Although Mike’s poetry style is mostly inspired by the Beats of the 50’s, his influences are far-ranging including Walt Whitman, Wallace Stevens, Frank O’Hara, and Jane Kenyon. You can read his work here on this site, and he also updates and revises regularly on Instagram at @jasspoet.

Just starting out posting my poems here, many more to come.

  • Doin’ the Dystopian (pt.III, Permission to Hide)

    May 10, 2020 by

    Miss Mary curls up beside me sleeping(or pretending, likely she’s had enoughof me) onthis day if for now,if I can postpone the remote/flatscream chnl.46, put off foranother hour or threethe madness, ourdaily death march juxtaposedwith an OrangeMan lying to us allthrough goggles-no-mask having justbeen served a McMuffin by a suddenlyill valet, if I can do… Read more

  • When You Could

    May 2, 2020 by

    I Today, remembering pre-virus models and math, this was sixyears ago following anothersix years preceded by anothersix when I got to hug you,after all that time and gazillionlong-dried tears and ina silly franchiserestaurant, of all places. Huggedyou, before I could change my mindor couldn’t, wouldn’t. Was thispreferable toraging crying hatingwhat I was still incapable ofnot… Read more

  • The Other King of New Orleans

    March 23, 2020 by

    Sidney Bechet, grandson of Omar, aslave murdered because he was a slaveback in OldNewOrleans, later on Sidney Bechetmight’ve been the other king of New Orleansbut there was Louis and room for onlyone such king here then. So inParis Bechet found both loyalty &royalty & was dulycrowned. Sidney Bechet called all nonclassical music ragtime.Whatever it was,… Read more

  • soaring on some early autumn sunday mornings

    March 23, 2020 by

    my bicycle it was a taxiwhizzing up and down and around mystreet from one empty driveway tothe next. driver,me: boyfella i was,chasing down fare afterfare, wind whistles in my ears andnow i know the whistling’s alsomaples and weepingwillows but wait, the whistling!: mypassengers all vying for a ride, aride fromme to somesomewhere, flagging me down,… Read more

  • Poem for Pee Wee Russell

    March 19, 2020 by

    Ah Pee Wee Russelldirtiest clarinet in townjass-writers back then all crankyclamoring for the Dorseys or hellanything more diluted than this,anything cleaner neater spiffierwasNOT you, so what’d you do? Youblew it up their stiffassesman they just didn’t get withyour wrinkled suits yourcodeine twitch, if you’d beenblack might’ve condescended suchearthy attack but a twitchin’white man sounds like… Read more

  • diner, drizzling

    April 1, 2019 by

    1)I arrived here notebook in handfrom the cool drizzle outside inhopes of unclogging a stanza or two from an unfinished poem. thewaitress who brought my coffee said “ok hun” on cue cuz that’s what most waitresses in diners seem to do, and she was keeping her end of the bargain, but I wasn’t, looking but… Read more

  • GONE FROM GIT-GO (free to a good home!)

    March 1, 2019 by

    Say, in baseball I’m the starting pitcher but by the third inning it’s obvious I don’t have my good stuff today, they’d call the bullpen and get someone else ready yes a bummer but that’s baseball, and redemption’s quite possible only five daysahead, or, closer to real not mythical Mets-me, say,my solo on 2nd tune,… Read more

  • (sometimes can be a great notion)…

    September 1, 2018 by

    call this place what you will but here even long-gone cats & turtles riffing along on shores of peachy peyote pebbles & a bessie smith greets a jimi from a more-way-else-outta-there red or gin house for ever delicious this fever & hey jimi! it’s ok, little wings gonna take you to peachypeyotepebble shores, & brand-new… Read more

  • that late afternoon into an earlier us

    November 1, 2017 by

    That late summer afternoon intoan earlier us, perhaps your first surprise visit when you jumped me and pinned me down with your salty skin and poise, mauled me with your mischievous eyes before branding me with your witha-wink dig-my lusciousgirrlstink, your mighty molecules molesting the room with not much molecular space set aside for me… Read more


    July 1, 2015 by

    lightning cracks the sky. she inhales then chokes on first raindrops, resurfaces and gasps. she’s maybe 68 inches and 110 lbs of black coffee and cigarettes and, streaks of purple popsicle flames shout through her thick black bangs, hanging heavy over this sworn2b-blank2day face. like a tired but testy young panther, testing, pawing the fresh… Read more

  • what didn’t cousin leslie know and when didn’t she know it?

    June 1, 2006 by

    sucking on her cig in an early 60’s english-lit-meets Connie Francis cha-cha fashion, my cousin leslie, the first teen legit in the family, she even brought over a BOYFRIEND!, skinny, had frankie avalon hair but worse he wore a creepy tie ANYhow, i think he looked at me funny when i crawled under my blankies… Read more

  • Mom’s Place (for Mom)

    November 1, 2004 by

    In your apartment, an endlesshodgepodge of opened books and magazines and articles, all duly noted, highlighted and clippedfor some special time, place, or person. “Whatever will I do with this mess?”you lament, and yes, the funny thing is insome funny way, it all does matter. Take note: no worthy thing orone will be slighted oroverlooked,… Read more

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