I drink Moxy while I do my laundry.
My family, my friends, Jack,
And sixty minutes of time from my day
Keep me sane and breathing.
Life in Vacationland is sweet
And full of Eastern White Pine.
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Maine
The Axis Turns
Benjamin Jenkins, life, Maine, New England, poem, poems, poetry, writingBustling, brimming to boil over
Vigorous vibrations
Shock me, I’m reluctant
To open my eyes in the morning.
Humid Port City
Benjamin Jenkins, life, New England, New Hampshire, poem, poems, poetry, Portsmouth, writingThe female figure
Toes like candy
Creased arches
Architecture, Imposed over
Intersections of blue veins
Legs crossed
Pale thighs culminate at
Impenetrable shadow.
The Collective
Benjamin Jenkins, life, New England, New Hampshire, poems, poetry, Portsmouth, writingSlowly slipping away
Measured by day
It’s my conscious thought
Or the ability to collect it.
Natural Instincts
Benjamin Jenkins, life, New England, New Hampshire, poem, poems, poetry, Portsmouth, writingCaffeine Engine
Benjamin Jenkins, New England, New Hampshire, poem, poems, poetry, Portsmouth, Throwback Thursday, writingSmoke pours from my crown in the form of conscious thought.
Smoke pours from my lips in the form of a lit cigarette.
Bend in thin alleys and alcoves.
Closed storefronts and bright sparkling coffee shops.
Open the notebook and fall from the world into oblivion.
My mind becomes looped in interest,
In the way graphite melds with the white pulp of paper.
In the forming of the letter O
Clockwise vs. counter.
“Operator- can you help me?”
The Grateful Dead in my ears.
The caffeine in my bloodstream:
Oily and clear as Micah enforced by a blue riverbed.
Hot and black as coal endorsed by a green mermaid.
A vowel is a skeleton key.
There’s a distracting mechanism on the apple wood table.
Named after a fruit.
Named after temptation.
Show me an array of
Faces and undocumented news.
An endless dictionary, thesaurus, and encyclopedia within my pocket.
Keep the Grateful Dead singing American Beauty.
Connect me with voices wherever we stand if I happen across your thoughts.
I feed its electricity
That glow won’t fade away.
The snow begins to swirl brick streets.
The people seek shelter.
Warmth from radiator or alcohol.
Close the notebook, stop drawing letters.
Cap that billowing smoke stack with a black Red Sox hat.
I take advantage of the weather
Move toward work.
The Daisy Field (III/III)
Benjamin Jenkins, life, New England, poem, poems, poetry, Throwback Thursday, writingWe fell from Heaven
And struck every branch
On the way down.
The impact left a crater,
Half the diameter of a New England town.
With no direction I dream
Of rambling on.
Lucidly waking, scrambling for
Planes, trains, or bus.
Filling my hiking bag, hand encompassing a compass.
The Rhetorical Question
Benjamin Jenkins, life, New England, New Hampshire, poem, poems, poetry, Portsmouth, writingIt’s ill education
It’s the pursuit of satisfaction
Comparing cash value
To the subjective flow of time.
The Rolling Bones
Benjamin Jenkins, life, New England, New Hampshire, poem, poems, poetry, Portsmouth, writingTake a chance and
Roll the bones.
Don’t let it build
Until it bursts.
Mow the lawn,
Water the garden,
Get your hair cut,
Sip Lillet Blanc from a chilled cup.
Allow alcohol to touch your lips,
Don’t let it be the reason they move.
