words play

All Poems Written By Golda Solomon. All Poems are Copyrighted and may not be used without written permission of Golda Solomon/JazzJaunts
metaphor me but not in iambicpentameter simile melike like like six/eight me a jazzy waltzspin me againand again mambo and cha cha cha me backto the catskills of my childhoodenjamb me into the next line of a tercet stanza read meread me pageby page tea for two me as only monk’spiano fingers could dowhisk me in a blues bowl and i will six words youa sestina thatspeaks my life collage me recycle me catalog medewey decimal me library of congress menever make me over due and mail me mail me to the moondon’t forget to postage stamp meforever forever forever……..

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SLIVER OF GLASS

All Poems Written By Golda Solomon. All Poems are Copyrighted and may not be used without written permission of Golda Solomon/JazzJaunts
LIKE A GLASS OF MILK THAT SLIPSTHROUGH YOUR FINGERS, YOU CANSWEEP UP THE LARGER BROKEN PIECES,LIQUID SLOSHING FINDS CRACKS TO HIDE IN.A SLIVER OF GLASS CAN FIND YOU YEARS LATER,AND IN THE FRESH WOUNDIN THE RED BLOOD A FOUND MEMORY.

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this hero wore a toupee

All Poems Written By Golda Solomon. All Poems are Copyrighted and may not be used without written permission of Golda Solomon/JazzJaunts
blow dizzie blow spit out hosannas healing riffs for those left blast ’til those cheeks of yours bust wide open did you call him gentle his arrival heaven is impatient you welcome him with full orchestration the 88 keys of his earthly kingdom silenced on east 11th street worn plush velvet drapes open the university of our gigs silenced

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SO WHAT

All Poems Written By Golda Solomon. All Poems are Copyrighted and may not be used without written permission of Golda Solomon/JazzJaunts
Baptized by vodka cleansing my throat Baptized by sweat dripping from Tony Williams’ sticks Thick    Summer    Sunday    Afternoons at the Vanguard Miles ready Horn like a flyswatter, ready to strike down this whippersnapper of a man/child Testing the beast in a muted horn Tony drawing Miles in and driving Miles’ sounds Out there Out there Miles knew asking this upstart of the sticks to his schoolyard Miles’ game and Tony took over like those street players on those raggedy assed west 4th Street courts and Avenue of Whose America Lives played out on asphalt Woosh of ball going cleanly through mesh net My hands – gripping the fence Looking in at perfect pick-up games Blue/black and tans who were fucked over by the man Come on! Come on! Dart, pass, dribble, shake

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