Winter Hawk
Posted in: Elegy, Poetry | Comments (0)
by James Schwartz
A numb November. / A dumb December.
A sunlit snowscape to remember.
A speckled hawk to guide by sky.
As below we tear and cry.
Stumbling over shorn stalks of corn.
Dazzled by the January morn.
Peace beheld in winter clear.
Leaving to land what is dear.
Now in frigid February night.
Putting out the kerosene light.
Putting away prayer, poem and psalm.
Serenity of sonnets my bedtime balm.
Far away from elegy.
A speckled hawk soars the sea.
The winter sun as blinding.
As a father’s love is binding.
James Schwartz @ August 1, 2010
Hard to Swallow
Posted in: Poetry | Comments (0)
by James Schwartz
I am not part of the Old Order herd.
I do not find gay Amish marriage absurd.
I do find man and man under ban.
Hard to swallow, harder to understand.
James Schwartz @ July 19, 2010
Jacket Back
Posted in: Poetry | Comments (0)
by James Schwartz
He saunters off into the street.
Little reason to be discreet.
In my struggle as a man to stand.
I had to let go of his hand.
The back of his jacket: DRUNK SINCE YESTERDAY.
O bisexy beach boi, busily at play.
When lights are dimmed, clothes fumbled.
I am in all honesty humbled.
I am after all still here, still queer.
He cracks open another beer.
My skin is thin. / His jaw clenched.
Mirrored shades. / Doors wrenched.
I sashay off into the night.
I see no reason to be polite.
Unkind observations. / Silent glares.
Unseated positions. / Empty chairs.
James Schwartz @ July 6, 2010
Les Yeux Pers
Posted in: Poetry | Comments (0)
by James Schwartz
You looked away to hide your eyes.
Dark with guilt and restless fear.
I lowered my own eyes.
You used to call:
Les Yeux Pers.
Allowing a single tear to shine.
Before batting it away.
With a little laugh…
After that you couldn’t look away…
Vous détourna la tête pour cacher les yeux.
Dark avec la culpabilité et la peur agitée.
Je baissai les yeux.
Vous avez utilisé pour vous appeler:
Les Yeux Pers.
Permettre une larme briller.
Avant de bâton qui le ravissent.
Avec un petit rire …
Après que vous ne pouviez pas détourner le regard …
James Schwartz @ June 7, 2010
Baracking the Vote
Posted in: Poetry, Politics | Comments (0)
by James Schwartz
O Obama! On this November night.
Of pumpkin leaves and Halloween’s remains.
A sober October gone with the light.
Leaving behind Robert Frost and grey rains.
Poets need a hero to believe in.
In this Global Era’s new unity.
Poets’ sanctuary to achieve in.
Vital to our current economy.
Dot Com confusion spinning with the room.
Please excuse my mess as the powder flies.
The bombs are raining and jets go zoom.
Pardon my urgency as the ink dries.
We stand at Eden’s gates: Behold our joy.
Barack Obama: you are my homeboy.
James Schwartz @ June 5, 2010
Private Celebrity vs. I Don’t Care to Tell the World (For You’re the World to Me)
Posted in: Poetry, Spoken Word | Comments (0)
PRIVATE CELEBRITY
VS.
I DON’T CARE TO TELL THE WORLD
(FOR YOU’RE THE WORLD TO ME)
(JAMES SCHWARTZ VS. JAMES C. RULE REMIX)
Pull up in my ride, vibin’ to trance.
Tonight under strobes we dance.
Around this club we’re V.I.P.
Bloglines made a celebrity out of me.
I don’t care to tell the world,
For you’re the world to me;
When my message reaches you
It has reached it’s destiny;
You’re the only world I know,
That’s why I love to tell it so,
I don’t care to tell the world
For you’re the world to me.
Putting on a show, strutting in the club
Flow on, roll on to a fat dub.
Painted eyes laughing behind designer shades.
Falling in love as the night fades.
I don’t care to tell the world,
For you’re the world to me;
When my message reaches you
It has reached it’s destiny;
You’re the only world I know,
That’s why I love to tell it so,
I don’t care to tell the world
For you’re the world to me.
________________________________
I DON’T CARE TO TELL THE WORLD
(FOR YOU’RE THE WORLD TO ME) by James C. Rule from A Voice from the South
James Schwartz @ June 5, 2010
The Fountain
Posted in: Erotica, Poetry | Comments (1)
by James Schwartz
I cannot rewrite Religion.
Yet I do believe.
Arcing as a fountain.
After hours sacrament to receive.
I cannot monger War.
My creed is of peace.
After hours in his arms.
Two fountains spurt release.
I cannot turn the Tide.
Droplets dripping from my lip.
A wrestling angel after hours.
Bound by his iron grip.
I cannot deny Decadence.
Drunkenly we do feed.
Arcing as a fountain.
Spilling sacramental seed.
James Schwartz @ June 4, 2010
The Apartment
Posted in: Poetry | Comments (0)
by James Schwartz
Thanksgiving Day 2000
Dawns cold and clear
The white highways
Icy shadows
Lost in the shadows.
At the apartment
Judy Garland sings
On the stereo
As glittering tiaras
Polished to perfection
Display cabaret glory
From behind glass.
A colorful family
Mills about
Shrieking, laughing
Gossiping over pumpkin pies
And cocktails.
The living room
Becomes a stage
Miss Garland
Sets the mood for the
Thanksgiving Day party
Where everyone
Celebrates themselves.
James Schwartz @ June 4, 2010
Cabaret Days
Posted in: Poetry | Comments (0)
by James Schwartz
She’s beautiful as she steps onstage.
Another Saturday night at the cabaret.
The audience applauds her presence.
Her blonde mane.
Her powdery face.
Her sequined gown.
Everyone clinks cocktails glasses together. Screaming for her magic. Which she dazzles them with. As the lights dim. And her liquid lips mouth to. Something old. Something new. Something borrowed. Something blue. One by one everyone creeps near. The stage to offer tips of money. And revel in her ungrateful smile.
James Schwartz @ June 4, 2010
Clubbing
Posted in: Poetry | Comments (0)
by James Schwartz
Dark smoky cabarets are secret worlds.
Populated by the tacky, camp and lonely.
Shadowy men smoke glowing cigarettes.
Illuminating carefully culivated stubbled faces. White Christmas lights blink in corners. Blonde mavens add that Hollywood glamour. This is our world on lost weekends. Catty gossip over electronica songs. The DJ has my memories.
James Schwartz @ June 4, 2010
