridge and get buffeted by the gusts Brigantine is famous for, there's a notification on my iPod Touch that Derri has commented on her FB post, "It's not fair that he's gone" and I stop to check Twitter and Prince is trending with over 2 million tweets and I peer over the railing and consider the sunlit water making its way to the Back Bay reflecting all that purple light . . .
From the verses of Shakespeare to the violence of Football, a soft hand on the nape of my neck to a rim's hard rattle after a dunk, the mute of Miles to the rhymes of Rakim, Hershey's chocolate to a garlic peppered, cedar-planked salmon, Joel Dias-Porter's thoughts scatter like grains of black sand across a wind-blown beach.
Thursday, April 21, 2016
Sunday, April 03, 2016
National Poetry Month 30/30 Haiku/Senryu
Light April rain-
Our lone purple candle
suddenly gone
Late April dusk-
The shadows slowly bury
a little red Corvette.
Moonshine
inside the bottle
out of it
April morning-
Cherry blossoms pinken
the snow drifts
Thumb print
on a black fender-
Half Moon
Two weeks into Spring-
already a Cardinal
on the mound
Opening Day-
The Groundskeeper throws out
the rock salt
All hail
what follows the slow clap
April thunder
Back from the casino
with a single white chip-
April Moon
Last blaze of orange
at the Farmer's Market-
a robin alights
The long note
in her last kiss
-Red Zinfandel
Dmeentia-
At the start of the last verse
she mouths the words
Late night poker game-
She asks if I'm All In
Hibiscus flower-
The tremble of her sleeve
In the ocean breeze
My hairline
the waters of the back bay
in sync
April sunset-
A last slice of orange
opens the lips
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