Most Precious Poems

By Kavon Jones

Kavon Jones graduated from Riverside University High School, class of 2013. He has performed his poetry more than 20 times at Alverno College, Marquette University, UWM,Downtown Books, and Milwaukee City Hall. He competed in the Brave New Voices competition in Philadelphia 2014. In addition, he has been helping to host The Miramar Tuesday Open Mic for more than a year.

“Frida Kahlo(Brown Iz Beautiful)”

This poem is to honor STITCH Milwaukee,
the Brown Iz Beautiful celebration,
Women’s Month, and my affiliation with the Mexican-American community.

‘’“My feminism is humanism, with the weakest being those who I represent,
and that includes many beings and life forms, including some men.”’‘ -Sandra Cisneros

Age eighteen after meandering around downtown Mexico City
a horrible bus accident to Coyoacan severed your reproductive anatomy
Left your Mayan caramelized shape in a full body cast
You became a mannequin cloth in precious time
When you attempted to have a kid he came out in bloody limbs
Hospital bed bound you painted a portrait of your decease son pickled in a jar
Your paintings were Sandra Cisnero’s poetry SPLATTERED on a canvas
Hardship and tears bled from your brush bristles
Your ungrateful husband was probably out humping harlots as you were in pain
He was probably out sticking his dirty thorn in a sewage rose

Which makes me wonder… What the hell did you see in Diego Rivera?
His stomach was a great BIG PUMPKIN
His face sagged like breasts of the naked models he fornicated with
He was a more grotesque womanizer than Pablo Picasso and his
promiscuous pussy willows
My poetry matriarch Angela told me…
It was all about the mind, it was all about the art…”
Still I wonder… Why the HELL did you REMARRY HIM?!

My freshman French teacher told me you had a lesbian love affair
with Wisconsin Native painter, Georgia O’Keeffe
She was a painter of New Mexican landscapes and cool colored flowers
which strangely looked like the vaginal structure
It made me more attracted to your art for some awkward reason
How you two probably held hands under a melting copper sun
caught drips of liquefied metallic honey
How probably at least once you bit into Georgia’s saliva glazed lips
like a Georgia peach

How you’d mistake a pair of melones for your chi-chis
How you kissed your obese husband… Diego …good as intoxicated bonitas
in burlesque bars
The bars only got burlesque when brown liquor started
to look and taste like apple juice
You barely showed any skin, but remain more attractive than
low self-esteem females who post their buttocks on social media
Those are women only good for Facebook likes, never good as a wife
By the sexy objectification of women on television
because I am a man my hormones are always victimized
Still, I know how to choose a brown woman like you Frida
over a Whitewashed Marilyn Monroe

Monroe is nothing but a petrified sex symbol on Hollywood’s mantle
Andy Warhol took Polaroid pictures of her and colorized her
immoral ways onto mainstream
She was murdered in 1962
John F. Kennedy was assassinated the year after
I wonder…When they got in heaven did they rekindle their sacred love affair?
Frida, you are an unforgettable feminist idolized by Black and Brown girls
You are part of reason why some White girls try so hard to get perfect tans

I’ve always wondered… Why do some colored sistahs dye their hair blond?
I mean…they look beautiful with the Paris Hilton look
Their beauty would look more natural if they let the Aztecs and Africans
in them stay conspicuous

A televised psychological carnage is the reason why some teen
colored girls have Caucasianized looks
Blue contact lenses and thick shades of make-up to lighten their pigmentation
Frida, you are teaching girls how even though Eve came from
Adam’s rib, Adam came from a woman’s uterus

Your heavily free and cross dressing ways made you a daredevilish damsel
an angelic anarchist with a bloody paintbrush
I bet in heaven you sleep in a casket of ravenous rattlesnakes
so you can maybe know what dying TWICE would feel like
They wrap around your calmly lying body
around your antsy ankles, around your skinny wrists
your hickey covered NECK
leave bloody teeth marks on your BREASTS
They wrap around your thick inner thighs
crawl their heads pass your fractured genitals
and lick their slimy V-shaped tongues at your navel

My internal self with skull-faced black spray cans
spray painted a portrait of you on my mind’s concrete walls
You are boxed in a rectangular frame studded with crimson poppies
Face shown, head wrapped in a blue rebozo
Your black caterpillar unibrow is no more
It’s a monarch butterfly sitting on your tenuous index finger
At the bottom reads July 6th, 1907 ‘til infinity

Frida, you are one of the immortalized reasons we can say “Brown Iz Beautiful”-


“Paris of the Midwest”

I had writer’s block for three days
My notebook hadn’t felt the fingertips of a finish poem
caress its pages for seventy two hours
It was mental torture as emerald serpent mornings
boa constricted around those purple Phoenix nights
Those abstract colored beasts were the symbolism of my
time of day

I was wonder lusted
My lust to wonder was lavender as the naked lights
I saw when I closed my eyes
I wondered downtown and climbed to the top of the
U.S Bank building…
feet dangling…
The sky was a purplish-blue quilt on my shoulders
The moon wore a big Wisconsin cheese smile
I could see the entire city from that height
probably even as far as Lambeau Field… if I had my glasses

I sat…
I wrote…
I scribbled…
I ripped pages out of writer’s block syndrome
A perpetual headache THROBBED
It felt like an anvil was DROPPED on my head
It slowly went away
with a seldom felt June breeze
I let sights of the city take my breath away

I saw an inundation of cars on Wisconsin Avenue
epitome of New York’s Time Square streets
Blacks and Germans were leaving out the eastside pubs, taverns,
and eateries, intoxicated and standing cross-legged
St. Patrick’s Day is the greatest night to binge
Budweiser, Blatz, Miller, Blue Ribbon, Heineken
golden brown and bubbly in their cups

I saw bikers in their black polyester tights cycling down
the Oak Leaf Trail
A single white light flashing in front of their rear wheels
Beachgoers in flimsy bikinis and Hawaiian swim shorts at the North Point Pub
rears seated on outside umbrella tables
slicing their tongues down frozen custard on a cone

I saw Oakland Avenue…
Thrift store hippies were coming out the Goodwill
the thin aroma of artificial cheesed pizza from Little Caesars
the smell of brilliantly cooked and seasoned, lamb meat
was coming out the Oakland Gyros restaurant
I heard talented guitarists and ambitious slam poets
doing their thing in the Miramar Theater
Mother Nature’s daughter… Sandy, flashed the light
signifying the start of a new performance
Bliss the performers gain to get a CD audio recording
two dollars cost

The nostalgia I gained when I saw the past four years of my life
embodied in one building…Riverside High
A palace
A castle
A kingdom by the city named river
Unwritten memories, two faced faces of so called friends
The days of room 321 and 317, Mr. Moga poetry club days
give me mental tears
I asked God for a panacea ‘cause I am allergic to nostalgia
It literally takes my breath away
I had breathed once more when I looked at my beautiful
home city downtown lights

I can honestly say Crème City you are the Paris of the Midwest
If your arch-nemesis Chicago has something to say about it…
Call up some Packers fans to tee-pee its Sears… uhhh I mean Willis Towers
with rolls of cheese
I’ll take your cheese curds over a Chi-town style hot dog any day
Your smooth sailing Marquette Interchange gripping Harleys
give you more Motown than the Motor City of Detroit

Henry Ford’s trucks are mediocre to your motorcycles
You put the SLAM in my poetry…
You put the SLAM in this poem…
I feel like a million-walking when I walk your streets
I love you, Milwaukee-


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Last edited by Tyler Schuster.   Page last modified on September 27, 2014

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