I can't play no saxophone
but I can hear it played.
Sometimes it's a lady sighin;
sometimes it's a workin man.
But when it is an orphan cryin
I wish I could hold that child
I can't hold that child
in these dirty hands of mine.
I can't stop his cryin.
I can hear it way down here
on the sidewalks of the streets he's a child of.
Why, Lord, can I hear that saxophone
but never play?
Every noise he makes
every screetching noise he plays.
Louder and louder
i cover my ears.
I close my eyes tight
and think happy thoughts.
Its too loud i said.
All i want is for it to stop.
I cry every note he plays.
I want to bang my head
against the hard ground.
I want to see the blood flow out
as he plays his song.
It hurts to think
i cant even finish this poem.
It becomes more and more loud
even his song cries out for help.
We been through so much
even beaten by a clutch.
Although he plays till night
i am still in fright.
The concert was about to finish ..
And now it's her turn ..
With her instrument ..
With her golden saxophone ..
The lights were diminished ..
And she started playing her favorite musical note ..
With her heart that is full of feelings ..
And her closed eyes ..
In her special world ..
The air goes out from her lungs softly like tears ..
And the great audience feels every tone ..
She doesn’t see them ..
She doesn’t hear their clap ..
Only his soul that is around ..
And Only his voice that is heard ..
Then his beautiful smile ..
With tears in his eyes , He said ''You're the best''
Then she looked at her saxophone ..
And remembered years ago ..
At one of their nights ..
During one of their phone calls ..
- You know babe , I adore the Saxophone ..
- Really ?
- Yeah , it's my favorite instrument ..
- Hold on ..
- What's this noise around you ?
- Nothing just my family ..
- Hmmm , didn't they sleep ?
- No , gonna call you after sometime ..
- Ok no problem ..
And after sometime he called her back ..
- Now tell me what will you do when you get a saxophone ..
- Haha , I really don't know but I've never thought about having one before ..
As they used to do , He started telling her a story before sleeping ..
She doesn't care about any stories ..
She just loves listening to his voice ..
She stays silent ..
To listen and feel ..
Every single word ..
And while listening , The call was over ..
She did a call again and again ..
No answer ..
She called his home ..
No answer ..
Again and again ..
No answer ..
The phone was ringing away from his sleeping house ..
Without his family noise that didn't exist ..
Among a lot of people ..
In his crushed car ..
Between his dead body ..
That New Golden Saxophone
I saw you there
And the neon signs and your tears
Reflected in your irises
Made you more beautiful
And the alcoholic haze made me believe
If just one night could work
You could come with me
We could have our happy ending
We could leave this life and place
And your dress bloody from engineers schemes
And I love that forgotten woman
More than the orange trees and John
But for our child she gave her life
And I still love her
That Vietnam Bride
When the wood touches
my whole body trembles--
triplet trebles drip quickly
In my head,
I sound nothing
like the spheres surrounding
the guitar's melancholy,
mellow below comes above
and I WAIL.....
sailing these sounds
swaddling the drumbox beat
to a crescendo
exercising all the ills
I've swilled and spilled--
FILLING my self....
radiating away all thoughts
a reminder of the Bird 'Tranes
a reminder of the names
I used to sing......
seems like such a foreign concept again.
Anne and I were walking
down in the country
when we saw a lake
and a frog at its edge
“Ladies,” it croaked
“Will one of you give me a kiss? –
I was a fantastic saxophone player
and a country witch turned me
into a green frog”
I knelt down and picked up the frog
and threw him in my pocket
and buttoned up
so the creature couldn’t escape
and I resumed walking
“Sue,” said Anne to me
“Are you nuts?
The frog said it’ll turn
into a fantastic saxophone player -
so why don’t you or I kiss it?”
“Anne,” I replied,
“it’s you who's nuts
We’d make more money
with a talking frog anytime
than with a saxophone dummy”
It's summertime. The saxophone jazz
sounds are pirouettetting the waves
to find their own balance. It's a mauve
inner dance in almost everything around.
More exactly, the melodious movable
sounds become soundable movement
needing a reverberation time to dissipate
the energy. The movement releases its own
purity to become simple fecundity. The pulsed
sound waves are also old memories lost in the
natural green. The saxophone looks much
more like a Tahitian prince dancing his love
on the sand. The singing mauve sea waves
have a sadness taste at sunset. The last one
is a watery mermaid and he embraces her
while searching the high. The sounds need
touch and life. They need to dematerialize
and to disappear into the universe. The
saxophone remains a solitaire keeping
safe his evanescent hermetic equilibrium.