Jim Trainer

Archive for the ‘Jim McShea’ Category

The Medium Is My Message

In Activism, art, Being A Writer, Being An Artist, blogging, blues, Buddhism, Charles Bukowski, depression, Fugazi, getting old, getting sober, going for the throat, Henry Rollins, Jim McShea, mental health, mid life, middle age, Music, new journalism, news media, Poetry, published poet, publishing poetry, punk rock, RADIO, recovery, self-help, self-publishing, singer songwriter, singer-songwriter, sober, sobriety, solitude, songwriting, Spoken Word, straight edge, suicide, working class, Writing, writing about writing, WRITING PROCESS on August 24, 2017 at 1:11 pm

Proud and excited to announce this week’s post is featured on Medium!  Please go there and show me some applause (icon of hands clapping at the bottom of, or just beside, the piece).  Feel free to leave a comment, too, so they know we have arrived.

Thanks motherfucker!

 

22/30

In Jim McShea, National Poetry Month, poem, Poetry, THIRTY FOR THIRTY CHALLENGE on April 22, 2015 at 4:50 pm

COUNTDOWN BLUES

I keep a # by your name
it gets smaller every day
feeling like Kevin James
“glad I left L.A.”
my days are coffee, nicotine
the purple off a grackle wing
I covet your death
&pass the hours
burning hearts
out of
playing cards
I got a witchy woman
lives out in Telluride
she keeps your photo framed
in a wreath of smoke&knives
gonna take it to the streets
and sink into the dusk
with a pair of black shades
and a bulletproof flask
I keep a # by your name
it gets smaller every day

17/30

In Charles Bukowski, Jim McShea, poem, Poetry, THIRTY FOR THIRTY CHALLENGE, WRITER'S BLOCK, Writing on April 17, 2015 at 3:16 pm

BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE 30 FOR 30 CHALLENGE

contests have nothing to do with poetry
and confessional poetry is a very hard dollar
great poetry is born of great consequence
but often comes to none
Hank said great poetry’s got blood in it
so tell me, who bleeds on command?
your praise has been encouraging
and I appreciate it
truly
it’s good to know you’re out there
while I panhandle the muse
suffer 30 deadlines
and blow smoke in the face
of the inner critic.

untitled poem found in a warehouse

In Jim McShea on February 19, 2011 at 10:52 pm

Fear not the aching dividedness,
the collision of the Kings and Queens,
the shimmer of the seasons shooting by.

by Jim McShea

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