James Schwartz – Fevers of the Mind

Poetry Showcase: James Schwartz (April 2023)

“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/

Jack Kerouac inspired poetry by James Schwartz

“I was surprised, as always, by how easy the act of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility.”

– Jack Kerouac

"Walking With the Ancestors in Detroit" 

I find myself in love
With my lost lineage 
Before my ancestors 
Rebelled from
The Church
Marking us 
As Anabaptist heretics 
The statuary smashed
Generations of conformity 
Against the present
Predecessors of a
Polluted body
Donning buttoned costumes 
Banning bicycles 
Shunning family 
Welcoming tourists 
Unrecognizable 
To our forefathers.


I find myself walking down 
John R past midnight 
To the gas station 
On 6 Mile  
The street is deserted 
Only a lone sex worker 
Huddled in winter shadows 
& her coat 
First snow of the season 
I give her $5 
& tell her to go eat
Stepping over
A dead rat
A syringe 
A wig
A broken bottle
Unrecognizable 
In my hoodie.

Bio: 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.

Amish Christmas Tree by James Schwartz

Amish Christmas Tree

Why can’t we have a Christmas tree? That is not for Our People, Mom explains. I beg until she cuts a tree from cardboard, Spray painting it gold. We cut up Hallmark cards, Decorating its boughs. Together. * Author Note: I would like to wish Fevers of the Mind Readers a happy holiday season & 2023 from Detroit! It has been an honor to have been a Wolfpack contributor this year and publish new and old works at FeversoftheMind.com. Thank you David L. O'Nan! "Amish Christmas Tree" is a decade old nostalgic piece that I'm regifting to you - Happy Holidays & 2023! 🥂

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.

Poetry Online Anthology “The Artist Never Sleeps”

all artwork sent in by Pasithea Chan for these amazing artists.

“i was a thin sea of blue” by Paula Hayes

didn't you know,  love, i was a thin sea of blue
        waiting for you to come along
                       and fill yourself
                               inside my creases
                                      to drink me in between your restless
                                thoughts

wade inward
                   i asked you to come closer
                         so i could please you
                                but you ignored my pleas
                                       and left like some tug of gravity
                                                                    was waiting for
                                                                           to carry you
                                                                     away

where are the gods, now, to bring the waters back
                up to my lips
                         to give a little salt in return
                                 for all i've lost; is that too much to
                         ask?   just a little salt to take down
                                          even if there is no quenching
                                                               in hapless mornings

there is sky and sea and sun
        all making for soft horizons
              pretending these natural elements
                     are some kind of boundary
                            sealing off what was meant to hurt me
                                            from where i stand now

sucker-punched and drunk in the orange of waves
	light, all light, radiant and forgotten 
while two birds, lovers no less, fly by me
		certain that they are far away 
			from what they once knew
				and even more certain
					they have nowhere left to go 

Bio: Paula Hayes is a poet who lives in Memphis, Tennessee, the same place where rock and roll was birthed and where the ghost of Elvis still hangs around Beale Street. She finds the presence of such a rich musical history in the town she lives in to be right on track with transforming one as a poet into a bard. 

Alice Checks the Queen by Lynn White
in response to Anita Arbidane artwork

‘Your time is up’ said Alice.
She knew it didn’t matter
how big she was
or how small
in the end.
She knew it didn’t matter 
in the end
whether the queen was red or white,
whether time moved backwards or forwards.
In the end
there was still no stopping it, 
still no changing it
however many time-pieces the Queen owned,
however many times she moved the hands
on or back on the clock-face.
It made no difference.
‘You’re just a pawn
on the wheel of time’
said Alice,
‘No wonder you look glum’

Bio: Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/

"October Hardcover" by James Schwartz

Shifting season of melancholy, 

                            Dark bark decay,


Lighting of lamps,

In the v

                a
     
                     l  

                         l  

                             e 

                                  y    
    
                         Against frosted fog,

Shorn corn stalks,


                         Lost leaden leaves,

Cafe au lait, 

Notes of nutmeg,

                Window seat, 

Victor Hugo hardcover.


Bio: 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.


Art inspired by Clive Gresswell

life’s ballet cycle
causes me to pause
in the twinkling of a romantic pose
inherited by nature’s mystique
the floral fauna and reddening leaves
flutter inside my mind’s eye
caught in the season’s harsh mirror
light infernal, light eternal
rays of the insect fanning down
the earth’s delightful eternal gown.

Bio: Clive Gresswell is a 64-year-old innovative writer and poet who has appeared in many mags from BlazeVOX to Poetry Wars and Tears in the Fence. He is the author of five poetry books the last two being ‘Strings’ and ‘Atoms’ from erbacce-press (see their website for more details).

Poetry “Midwest Aesthetics” from James Schwartz & David L O’Nan: collaboration

from the series “The Empath Dies in the End”

Midwest Aesthetics

Michigan (James Schwartz)

Ruth Ellis,
The Great Blizzard of '78,
Michael Moore,
#FlintWaterCrisis,

Motown,
Madonna,
Eminem,
Sada Baby,

Gray sweatpants,
Factory hours,
Rivers of coffee,
Biscuits and gravy,

Gravel roads,
Amish buggies bumping techno,
Blueberry picking,
Pumpkin patches,

Model T Town,
Industrial Era hangover,
6 Mile sex workers,
"Working on the night moves"...

2. Indiana (David L O'Nan)

Larry Bird flat foot jumpers
The Great Blizzard of ‘78
The Ohio River flowing and suicide watches
Donald Trump really won

On big trucks blasting rap music
Drive by white racists who justify using profanity
By lyrics, by tiktok
Elitists walk by you, the trash and the preppy

Wal-Mart days, Wal-Mart nights,
And speaking of nights, we had Bobby Knight
Now we’ve got memories of floods and tornadoes
We’ve got Holiday World.

Gravel Roads,
The Meth Crisis to Fetanyl Crisis
David Letterman went to Ball State
Festivals in the fall. We eat garbage upon garbage and smile.

Vomiting in cornfields,
Hey Indianapolis,
Hey Gary, Hey the Jacksons, Hey nevermind.
Indy 500’s used to be a grandpa’s deam.

But I also know of Kentucky and I know of New Orleans
I know the hatred someone from Southern Indiana has
For a Kentuckian just a bridge away.
With the same accent they mimic what they think is different, but really the same.

We’ve got Hoosiers
We’ve got Bloomington, actually a fine town
We’ve got Wineries and
We’ve got Falling Rock Zones.

We’ve got an escape to New Harmony.
A dystopian town for prayer.
Do we have Indiana Jones or that just a name?
We had James Dean and then he left to escape the curves around cornfields.

We’ve had Fairgrounds Coliseum Gas Explosions
We had Mike Pence and was saw him dispense.
We have John Mellencamp wandering around like Springsteen in New Jersey.
Dan Quayle, Dan Quayle, fuck that. Steve McQueen , Steve McQueen.

Oh and don’t forget John Dillinger.
Don’t forget the programmed corn, the factories pounding out super pollution.
Steroid chickens, 9 mile Chic-Fil-A lines that tells you to have a good day.
While they racially judge you, while they investigate your sexual preference.

Well they never know that over half their staff is to be cautious and close to the closet.
All for those French fries that shape like waffles, chicken sandwich nights.
Super churches across from Super churches.
Envy the bully, rampage the road, defeat the enemy, defeat the empathy.

Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog.

Poetry Preview “American Linden” from “Sunset in Rome” from James Schwartz