Tag Archives: jack henry

poem: in this Starbucks

29 Mar

there is too much noise
in this Starbucks
too many voices screeching
in this Starbucks
too much sameness
in this Starbucks
same drab jazz bullshit symphonies

in this Starbucks
there is a long line
in this Starbucks
people cut from similar cloth
in this Starbucks
they queue without question
in this Starbucks
buy the same items each time

in this Starbucks
i use the free Internet
in this Starbucks
cruise for willing partners
in this Starbucks
download hardcore porn
in this Starbucks
write poetry about nothing

in this Starbucks
a girlfriend once worked
in this Starbucks
she’d blow me on breaks
in this Starbucks
we’d fuck after closing
in this Starbucks
she left me for another

in this Starbucks
my world comes and goes
in this Starbucks
i make change for the bus
in this Starbucks
homeless people piss
in this Starbucks
drug deals occur daily

in this Starbucks
sometimes i work
in this Starbucks
make false comments
in this Starbucks
pretend to be someone else
in this Starbucks
realize my life is beige on beige

in this Starbucks
a man greets me
in this Starbucks
speaks incoherently perfect
in this Starbucks
screams about the meaningless of life
in this Starbucks
finally buys a Venti Mocha Frappe
in this Starbucks

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Image

blunt trauma press –

20 Jan

righthand angle of a continuous curve

Somewhere in California Jack Henry sits on a bar stool waiting with the patience of monuments, it’s not necessary to know what or who he’s waiting for – that’s his damned business. Jack Henry writes with the passion of an addict about to inhale and the insight of a loner out on a desert highway looking for a ride. In ‘The Right Hand Angle of a Continuous Curve’ Jack Henry continues to seek solace in the memory of the women he never really knew, didn’t really want to know, and a few he knew too damn well. Jack has no qualms about drinking alone, accepting rides from strangers or sleeping in unmade beds. Sometimes it’s easier to just not give a shit. Sometimes it’s easier to stand out on the highway alone . . . sometimes you find a piece of writing with the urgency of a lover about to fuck, and sometimes you get fucked. On the continuous curve Jack Henry’s driving, there are no emergency exits – buckle up.

available at some point in 2012…

prose: temporary vice

27 Dec

Sara shook my hand with a firm grip and apologized for a cold hand.

“Well, it is 20 degrees out?”

“Is it? Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised or faked it well.
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poem: east of where i stand

7 Oct

my brain fills
with scattershot landscapes,
tumble weeds blow dead
across long flat rivers of black asphalt,
trees and shrubs bend from a ceaseless wind,
dust carves veins atop dry clay river bottoms –
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update –

6 Oct

if you are actually reading this and not downloading the adult images i have hidden around this blog, this is an update on the writing-side of jck hnry. there are no links to adult images herein, so if that is your destiny, please move on…for now. Ha!


a recent review of yours truly appears here. it is quite positive and interesting to read, especially from my perspective. even with this now my fifth or sixth book/chap, i am amazed that people take the time to review. it is always a pleasure to discover insight other eyes hold…


george anderson over at bold monkey did a rather lengthy and intriguing review of CRUNKED. there is an interview with the author at the end of the review where i sound completely pompous and a bit drunk. all that is here.


CRUNKED can be purchased at either Small Press Distribution and AMAZON. Click on either to buy. As yet I do not have copies. Not enough cash for a pre-publication buy…soon, maybe.

poem: angels of disrepair

1 Oct

and still the whispers echo
long after the rope’s been cut,
bodies removed,
sinners and saints retired from the town square,
the center of the world,
the center of life,
the very core of it all –

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poem: atop the bones of dead saints

27 Sep

we place stones one by one
atop the bones of saints
felled by the voices of disbelief
and disintegration –
and no more to dance
in fields laid flat by the footsteps
of hooligans and martyrs,
carrying their flames and fears
within the clench of trembling hands –

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poem: fields afire

27 Sep

there is no silence at the center
of a garden filled with dead flowers
and falling leaves;
a garden surrounded by armor and brick
and the bones of soldiers gone so long from us now –

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poem: trapped

15 Sep

there’s dust on the last page of my memories –
i am trapped within the branches of an unforgiving tree
and
chased by black and white flickering images –

a soft voice drills deep within my discontent –
where i stand the water stills into a silver panarama –
her face still holds me, her hands still touch my skin –

i never received a passing grade –
a test written in braille, back in days when i could still see –

a tremor in my hands reminds me of my disrespect –
she said she loved me,

once, a long time ago –

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review: Crunked reviewed by David McLean in Feb 2011

14 Sep

review: Crunked reviewed by David McLean in Feb 2011

Note: This is from February 2010 originally at Clockwise Cat. I am not sure what version of Crunked this is based on, but here you go…
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poem: shattered highway

14 Sep

shattered highway

…and I watch a broken down road rumble
beneath my wheels, the desert wind whipping
through my thinning hair,
memories of love lost and battles won
drift through my head,
a dull gray moon lifts effortlessly into a waning sky –
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poem – absolution

13 Sep

absolution


just after sunset
driving west
open highway
cool breeze
lavender skies
and a buzzing fly for a companion

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poems – shorties

13 Sep

not into it
a soft breeze blows in across the backyard
every day around 4 pm –
trees bend, swirl and drift lazy across blue velvet skies –
fish boil across the top of the pond –

i find my spot on the back step –
smoke another cigarette –
trace back through the roots of my day
searching for a small fragment to tuck away –


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video – wtf?

16 May

yup. it’s true. i got sucka punched into doing a video of one of my poems. it’s a short one that doesn’t say much or do much or feel much but it is there.

for what it is worth….

gutter eloquence –

16 May

after crushing rejections over the last few weeks, gutter eloquence is taking a risk and publishing one of my recent works in their fine journal. it will arrive sometime between july 1 and 5. gutter eloquence can be found here.

here is a naked picture for you to enjoy…

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