Poetry By Jonathan A. Bloom

Return To Manhood

Sunlight speckles the woods
The cat plays in the birdbath
One sock lost in the dryer
Appeared in the cupboard
Next to the coffee
 
Your heart
                                     loves me
Your makeup
                                     mocks me
Your long legs
                                     taunt me
 
I never dress to your satisfaction
 
If all the empty bottles broke into diamonds
I would ask for your hand
 
In my isolation
I pray for change
To emerge beautiful for you
 
Not a coward
                                       nor a death mask
 
Not an empty shell in the sand
Washed up
Filled with the echos of life
All but my own
 
So many are out there
 
I just want to play in the birdbath
Walk through a sun splattered forest
Know where my clothes are
Love life again
Love you again
And return to manhood
 




Beyond Polarity
 
She disappeared into her cigarette
 
returning only to say
she was leaving
 
her medication got mixed
her eyes were slits
she just wanted to drive and
listen to music
 
almost got into three accidents today
she said
 
feeling better now
 
the mixing was unintentional
she felt guilty
for enjoying the feeling
 
a beautiful young girl
at peace
behind the meds
 
slipping out of reach
like smoke through a keyhole
I couldn’t hold on to her
and finally stopped trying
 
her taillights dimmed
as she vanished
into another adventure
on a mountain road
 
beyond polarity
 




A Good Drunk

I could have been a good drunk
Sitting at home
in the middle of the afternoon
Rubbing my balls
 
Fantasizing about past loves
Not praying for forgiveness
And not making much sense
 
I could have been a good drunk
Sleeping through the bird calls
And mumbling and stumbling
over the railroad tracks to get more
 
I could have been a good drunk
To the prostitutes and lost dogs
A repeater to the cops
A nuisance to the neighbors
 
Empty bottles piled at the back door
Broken glass, vomit, and soiled shorts
 
I could have been a good drunk
Not caring and cursing the day
Not hearing the laughter
 
Or my doctor
 
Or the train
 




Jumping Away
 
He jumped away
from the moon
---
with the pigeons
and the tides
---
to rest like a flower
---
on the sidewalk
---
in the sun





There Was a Boy Laying

There was a boy laying
where no boy should lay,
a young girl stood by his side,
sobbing and wailing
feeling what no girl should feel
 
we all died a little that week,
but the young boy
sleeping in the box,
died more than the rest of us,
 
he was her first true love, she said
and she never left his side,
never stopped touching him,
talking to him, or mourning him
 
she stared at a photograph,
then placed it in the casket,
the casket was placed in a vault,
the vault was lowered slowly
into the earth,
the young girl wailed and cried,
 
in this unthinkable moment
of horrors and lies
 
this young girl’s love
was the most beautiful thing
I had ever seen





Broken Mirrors
(For Charles)

he was brilliant and
glamorous as a gutter
he read everything
drank and fought
in alleys
poetry oozed from him
as naturally as
blood seaping from a wound
 
he’s disgusting and violent
always thirsty
and stained with the tar
of his own breath
 
thriving in that place
where others fall to
in disgrace
 
I can depend on him
for broken mirrors and anger
and viscera and I cringe
 
compelled
to read and read and read
because of my similarity
to him

​

Bio: Mr. Jonathan A. Bloom is a retired archaeologist living one day at a time in Atlanta, Georgia. He is a musician, writer, and actor. He plays flute, harmonica, penny whistle, and pan flute with various local musicians. He writes short stories and poetry as the spirits (or demons) move him.  Mr. Bloom studies acting and has been cast in several short films.

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