“In Every Doorway“
In winter’s night the Poet’s heart, Recalls soul’s flight to depart, To the March morn waiting for, The Poet to pen the night before. In every doorway lies a poem, Yet only one direction driving home, A collision of his str8 pubbing, And my queer disco clubbing. Lost and found lips perchance, Intertwine to dance to trance, Airwave by Rank 1, The sound of our scape begun. In doorways and lilac night charms, Of harem and haven in his arms, The perfection of men goes to show, In the dark all poets glow. In every doorway lies a poem, In his wilds I build my poem, Of muse and ink and literary labor, And all our dreams we sink and savor. "Clubbing" Dark smoky cabarets are secret worlds, Populated by the tacky, camp, and lonely. Shadowy men smoke glowing cigarettes, Illuminating carefully cultivated stubbled faces. White Christmas lights blink in corners, Blonde mavens add that Hollywood glamour. This is our world on lost weekends. Catty gossip over electronica songs, The DJ has my memories. "Cabaret Days" She’s beautiful as she steps onstage, Another Saturday night at the cabaret. The audience applauds her presence, Her blonde mane, Her powdery face, Her sequined gown. Everyone clinks cocktail glasses together, Screaming for her magic, Which she dazzles them with. As the lights dim, And her liquid lips mouth to something old, Something new, Something borrowed, Something blue, One by one everyone creeps near the stage, To offer tips of money, And reveal in her ungrateful smile. "Midnight" I love the hours after midnight After his eleventh shot When he becomes what Before he was not. I loathe the hours after dawn Before he’s out the door Having put on again What he was before. "After Hours" After hours passion unites, ignites room. Silken musculature, metered desire. The groaning bridal bed with groom on groom. Love’s spirit sings sonnets, Lust’s still higher. Of unrestrained rain, drenched a capella. Unattired, unabated, understood. Unrequited under night’s umbrella. As if unquenched Uranian love could. Our afterhours of unmasked hours. Unschooled, unclenched Uranians lie. Alone unraveling, untold heights high. I think we need to give this one more try. Ungrounded gyrating, felled flesh and feet. Still unfilled by the still when our lips meet.
Selected poetry from “The Literary Party: Growing Up Gay and Amish in America”
James Schwartz is a poet, slam performer and author of various collections including “The Literary Party: Growing Up Gay & Amish in America” (available on Kindle 2011), PUnatic (Writing Knights Press, 2019) & Motor City Mix (Alien Buddha Press 2022). On twitter James can be found under @queeraspoetry for a follow.
https://feversofthemind.com/2022/10/10/an-overview-of-james-schwartz-book-sunset-in-rome-from-alien-buddha-press/ https://feversofthemind.com/2022/11/04/poetry-online-anthology-the-artist-never-sleeps/ https://feversofthemind.com/2022/07/20/poetry-video-links-by-james-schwartz/
Fevers of the Mind 