(Unfinished) Business, by Jeff Glovsky, Poetry, Works in Progress, Writing

(Miss) Her

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There is nothing that I’m able to say.  That’s what’s sad.

Left unheard.  Stay unsaid.

What’s the point?

Remain dead.

Jeff Glovsky Too Soon

“Too Soon”, ©Jeff Glovsky

Walking aimlessly down Broadway,


down past church and funeral pyre,


GravesYard by Jeff Glovsky

(unfinished business)
by Jeff Glovsky
(Unfinished) Business, by Jeff Glovsky, Works in Progress, Writing

The Good People of 23rd Street

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* * *

Four A.M.

Fellatial solace … Gloved in blowjob hands of peace.  My streets are live, they pulse in code!  With secret winks and messages which say they’re only dozing … ’cause Manhattan never sleeps, of course, but rests sometimes like I can’t.

Away downtown, my Christ Times Square!  I’m photographing homeless people … Hungry, pissed-off, out there types and heinous Zero Overpaids (the problems and solutions which extinct each other daily).  And the sex and drugs and nightlife crawling bat-like into slumber, as the morning breeze begins to hum and day begins to blow …

Down further still, Sixth Avenue, the flower shops are singing.  Winking wide and hurling deft, stout orders all about … There’s trucks and vans a-hum and squeaking … racist, pig-thunk news shows splitting wounded, AM air … and garbage trucks and window men, and newspaper delivery vans.

A breakfast cart still further down, a little queue of mendicants:  it pants, and wants its daily bread.  A giant box of rolls is rent, a bag of bagels buttered …

There’s clouded, waking sky for contrast, sunning up these bloodshot souls …

I’m safe and all at home here, wizened friend to their old scene.

(night) notes from CENTRAL PARK

by Jeff Glovsky

more Word(s) in Progress
Compendium: Selections from
Underwear Woman Digs the Sea

contact Jeff Glovsky

by Jeff Glovsky, Poetry, Works in Progress, Writing


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No Babies

Jeff Glovsky / Photo of Jglo

* * *

I’ll start it!  I’ll start the dance!

Fish twist and wish

to be connected.  Primal

tappings into something longing

as the two of us.

Sustained piss shiver, poison throat,

and need.  Quake, flop

and sway a little…Heed the drum

and feed the Hunger flaming

up your Soul …

by Jeff Glovsky


I threw a Poem

and no one came …


At the beginning of January,  I posted a few unfinished Random Poetix, and invited participation in adding a line or two.  Though a few of you “liked” this, I only heard silence … There was not one WordSpeak-ing …

So I’ve added my own lines … I play with myself!

* * *

doodle, doodle #1)

certitudes, loud ‘certainties’,

across love covered, self-righteous

breakfast tables

you and I fornever



I’ve woke up broke


but not broken


broken promises,

furious eyes


In the slice knife that is

A.M., I cut through

to get my things done

Cross Raspail, boulevard Leclerc

I fax a note to dear old Dad …

* * *

Feel free to contribute still …


Always be a poet, even in prose.

– Charles Baudelaire

(Unfinished) Business, by Jeff Glovsky, Poetry, Works in Progress

Quick Ones (While She’s Away)

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doodles and sketches

In the least green, meanest

streets of the city, trees

preen, praying for


I remember the hugs I

used to give her;


the love

we would shudder and

be in

Still feel

the warmth of

her body and sighs;

still drown, when

I tap my mind’s eye, in

her eyes

Together is how I still wish

to remain

with, inside, her.


is unbearable


more Random Poetix in the Members Lounge;
and other unfinished business

by Jeff Glovsky
by Jeff Glovsky, Works in Progress, Writing

‘R’ You … ?

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ripped from ...

Ripe Delicious

 by Jeff Glovsky

Taste her squirming, nighttime, on that park bench, midtown Broadway.  Like her spice sweet happy smile, bright young laughing, birdlike eyes and hair all wild, like a porno morning after, or a teenager.

She’s 21.

* * *

Apple ripe and bursting wide tight seams, once secret places…and I’ve tasted.  Like the greatest hearts and tongues of her g-generation…

I’m The Who.  She’s heard of Paul McCartney once, or maybe…She’s a baby!

My grey nose hairs twitch.

* * *

Like two ships crashing down round the tip of an iceberg; meeting by chance in a hot summer rain, neither having umbrellas…Sharing some pain, laughter, loneliness…Nuns at a conjugal supper.

…Not sure what that means …

read all of
Ripe, Delicious

 ripped from ...

Round Trip

by Jeff Glovsky

Palm stretched over, purple leotard, and hair, blue-black and wine-drunk like the lips we bit and sucked on…Legs up, back against that fenced off lot near Soutine’s, off Columbus; legs a ripe mélange of ass and ocean…Panties in my teeth and spitting hair from out my nostrils.

* * *

In Buchs, in Switzerland, repeat the scene, but this time it’s a phone booth. We play Superman, and spin around and turn each other out…The Alpines ring us like disease; emasculate our selflessness, elaborate our flaws…

It’s cold here. 

* * *

New York, you come again…We come.  And meet again, and then…we shudder, coughing, roaring at the small joke of the world.

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Round Trip

ripped from ...

Remember(ing) Laughter

 by Jeff Glovsky

When my dad turned 50 years old, he did a little ‘river dance‘ on his birthday cake.

* * *

Stamping like a person one-tenth his age in the frosting, and crushing “5” and “0” candles beneath his still shoe-clad feet, he ceased misbehaving only when my mom burst, literally, Lucille Ball-like into tears.

* * *

My friend Mike and I had been arguing that day over which of us was going to be Hawkeye Pierce … and more importantly, which one of us was going to go downstairs and eat birthday cake wearing the dirty bathrobe my brother and I had laying around the floor of our bedroom?

* * *

Just then, my brother (Major Winchester) burst in.  “Dad smashed his birthday cake on the floor!”

I didn’t hear what he said at first — flailing, in a headlock, as I was — but eventually, as the words sank in — and as my best friend Mike released his grip — I realized that neither of us would be needing the bathrobe …

There wasn’t any birthday cake to be eaten!

read all of
Remember(ing) Laughter


Photo of Jglo - Jeff Glovsky laugh

Pieces of 'H' / 'R' You ... ?
Members Lounge: some Random Poetix

by Jeff Glovsky