Two new spring poems in bloom.......

Here are two new poems written this morning by our 'resident' homeless poet James Preston Jordan. These poems have been submitted to the local homeless newspaper, Street Sense DC.
Here are the poems:



Sex. Sugar. Carolina. My mind.



Royal blue like Miessen,
Dresden or pretty good china,

Kentucky blue, not Carolina. Thirty-six
Views of blood (stop) sugar (stop) sex.

And Carolina. She was from Hanover,
Not Virginia, nor Bruges, where

China is particularly fine. In Old Tokyo
Not Edo I left not my heart but

Other parts of my anatomy much more dear to me.
China blossom, cherry wood, or even

Cherry blossoms that catch a heaven-bound
Breeze and fly all the way to California,

Hollywood, I mean. I seem to remember
All My Bridges being burnt in the rain. Not sighs,

But Vecchio, Vecchio as the direction from Venice
To Tokyo, North by Northeast but almost always

East. Orientalize, certainly, but almost always
While looking inb the bluest of blue Oriental

Eyes, most beautiful in Tokyo.





Ode to Beisbol



Pelota, perhaps, if you are
Orlando Cepeda, not Furiouso, just regular
Muy bueno, or with a build like
Josh Gibson, thumping hides sides deep
Into the St Loo night, and hearing the blues
Later, like Miles
Could play,
Or
Country Slaughter.

A Gooden enough, certain enough
Curve ball, bound to remember you of St Loose
Other Bob, Gi bson like the drink or guitar, honey,
Might even still be breaking,
Twenty years after in the crisp effortless determination
Of an outer borough night. Welcome.
In New York a Strawberry daiquiri

To those who knew, cognoscenti who will bring to mind,
Still stirs a drink that strikes well into the November knight, high above
The game board, hi outside in right. Nineteen eighty-six.
The fastball didn’t fit at ninety. Flylife measured C squared.
A collision was forthcoming, unmeasured the Strawman
Loosed a moonshot way deep into Houston night.
Swordsman Mike Cuellar might remember. Admire Doubleday too.
Still publishes?