MAP
#86
II.
Featured Poetry Theme: Basketball Diaries
1.
*New York Sprewell* by Rich Perin
Spre
your
step is a new york minute and
heart
bigger than
central
park
you
hold the muscle
of
manhattan
and
the
neon of broadway
you're
the empire state
knifing
the moon
the
staten
island ferry
skating
over hardwood
Spre
since
when
does
the soul of
American
Dream
need
a ring?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2.
Ivan Miller a/k/a Ivanho
Urban
babies in the night
cuddle
by streetlights
looking
for hugs
but
no love
as
the streets bring a raw deal
no
one around for family meals
as
the night breathes inner-city phantoms in flight
Urban
babies stick tight
looking
for the light
for
the light brings safety
from
the darkness of the sky
Please
let the light come
Please
let them see the day dawning
because
that is the safe haven
for
Urban babies in the night
by
Ivan Miller
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
3.
Chasin Dreams and Dragons by Jazzy
I
was slumped over in daze at CCK
Been
smokin china white all night and day
Easy
company was on the way
with
a load of death in the cargo bay
Flyin
hard and High in a hostile sky
Chasin
Dreams and Dragons
Jazzy(c)1972
4.
Ode To Apparel by T. Emmett Mueller
Bow
Brummel necktie
breathed
a breath,
uncoiled
a closet life
from
death and snaked
around
a telephone.
(or
so the story goes)
The
narrow end
shaped
finger bones
and
briskly tapped out
dialing
tones to
one
- three - six -
five
- seven - pantyhose.
She
answered
on
the second ring,
exhaled
a sigh
of
static cling,
said,
" Sir, your silken
voice
thrills me
from
waistband
down
a nervous knee
and
on down to
my
sandalfooted toes."
Their
dinner date
was
sheer delight;
control
top stretched
her
appetite.
He
watched so nothing
spilled
or stained
his
face.
They
fabricated histories,
textiled
cravats
and
hosieries,
then
he suggested
threadbare
interlace.
His
threshold lift
was
most superb.
She
draped the sign --
Do
Not Disturb,
chemisely
purred
and
corseted the door.
They
joined
in
millinery mirth,
released
in moans
that
moved the earth --
one
knotted clump
of
rapture on the floor.
©
1999, T. Emmett Mueller
5.
Annie Sez by Ruth Solomon
We're
just two women sitting
in
a white walled bedroom.
A
white-skinned woman,
crosslegged
on a leopard-skin bed.
A
brown-skinned woman
propped
in a mahogany chair.
Dogs
whirl in play between us as we talk
about
heaven, earth, the number
of
astral projections experienced,
what
death looks like when it arrives
early
and lounges about killing time
if
nothing else. Then about poetry.
Poetry
critics. Influences. Celibacy.
The
most polite way to tell someone to go
fuck
his/herself because they blame
the
poem and not the brain
when
metaphors fly out of reach.
(Annie
sez she doesn't curse. But I do.)
This
is how we get to know
the
transparency of each other's skin.
during
fits of laughter,
when
everything about us is exposed.