To the great poem I may one day compose  
I know you’re lingering around somewhere close  
You won’t reveal yourself until the time is right  
So I keep you in mind expecting your light  
  
And once your inspiration comes to my heart  
I will craft you like the most reverent piece of art  
Weaving words and expressions that say it all  
When a lifetime of memories begs the call  
  
But if the words don’t come to me just like I said…  
I will recite them in free verse from my deathbed instead

It slowly creeps in the shadows undetected
All the while everything on the surface seems fine
Even as the body fights it becomes subjected
To something sinister that at first seemed so benign

The fatal disease then spreads quickly without control
Destroying and consuming everything in its path
Even though warning signs may whisper it to the soul
The mind doesn’t want to realize it or do the math

The victim becomes brittle at the core, to the bone
Not realizing what it’s done until it’s too late
And all the medicine won’t help because they are prone
To the laws of nature and spirit as they lie in wait

In society the therapy for hate should be love
Compassion and empathy can be infused to endure
For in the final days those who ignored will not get rid of
The pain of wasted time when they could’ve found a cure

It’s the summer of 1937  
Gertrude is only fourteen  
She and her older sister sneak out of the house  
And Gertrude’s eyes have that certain gleam  
  
She’s mesmerized by the big city lights  
It’s something they’ve never seen  
They go into a club to see Benny Goodman  
As the big jazz band plays Sing, Sing, Sing  
  
-      -      -  
  
Henry has just turned twenty-five  
He and his friends go to see Cab Calloway  
They dance having the time of their lives  
Jumping and jiving celebrating his birthday  
  
Drinks and libations, it’s a celebration  
Henry and his friends are enjoying the show  
Cab on stage sings “hidee, hidee, hidee, hi”  
And everyone replies “hidee, hidee, hidee **”  
  
It’s the fall of ‘51  
  
-      -      -  
  
Sylvia lowers the needle on to the record  
Seeing Duke’s name go around and around  
And the piano starts with a pretty rhythm  
Then the band joins with a big wall of sound  
  
The records starts with it don’t mean a thing  
Sylvia is dancing by herself in the living room  
The eighteen-year-old gives it a good swing  
Sylvia is dancing by herself with a broom  
  
Spring 1946  
  
-      -      -  
  
Roger and his friends have a free weekend  
They hear Glenn Miller is in the neighborhood  
So they take a cab to a jazz club downtown  
And you guessed it, they were in the mood  
  
Inside the club Roger sees a beautiful brunette  
He knew he’d remember this for the rest of his life  
Summoning some courage he asks her to dance  
That was the night Roger met his wife  
  
May 1st, 1944  
A week later he went off to fight in the war  
  
-      -      -  
  
Oh to dance  
To romance  
To take a chance and be young forever  
To have those moments frozen in time  
To have them resurface from the darkness  
To have them move and groove again,
it’s divine…  
  
Henry cries remembering that night  
Sylvia recalls dancing all alone  
Gertrude’s eyes gleam, lucid once again  
And Roger knew he’d make it back home  
  
The nurse smiles as she plays another song  
The iPods are filled with a big jazz catalog
Memories seems to come flooding back  
Temporarily lifting dementia’s fog  
.  
.  
.  
That’s the power of music

Snitches, snitches get stitches  
They’ll say whatever it takes to get out of deep ditches  
They’ll talk about whoever they can and rat out  
It’s a blame game for them when they're trying to chase clout  
  
Snitches will sing like a canary up and down the scale  
They will tell the tale like their loyalty is up for sale  
They have no allegiance when it comes to their squad  
Blabbing on just about everyone and swear on God  
  
Snitches will leak their business without hesitation  
Then they’ll cover their own ***** to avoid incarceration  
But to the criminal element they'll be known as traitors  
Even if they participated, they’ll point out perpetrators  
  
Snitches run their mouths like it’s a hearty party cheer  
It’s as if squealing feels so appealing for everyone to hear  
They will play **** in the streets and try to act hard  
But might get what’s coming to them if they’re out in the yard  
  
Snitches, snitches get stitches when they talk too much  
Jumping in getting in and out of trouble like it’s double Dutch  
They can’t keep a secret when it comes to their crimes  
Spilling the beans in court because they’re afraid to do time

In some way, no matter how bad things got or how low I’d get
For some reason it felt like I hadn’t hit rock bottom yet
My premonition told me there was one more bullet to take
So I bit it, jumped in the flame and put it all at stake

But I paid dearly, nearly lost my sanity dealing with it
I looked for signs and some other guidelines to help me get through
While I was fighting depression writing made an impression
Like deep cuts spilling my guts on paper gave me a new view

I liked letting the ink bleed from my pen again and again
Shining a bright light on the deepest recesses of my mind
I mined for wisdom and truth no matter how tough, rough or smooth
And the poetry offered reflection, insightful and kind

The freedoms in expression became my therapy sessions
Throwing up rhymes in dark times opened more opportunities
So I put ire fire in verses versus the spells and curses
Fully immersed in a world of endless possibilities

They say she descended after one summer storm
Like a pretty reverie arched right out of the blue
With eyes so expressive as if they whispered secrets
That men were entranced by that delightful hue

Some say she emerged from the sea late after dusk
A balance of dark and light that nature surely dyes
Designed and crafted by the hand of a divine being
Because the ocean depths were captured in her eyes

Others will tell you she rose from a field of flowers
As if the flora had tinted her windows to the soul
Bearing a delicate semblance of love and mystery
Like art captivating hearts so beautiful and bold

But…

It was I who witnessed her sliding down a rainbow
On a spectrum of imagination where fantasies go
In a stream somewhere between violet and blue
In a winged surreal dream of a girl named Indigo

“Pay the toll” the old bald troll told me,
“Or else suffer the consequences if you don’t”,
So lo and behold I had gold to pay his fee,
But then I asked “what happens if I won’t?”

So the old troll strolled back and forth hotly,
His nostrils flared like he was about to strike,
“You’re a bold soul for talking to me like this…
Roll on out of here or I’ll put you on a spike”.

“No I won’t go” I said “my home is this way,
I’m not paying a toll so stop harassing me”
The troll stood tall with all his meanness,
But I stood my ground scorching and angry.

“Then I’ll tear you to pieces and eat you,
I’ll take the other half home for my fridge,
I’ll feed myself for days with your remains,
But you’re not going to cross my bridge”.

“This isn’t your bridge you old mold” I said,
“The villagers built this justly and rightly,
But if you’re going lay claim to this crossing,
Then put up your dukes and fight me!”

“You don’t know the strength of a troll” he yelled,
“I don’t give a ****” I answered screaming madly,
“Then you’ll suffer a horrible painful death” he said,
But I replied “Not before I kick your *** so gladly”.

Then I remembered all the *** I drunk,
I’m a little guy and he’s as big as a tree trunk,
And what was in the tobacco pipe I smoked?
I felt invincible but look what I provoked.

Just then my special stash fell out of my back pocket,
He stopped dead cold in his tracks trying to comprehend,
We looked at each other and without a word being said...
The troll and I smoked a whole bowl and became friends.

The End.