JACK HENRY - POEMS

jack henry is a california based writer/editor whose work has recently seen the light of day at pink litter, rye whiskey review, horror sleaze trash, museum of poetry, alien buddha press, vext magazine and others. jack has a new collection coming in fall 2020, "driving w/crazy" from punk hostage press.  other collections include "crunked" (epic rites press) and "with the patience of monuments" (neoPoesis)

​behind bars we didn’t know existed

​there used to be magic
in the air, the sky;
swimming through
trees;
across long painted valleys;
deep in a desert
few will touch or see;
up on the peaks of
mountains;
in the crest of
a canyon;
 
in an afterhours glow
of light beaming down
from high rise buildings;
in the sound of cars shuffling
through and across thick
rivers of black asphalt;
 
as a child i saw magic
in everything;
and as grew older
magic remained, and
now that i am gray,
my mind slowing,
fog thickens with every day,
i wonder…
 
where has the magic gone?
 
magic in nature remains,
it’s just a little harder to find,
but the magic in daily life
feels fragile, weak, a slow
gasping death;
 
i am sure it remains
in fragments of humanity,
but i struggle to see it, to
touch or taste it;
 
magic has become
the enemy of the state;
the fascists in high towers
no longer hide in shadows;
 
is the pen really mightier
than the sword?
i dunno, but i’m going to
try and find out…
 

​an unsuspecting sky

​locked in my cage
drinking coffee tinged w/whiskey
trying to read reports
respond to email
shake off desire
wanton lust & need
 
i remain a criminal
a littérateur of no repute
devoid of any compass capable
to guide
 
processed, packaged, now shelved
for consumption
on the cold aisle next to pizza
& ice cream
 
i'm distracted by
all the naked shiny
things
sweet things littered across
my screen
filled with temptations
strange offerings
paid in Bitcoin
or cocaine
 
his words are simple
direct
there is no potential for
misinterpretation
 
when i respond
i know
i have other things
to do
on the respectable side
the side of the cage
locked tight
 
but i have a key
& as long as i have a key
 
i will dance naked around the fire
& watch flames lick up toward
 
an unsuspecting sky -
 
 
 

​first snow of winter (2006)

​a first snow of winter
drifts across
the empty road
just outside my window
 
beat cop pulls his coat close
nods toward me
as I stare out
into the night
 
a radiator coughs
it’s a cranky bitch
rattling lungs of emphysema
i wrap a tattered blanket
around my bones
in a vain attempt
at warmth &
salvation
 
last Tuesday
i found matching shoes
at a local thrift
w/good soles
& strong laces
 
a little journal
in the Northeast
some university
just bought five poems
ten cents a line
 
i pace in circles
keep time w/the thump thump
in my chest
a yellow moon glows off glass
a picture of someone else’s lover
sits on the dresser
 
i pick up a revolver
snub-nose .38
the one i found loaded in a dumpster
the one missing one round
& put in back in a drawer
i pull on my new shoes
& head to the Jewish deli on the corner
for a beer and pastrami
 
& a chance to stretch the bones awhile
 

​cat hair in my coffee
 

​i am weak
faltering
there's cat hair in my coffee
feels like monday
only tuesday
i can taste the night
wet concrete &
sandboxes filled with mud
 
are you here?
are you listening?
 
why can't i see you?
 
why is doing the right thing
always the hardest?