Jmo a poet?

This year I’ve made a few promises if you remember from last week. One of those was to open myself to sharing my road to being the writer I am today. Long ago, my first love when it came to writing was weird whacked out poetry. Yeah, too much Jim Morrison and Poe growing up as a teenager. In spite of that, I loved expressing the emotions inside me through words. Granted all of it might not have been good, but I liked it for the way I felt when I did it. Writing is a learning experience in the craft and about yourself in the process. Poetry enabled me to do both those things. I thought maybe through the course of the year, I might share some of my other writing on occasion. Today, is one of those occasions.


The poem I’m about to share might not necessarily be about anyone in particular, but it is one of my favorite poems. I have a fondness for female singers. Some of my influences, or muses, if you will, are Etta James, Janis Joplin, Billie Holiday, Stevie Nicks, and more recently Adele, Florence and the Machine, and Joss Stone. I just love a singer/songwriter who has something to say and the vocal chops to make me feel what they’re feeling. This song came from that love. Mostly, it’s a homage to Janis. One of my favorite songs is her, ‘Little Girl Blue’. I wanted to capture that sort of emotional pull. So, instead of yapping any moreabout it, here’s my first poem of the year.




The aging ingénue

buckles on her war paint,

a facade best left

to the hands of sinners.

Below her…

the slick wafting of

cigarettes and violins

ignites the solitary spark,

a fragile memory of her long forgotten passion.

His name lost,

nearly erased by the pain that still consumes

the fragmentary nature of her past.

She drags heavy on the acid air,

yearning for the comfort of…

the cigarette missing from her shaking fingertips,

an absent friend.

Her lips dry,

thirsting for the taste of slow death,

she glances down.

A pack, a crumpled coffin at her feet,

laying among the trash of her days.

She wishes,

that age hadn’t overtaken her.

So much lost to the rambling

of her earlier life.

The spider web of time,


casually, spitefully, marking her days.

Its kiss ingrained

in the once soft flesh

of her youth.

Lovers had crossed her bed,

too many to count.

The soft rush of their feet

once filling her doorway.

Now nothing more than

a whitening path worn thin

in the dingy carpet.

She wonders among

the twinkling of neon

that eclipses her window,

do they remember

with fondness the time of her prime.

She clutches the

scrapbook of her mind,

the vibrant swirl of the

immortality that failed

to come.

Through the cracked floorboards,

the song turns sad and slow.

She understands the words

yet it is the music

that chills her soul.

As the tune calls blue,

the ingénue closes her eyes

to drift into the night…


2 thoughts on “Jmo a poet?

  1. This is quite well done and it sure brought back memories of me. Not my kind of music, but it certainly left an impression to last this many years. I hope we get to see more poetry soon. 🙂

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