walking in the rain
and i felt my bones growing old
with each drop
witch each step
and the piano plays in my head
oh it plays
just reminding me
when i used to run
instead of crawl
all i wanna do is grab my rope
tie it around the moon
fly around world
so that my eyes fill with its beauty
like the notes of the saxophone
on that night,chilling night
were i saw you sitting in the cafe
drinking out of that cup
and you looked down that cup
looking for something important
maybe you were looking for me?
hoping you saw my reflextion wither delicately
you didn't know i stood outside, as the snow
took me away
with the notes repeating in my head
and my eyes flew
and i run through these woods avoiding
those traps i might fall down
pretending i need to go somewhere
well i kinda do
i just wanna scream in a group of people
out to the stars
NA NANANA NANA NAA
and the stars would come and fall asleep on our cold hearts
dancing with those smiles
of raspberry memories
laughing at our jokes
we end up crying
you'll be watching from your window
wondering why why why
oh i'll just watch smile on by
with my cold fingers leaving marks in the air
traveling through my hair
"just fall asleep in the grass"
i put on a big smile
and fell back
The city is alive, with eyes wide open and flashing signs. The club pulses and saps the city of its class. A step through the doors and you will see. A rush of atmosphere fills your senses. Au’ de cologne and delicate rose powder saturate the air. Waiters in black suits and ties scurry from mister to missus. Tall crystal glasses fizz and sparkle, filled to the brim with sparkling liquid gold.
A creamy, pure music travels across the dance hall. Mr. Saxophone with the curly mustache swings with his band on the stage, gliding through the notes and rhythms. Women gossip and sway to the jazzy sounds, sipping on their drinks. Glittering red dresses and dark tuxedos swing and spin on the waxed mahogany. Beauties shyly adjust their hair, slipping off to the powder room for check- ups. Fine powder and perfume linger in the air around the mirrors. Women giggle and whisper to one another. While just up the stairs, the most prestigious gentlemen laugh heartily, enjoying each other’s company. Spades, hearts, clubs, and diamonds flip and fly across tables, dice click across the counters. The round glass lamps hanging low from the ceiling swing back and forth with the sounds from below.
Mr. Debonair with the dapper, freshly shaven face and slicked black hair eyes the beauty across the room. With her rich red lips and batting lashes, she turns heads. He sets her in his sights. But, in the blink of an eye, she disappears, becoming part of the pool of people. He wedges between twirling guests and suddenly is trapped. The bar tender oozes charisma, catching Mr. Debonair in his sticky trap. To please the tender, he asks for a glass of cold, sweating Coca-Cola. For that is what “in”, it’s 1936! With distraction he listens to Charlie run words across him, but finally stand up and hurries off.
The night lasts only so long. Even the rich must rest. He knows that the Beauty will be snatched before he has a chance, and sets off once again. Women drape themselves across Mr. Debonair’s shoulders, but he simply and politely brushes them off. While yet another glamorous miss touches his chin, soaking him in flirtation, he sees her. Her soft brown hair flashes in the corner, with the delicate abalone shell comb tucked into the back. He pushes past the Prestiges, who eagerly wait to firmly shake his hand, and to speak more business. But she waits. She is one in a million. This is his chance. He finally reaches the corner, where the Beauty quietly stands. He admires her beauty. Her skin is a fair powder, her eyelashes flutter like butterflies. Around her delicate neck lies a fine string of pearls, and her deep blue gown lays fittingly around her. She slowly turns, and for the first time Mr. Debonair and Miss Beauty look one another in the eyes.
There is a strong, undeniable connection. She feels it too, and walks towards him. Without words, he takes her hand gently, and leads her to the ballroom. There in the center of the floor, they dance. Hand in hand, searching one another’s eyes. The smooth jazz and light chalk piano sounds envelope them. Lost with one another. Knowing that once the night ends, it will be all over. But it doesn’t stop them, For it’s 1936, anything can happen.
Recoil from the unclaimed toil
Back-lashing at your Now
events past Elbow forward
muscle through the supernatural blue night's bustle
to you, to you, to you
The zizz of machines
the eager Hums of moonbeams
and train steam
upload pesky echo's live stream
To you, to you, to you.
Discharge the memory burdens
The tomb stones inside
you lug up the flights
to last door's deadbolt on the right
Then Subdivide my pride to tiny bits
Super-collide dustified then broom aside in clouds
,of specks held in new dawn sun beams,
probing through lace curtains and velvet drape seems:
the atom of time, caught in full stride
to you, to you
Our deep core sample of memory
in forgotten ice.
Why, for what? Why? For what?
Why infinity times why plus why.
Between that death and my final breath, I reside.
Living ghost ever ready an endless Snide
Comment hurtling from another time
The finesse of the grand piano captures a certain acceptance of historical bereavement and resonating relief. The paradox of the saxophone is like the stillness of a winter morning where the deer stares into the steamy eyes of humanity with traumatic gaze.
Now, something has just occurred, my connected soul-mate of universal relativity. We have dominant chords and major scales, and we aren’t even puppets or fish.
Visualise the wheat as it sways in the gentle breeze, whilst the rusty pick-up truck races down the gravel roads of Southern enticement.
My porch creaks as the chair of astral projection casually rocks her sincerity back and forth in epistemological fornications.
Is this world
Full of our memories
Or my mind
Full of you
a grumpy cat wandering at night as the hilarious ones u sent in our texts
a friend's dog as Sky that u didn't dare to hit when u played a poor hobo
the penguin on Selfridges' window as your fav one besides elephant n giraffe
the busker playing 'Hey Jude' saxophone as the one u have played for me
a book u wanna write
an African trip u wanna make
an one day 45-TLJ-4 we need to meet wherever u are
and many more i cannot say
Is this world full of u?
Or my mind cannot stop thinking of us?
sweeter than a saxophone
blowin' Tom Traubert's blues
dope as a new telephone
finer than new shoes
cuter than a yearling doe
frolicking in the dew
sharper than a razor's edge
i guess she'll have to do!
i reached into myself today
tried to hide in music with short titles and short stories
only ate candy and sat on my bed criss cross apple sauce with a blanket only over my right knee
thought about learning the fiddle, or the saxophone
it's too hard to get up and get motivated when i'm skipping my classes every chance i get
Low lights, harsh light...
air thick with smoke,
sweat and the scent of sex.
Some guy on a saxophone
wails the blues, baring his soul.
A snare drum, a piano
a bass keeping time.
Written at midnight
with breath and a backbeat...
what it means to be alive...
Do you need more?
this day is a jazz tune
funky beats, hot percussion
laid back guitar bliss
and heavy bass licks
which resonate like life
throw in some high end brass
and a seductive saxophone
and dulcet tones
of impassioned vocals
brought out by
come on, darlin'
to the day!
Everybody claps at different times
in the midnight elegance of “Wine Ohs”
and the bass player hums
at the twitch of the sunken keys
that man who leans back crying a New York cry
and sweet daddy saxophone wailing a New York wail
and they all pale and bow with respect
to the young drummer with bright eyes that nobody knows
and nobody knows where he came from or how old
Who’s soul I remember meeting from Easterly winds
only to find himself on stage with strangers
in a plain of rhythm and ruthless time
in a freedom jazz dance