Blues on Monday.
The cats run to me
for pieces of chicken,
and a little B.B. King.

Blues on Tuesday.
I look in the yard for
rubies, and all I find are
hard-boiled eggs.
Pagans hid them in the
grass during their
Eostre festival.

Blues on Wednesday.
Muddy watered coffee.
I ain't even getting out of
this bed.

Thursday's blues bring
rain and that old
Robert Johnson.
**** the crossroads and
all those poison *******.
Grab Blind Lemon and help
him to the campfire.

Hey, Sonny Boy, get that
mouth harp out and start to
wailing.
Those fat frogs are hopping
around for them snakes at
the Friday barn dance.

Saturday is finally here.
Buddy Guy and
John Lee ****** burning up
that devils note--the flat five.
You know you sold your soul.
Here comes Lightning.

Better take Sunday off, we need
some churching up.
Do some praying before we
all go to hell.

Sit here on this rocky cliff precipice,
Listening to this American woman play with this French orchestra,
Directed by an Italian man,
Jamming out to scraps that were written by a Jewish man in '67,
Making such a beautiful sound wave that bowls me over in it's benediction,
Over and Over,
And Over again,
Carry me to sea and drown me again.

Nothing screams freedom,
- like wild horses
Running in the distance-
The setting sun,
Shining on them,
Reveling their beauty,
I wish to be as free as them,
And I hope to see them one day-
So I can feel that freedom,
Even if only for a short moment

-JJ
18/04/25

I wanna make ****** songs
to sing my poetry
but I can't find any chords
that match my symphony.

So spread your wings
and give me creativity,
cause all I need
is inspiration;
an epiphany.

Play a few chords
on your guitar.
Please,
sing to me.

I’ll always be thankful
for the embrace
your words tuck me in.

Maybe someday,
I’ll be the one behind
the mic
singing
poetry.

A boy frolics in a field of forget-me-nots
to the song in his heart.
Spinning, spinning, spinning…
until he falls in love with the music.

Rolling down hills to rolling up joints
and picking up a guitar.
The music crescendos…
His life has just begun.

The guitar is played daily.
Sitting on the front stoop,
amplifier plugged in—
a concert for the block.

Time continues to tick.
Life is getting hard.
The guitar is forsaken
just when he needs it most.

Making music no longer,
he turns to substance.
Spinning, spinning, spinning
out of control.

He needs the pain
to go away.
Needles at night
and sleep by day.

The man is tired
and lonely
as the endless darkness
inside him.

When the veil between worlds is thinnest
the man slips away
and finally
he finds his peace.

have you ever drank a river?
stretched your lips over it's banks
and ****** everything —
the fishes,
the canoes,
and the boots
that sunk 5 years ago.

I am so thirsty that if I could stretch my mouth
around this planet
and crunch the glaciers,
swallow the oceans,
and breathe in the clouds —

It would not still be enough.

But see what nature did.
It gave me a small mouth
and a mind that believes
that a cupful
is enough.

At the end of the day,
It’s always me and music,
Nothing could ever change it,
Replace it,
For it was my whole world-
Kept it spinning,
Without it,
If could not survive,
Never abandoned me,
Held my heart,
Moved my soul, attached,
I hope to find someone who understands,
Understands like music does,

because music was always there,
The worst times,
The best times,
Even when everything was plummeting ,
Despaired-
It never left me,
My shoulder to cry on,
To understand and comfort,
Like no person would,
When I was left out and alone,
It never left me,
for it is part of me,
So even thought it’s strange,  
I really could not live without my sweet saviour of symphonies

-JJ
17/03/25