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About the Poet:
Jack Henry,
writer/poet/playwright/musician lives on a small suburban farm just
beyond the reach of Los Angeles. He writes about the vagaries of life,
love lost, death and the search for resolution. Recently, his chapbook
"chasing screaming monkeys w/o any clothes" received a favorable review
by david mclean at clockwise cat, issue 9.
Some of his work has been published in cause & effect, cp journal, off
beat pulp, instant pussy vol 1 & 3 & 5, phantom seed, gloom cupboard,
skitzo lit, static movement, red fez, “the”, eviscerator heaven, oak
bend review and winamop. Forthcoming in: cc&d, decomP, and clockwise
cat. He has also been published in gloom cupboard where he also writes
a monthly column.
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So. Jersey
long empty roads across
green fields, dense forests
filled with old homes
that sit silent at
the edge of a road
bounce along flowing w/
traffic, mosquitoes slam
against windshields
endless cigarettes kill
time
perfect serenity at each
mile marker i pass
almost forgetting foreclosed
homes, boarded up businesses
and people laughing through
pain
bars fill w/locals, welcome
me like heaven, just like my home
we fight misery one mile
marker at a time
Lincoln Memorial
in the distance
the capital dome sits
under hazy skies
but i can see it - clear
i wonder if senators &
congressman see the
Lincoln memorial
or any memorial
as they come and go
or the vietnam vet i
gave a pocket full of change
or protestors
sequestered out
of plain view
from up hear, on the
marble steps, where
Martin Luther King
explained his dream
you can see it all
and when i climb
back down i will
remember
what i saw
when congress comes
down their steps
out their back door
into their darkened
limos
i wonder
do they see anything at all
gatekeeper inn
st. peter and his holy smile
welcomes sinners salvation
from thickening skies
poets litter in from
various destinations
our words fill the
night w/a temporal bliss
i have no voice,
no power
i cannot stand equal
w/these giants
these heroes i know
obliterate, i stand trial, my face
in the corner, but
i took my turn
you can never steal that
there’s beauty in the moment,
a timeless encounter
no return from the fire
now that our souls have
been burned
train riding
train riding
Maryland / DC
clouded windows
fat humidity soaks my shirt
11 am and i am fading
last stop
L’enfant Plaza
i beg for cold beer
trains empty
‘cept me and a few
tourists
little blonde w/a fat ass
and a friendly mouth
maybe she’ll
say hello
Japanese tourists laugh
take my picture
i don’t ask why
maybe they need
proof of the ugly
american
in me, i know
they made a good choice
first kiss blush
first kiss blush
shackles fall
climb stone castle
walls, to stumble
to your arms
recent candid comments
sing soft lines
on parchment, blank
and torn
from discarded bibles
we start anew, a moment
carried by yellow
birds with purple feet
we beg forever
accept this moment
your lips linger
as we breathe as one
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