"bluesman" poems
Bottom feeders flourish
When the economy's a bust
When bad times are the norm
And good times turn to dust
When neighborhoods go south it's sad
But a sign of their demise
Is when a bunch of pawn shops open up
Before your very eyes
When stores close down or move on out
After years in the same place
Their memory is a radar blip
They leave without a trace
But as fast as they lock up their doors
Another shop moves in
It's the local pawn shop dealer
He's a shark without a fin
Like dollar stores and boarded doors
The pawn shop shows the way
That business has moved on out
Or closed or moved away
They prey on peoples hardship
They broker deals without a care
They don't need to know your history
They just know that you're there
The street has three new pawn shops
Palaces of buy back stuff
It's bad when there is one around
But, three...well that's enough
One opened by the Jeweller
Two doors down across the street
Now he's buying up possessions
Of everyone he meets
Folks who purchased jewellery
From Old Cy at his old store
For each twenty of it's value
The pawn shop gives you four
Cy can't afford to buy back
He doesn't have much money left
And besides his store insurance
Doesn't cover much for theft
The people at the Pawn shops
Took jobs and live in town
They trained two counties over
They succeed when times are down
It's a sign of the recession
Downtown dies and fades away
And then the bottom feeders surface
Their the ones who're gonna stay
You can look in the shop windows
Know who bought what and from where
You know the candlesticks were bought at Cy's
And you know who bought them there
The guitar that hangs beside them
That was pawned by Emma Rose
She needed money for the bills
When the fresh fish plant had closed
There's a snapshot of the township
Sitting inside on their walls
They pawn shop is successful
While the economy still falls
You can see a piece and start to cry
For you know just why it's there
There's no one here to help them
There's no jobs and it's not fair
They open up each morning
While the nights dregs still sleep outside
They have done two hours business
Before lights on at Cy's
It's a sad and constant story
Of just what a town's become
But when asked if they've been in there
The inhabitants go "mumb"
They never seem to close up
The town's never make it back
While most places lose money
Pawn shops make it by the sack
The bluesman has some stuff there
The bartender has some too
Even though her bar's still going
She did what she had to do
The street, it is it's own world
Jewelly shops, banks and bars
But inside the local pawn shops
Are hidden all the scars.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 7:54 PM UTC
On Christmas Eve, the street was dead
Most folks were home or gone
The buildings all were empty
That is, except for one
Gianni kept the lights on
As he did most every night
To let the people of the street
Know that everything's all right
Gianni's was a haven
A safe house for the street
The residents were welcome
And there was always a free seat
On Christmas Eve, though magic...
would take place inside the back
For each Christmas Eve at midnight
They'd get more than Santa with his sack
Precisely at the hour
When Christmas Day became the date
The house lights dimmed just slightly
As if by magic, or by fate
There on stage with Gianni
Sat the Bluesman and a band
Some only played this concert
It was the best one in the land
Hymns and Christmas carols
Sung like angelic odes of joy
And as always ...there's the Bluesman
Smiling, looking just a little coy
You never knew his secrets
There was always more than he would show
And most folks would pay a fortune
To know just what this man did know
Holy, Holy, Holy,
and songs from years gone by
were mixed with hymns that grabbed your heart
and made most folks there cry
It was invitation only
Just the folks from on the street
The locals didn't post it
It was kept quiet.... indiscreet
He played for near three hours
His little band of odds and sods
Singing songs of Christmas
Singing songs to God
He always had his med-sin
that small flask was by his side
And Gianni, every watchful
made sure it never did go dry
The Bluesman, stopped the concert
the room was quiet, all subdued
And everyone just sat there
I swear, not one person moved
He opened up the window
Pointed to the brightest light
He said "another saviour may be born"
"And it may just be tonight"
It was on a night like this my friends
That Mary did give birth
When Jesus Christ, our saviour
was given life right here on earth
My music sends a message
To all, both near and far
The same message was sent years ago
By one bright shining star
Gianni, led them all outside
And they stared into the sky
Silent Night indeed, Gianni thought
And then the Bluesman bid goodbye
He went back through the kitchen
To where he slept most winter nights
Where Gianni, gave him refuge
You know it's safe....from the bright lights.......
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
It was a hot summer night
Nearly ninety, I'd say
When out back of Giovannis
The Bluesman sat down to play
He pulled up his crate
Took a sip from his flask
"This here's my med-cin"
"In case someone happens to ask"
He started a story
That we'd never heard
We're the folks of the street
And we followed each word
It's a tale of James Withers
A man in need of a hand
But to us on the street
He was the Sand Castle Man
The bluesman strummed gently
He didn't want the words to be lost
For this was a story
That had a hell of a cost
You see, James the sand man
Lost a life to the sea
His grandson, young James
Drowned when he was just three
Each day James went down
With his grandson in tow
They'd make castles together
Some fast and some slow
One day the pair
Were at the end of the pier
When a rogue wave hit hard
And took what James held most dear
His grandson...swept out
Lost at sea, never found
They searched for three weeks
But the poor boy was drowned
James kept a vigil
Every day on the beach
He'd look out on the water
His heart out of reach
He kept making sand castles
As he did with young James
With shells and old driftwood
And he gave them all names
He'd have non-existent armies
Fight non existent wars
In his hard packed sand castles
He carved windows and doors
There was make believe dragons
In pools by the sea
Guarding make believe princesses
Who no one could see
There were turrets and moats
And each day he'd build one
To be lost to the tide
As the days work was done
Each day a new castle
Each day a new war
But, nobody knew
What he was building them for
The tide would come in
And would sweep it away
All that hard work
Gone at the end of the day
But, each morning he'd come
Build one more for the tide
With invisible armies
To flow away for a ride
People would watch him
Make the castles of sand
With imaginary soldiers
In imaginary lands
The bluesman sang soft
Took a sip once again
From the flask on his hip
It's just medi-cin
The crowd didn't stir
We were like moths to the flame
As we heard the bluesman
finish his tale about James
I asked him one morning
If he ever would end
Building castles of sand
He said, Bluesman, my friend
I know that each castle
Will be washed out to see
And I hope that my grandson
Gets a message from me
I make each sand castle
Like we both used to do
I come back every day
And start another anew
It helps with the closure
I send my soul to the sea
And I hope that my grandson
Knows they're for him made by me
He finished and thanked us
And we went on our way
All of us changed some
From what the bluesman did play
Next time I'm out wandering
And see the castles of sand
I'll know what he's building
Now...that I understand
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC
She was a friend of Amber Clark
You know, you've met her before
She's the girl who listens secretly
To Bach behind the door
The Closet Classic ******
Who wears shirts of the Ramones
But listens to Rachmaninov
whenever she's alone
Jennifer McSweeney
known by all upon the street
She had kind words for everyone
She liked everyone she'd meet
She ate meals at Giannis
Knew the Pawnbroker, Old Cy
She listened to the bluesman
Whenever she came by
Like all the folks upon the street
Jennifer was dark
Not gothic, but you could say grey
She was set to make her mark
She was going to be famous
Her face upon the Silver Screen
She was going to be a movie star
Like The Truck Stop Beauty Queen
Jennifer loved movies
Not the ones that can be found
At the local dvd store
She liked the movies without sound
Her little quirk was that she
Liked the movies from the start
They told tales in black and white
These were strong in Jenni's heart
Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd
Fatty Arbuckle, and more
Zasu Pitts, Charlie Chase
They struck her to her core
L and H, The Keystone Kops
She loved to see them grapplin'
But none of these compared to her
deep love for Charlie Chaplin
The Cineplex would show a film
They would host a special week
When silent movies were the shows
When nobody did speak
Jennifer would take the time
To watch each film they showed
She was so happy when the week came round
She positively glowed
The kids she knew, all thought her odd
Because of what she liked
But, when the silent week was here
Jennifer was psyched
One year she went to the next town
To get a small tattoo
It was all done up in black and grey
It was what she had to do
Like other girls who have been inked
It was in the same place
But, it was little, very non descript
Of her favorite actors face
She told few friends about it
And though she never did get violent
If you laughed at her tattoo
Like Chaplin, she'd be silent
She kept it to herself most times
Her little bit of ink
As she aged she'd show it more
For the cost of just one drink
She would take them to her bedroom
And by the light of her small lamp
She would show her tattoo proudly
Chaplin....her little ***** stamp
It's the thing that she is known for
She's the girls with Charlie's face
Where others all have Chinese Words
She has Chaplin in this place
She is known for loving movies
In black and white, and though it's camp
She gives a whole new meaning to
Having a ***** stamp.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
Back behind Gianni's bar
The Bluesman sings his tunes
To all the local n'er do wells
And to the stars and to the moon
His voice is coarse as forty grit
His playing smooths it out
He plays upon an orange crate
Comfort is not what he's about
Bluesman, Bluesman play a song
One sung just for me
One that paints pictures in my head
A song that I can see
Buskers, lined the concourse
The street where he was not
This was just a place for tourist fare
He was where the world forgot
His tunes were sung for no one but
Himself and to the air
Out front, that was another world
Bluesman, did not live out there
A crowd has gathered slowly
More of a group, than a real crowd
They heard about the bluesman
And out front was too **** loud
In back, you heard the feelings
Felt the music, heard the strings
You experienced the atmosphere
That a good old bluesman brings
Out of the crowd of fandom
Working his way through the mass
Was a young, tousled haired boy
Everybody let him pass
He rocked in one position
He felt the music ebb and flow
He looked where the notes were airborne
He saw the music go
The bluesman sat and watched him
playing stories, telling tales
Of drunks in old Las Vegas
And of sailors fighting gales
the young boy stood and rocked some
always looking at the air
He wasn't looking at the bluesman
He didn't know that he was there
He walked up to the old man
staring out into the space
that streamed the bluesmans music
right into the young boys face
the bluesman watched intently
As the young lad touched his hand
And he held the bluesmans old guitar
He became a member of the band
The boy moved even closer
If that were possible at all
He was feeling the sweet music
He was having quite a ball
The crowd watched as the bluesman
and the boy became as one
The boy resting his head now
On the guitar, having fun
He couldn't see the bluesman
But the music, it was there
The boy was blind, autistic
He saw the notes that filled the air
The bluesman kept on playing
For that was what the bluesman did
He was playing for the starry sky
And for this wondrous little kid
His mother came and held him
She took the bluesman by the hand
She said thank you for the music
For letting him be in your band
In a voice as smooth as Bourbon
The bluesman told her that her son
Could come and feel the music
The music makes us one
Bluesman, Bluesman play a song
One that's only just for me
Bluesman, Bluesman play a song
That only I can see....
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
The door opened, he entered
There was a whoosh of air
The Bluesman looked bedraggled
And he grabbed himself a chair
Cy, came out, he heard the bell
Saw the Bluesman, gave a smile
He said "I see the storm is worse"
"It's gonna keep up for a while"
The Bluesman looked around the store
Saw a guitar on the wall
"She's an old one hanging over there"
He called to Cy, now down the hall
He grabbed it, rubbed the neck some
He said "she's got a lot to say"
He went back to the wooden chair
And the Bluesman, he did play
"There's lots of music in this girl"
"So many songs not sung"
He looked back at the hook behind
Where this old guitar had hung
He sang songs about Jesus
about freedom, and the moon
Amazingly for the guitars age
It wasn't out of tune
Cy went to the pawn stores back
returning with a flask
He'd brought the Bluesman medicin
The Bluesman continued with his task
"This old girls a treasure trove"
"She's just so full of words"
"Songs kept hidden for so long"
"Songs just waiting to be heard"
He played some more, the storm let up
He thanked Cy, took his leave
"An old guitar needs to be played"
"It's lost songs to be grieved"
"You know that you can play her"
"Whenever you come by"
The Bluesman turned and smiled
He held the flask given by Cy
"That old guitar is special"
"She's an old soul, just like me"
"I thank you for the offer"
"Time will tell, we'll see"
The Bluesman left the pawnshop
It was if he wasn't there
He went out back behind Gianni's
And sang his music to the air
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 3:41 PM UTC
I don't remember passing out
The barkeep nudged me twice
I'd been out at least an hour
My drink, it had no ice
He told me I was finished
He said "Boy, you are done"
"You're playing roulette with a pistol"
"With six bullets, not just one"
"There's a taxi on it's way boy"
I took in every word
But in truth, my head was spinning
What he said, I never heard
Way back in the corner
Sat two vultures watching me
The barkeep saw them watching
And he said "Son, the taxi's free"
"There's a cot just off the kitchen"
"If you'd rather stay inside"
"You won't throw up in the taxi"
"It saves me money for the ride"
I nodded I'd accept it
He told me, "good, I hoped you would"
"The way your night is going"
"It just won't end up good"
"You're burning both ends of the candle"
"You're lighting the middle part as well"
"You may think you're off to heaven"
"Drink like this, you'll end in hell"
He said "out back there is another"
"Fought the bottle, fought it hard"
"He was lost, but came back stronger"
"He's doing well, but he is scarred"
"Tomorrow, you'll eat breakfast"
"Go out back, and talk a bit"
"Now, off to bed directly"
"I need to think a bit, and sit"
I thanked him, though I mumbled
The words were clear inside my head
But, the words that I said to him
Made no sense, so....off to bed
The next morning, over coffee
He told me, "I've watched you every night"
"I've woken you before, you know"
"What you're doing isn't right"
I told him of my troubles
He shook his head, and said "so what"
"We all have troubles sometime"
"We make the best with what we've got"
"You can come here if you want to"
"But, if you drink, I'll cut you off"
"This is your only chance son"
He said the last line, through a cough
He said that after breakfast
After I'd done the washing up
I was to head out to the alley
With fresh coffee, in a cup
He said "out back there"
"You'll find a man with a guitar"
"Give him the fresh coffee"
"He won't come here inside the bar"
I went out in the alley
And there exactly as he said
Sat a man, singing to no one
With a old ball cap on his head
I listened as he sang out
A voice as harsh as glass and sand
Playing guitar in the sunshine
Keeping beat, a one man band
He finished, and he saw me
Smiled as he took the cup
He said, "You don't know me"
"But, I knew you'd look me up"
The Bluesman drank the coffee
Told me to sit and stay a spell
For each minute that I listened
Was one less I was in hell.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC
Back behind Gianni's
There was no one to be found
The alleyway was quiet
You could not hear a sound
The frost had not yet burned off
The alleyway was wet
The deliveries had not been made
No one was moving yet
In the sky a rarity
Both sun and moon were out
But seen by just night creatures
Since no one was about
The back window to Gianni's
Opened to where Jim slept
There was garbage in the doorway
Since it had not yet been swept
The moon was getting lower
The sun just in the sky
The silence was then broken
By a blackbird flying by
The bird woke up the Bluesman
with his early morning call
And he watched the Bluesman set up
Perched up high upon a wall
The Bluesman had his guitar
Wiped some moisture off his crate
Another blackbird landed
A rat peeked out from a drain grate
The Bluesman started playing
Singing low, just barely heard
More animals were showing up
And they took in every word
His medicine beside him
In a flask, engraved "For Dad"
His voice was smooth and smoky
You could hear him, just a tad
More birds came for the concert
More rats, some squirrels too
No humans yet were moving
In the early morning dew
He sang as he was known too
To no one special, just the sky
Songs of revelation
Songs of watching people die
The small flock that had gathered
Watched The Bluesman, moved a bit
As he took sips from his medicine
Not a single song...a hit
The world was just now waking
But The Bluesman didn't care
He was doing what he always did
Singing softly to the air
Normally, the street would fill
As word would spread around
That the Bluesman was out playing
But, today...no one was found
The window to Gianni's
Let Jim lie in bed and dream
That he heard the Bluesman singing
In his room, on a sun beam
The birds all flew away at once
The was movement in behind
Life was coming to the street
Where at night the vermin dined
The Bluesman packed his kit up
Snuck away from the day light
To sleep and rest his weary bones
To venture forth again that night
The rats went to the sewers
The birds had flown away
The squirrels, they were also gone
And the street began it's day
Jim looked out his window
The alley empty, no one thee
Where while Jim thought he was dreaming
The Bluesman sang songs to the air
An early morning concert
Full of music, 'neath the sun
A concert heard by many
A concert just for one
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 4:46 PM UTC
Jasper words pour from his lips,
in contrapuntal time.
They shuffle just behind the beat,
they strain to make their rhyme.
Sweat drips on his old guitar,
strings bend and cry and sing.
Hear the Blues Man on his throne,
he makes his guitar ring.
Air thick with smoke and rhythm,
like some ancient ritual dance.
Mesmerizing, hypnotizing
he puts you in a trance.
Weaving tones and chicken bones,
with cheap flat lukewarm beer.
There's no place you would rather be,
than with the Blues Man in your ear.
To take bad juju off his strings,
he'll use the John the conqueror root.
He ain't got a *** to **** in,
But he's got a blue silk suit.
His shoe keeps time, heel to toe,
with a whiskey voice he croons.
Harp in its rack, he wails away,
a Little Walter tune.
With gospel affectations,
he preaches to his throng.
"I saw her kissin' Willie last night,
she went and done me wrong".
"I'm gonna take the next thang smokin'
out of this here town".
Then he slides a bottle across the strings,
and it makes a mournful sound.
You forget about your troubles
when you get what he's layin' down.
He'll take you to the other side,
when the BluesMan comes to town.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 12:08 AM UTC
Venus of Willendorf
You seemed so distant
Cool and aloof on slide
Perhaps I was projecting
In the warm dark womb
Of Lecture Hall B
A silent world but for fan racket
From the Kodak Modal 4600
Eager to please on stiff little legs
Nosing toward the screen
Where you teetered
On impossible feet
Fighting a losing battle
With gravity I found
Touching, *******
No one could ignore
A chassis built
As the bluesman said
For comfort not for speed.
I hear Willendorf is nice
This time of year
Hint of fertility in the alpine air
Your crazy braids beckoning
Braille to a blind man.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC
The word was out around the street
Tonight, behind Giannis bar
There would be really something special
From the bluesman and his guitar
For locals not for punters
Just for those upon the street
You'd better bring a lawn chair
If you wanted a good seat
The word spread fast and no one
Would miss this once they heard
New works from the bluesman
You had to take in every word
The bluesman was a legend
In this flawed, dark part of town
He only played back in the alley
That was where his show went down
At precisely eleven seventeen
The bluesman took his place
Upon his beat up orange crate
In his same familiar space
It was just like a cathedral
Underneath the golden moon
Quiet and forboding
As he started his first tune
The alley was the bluesmans church
As he sang to the street people
But this church had no walls or pews
No bells, it had no steeple
The bluesman sang of love and loss
Of dragons, ships and gin
He sang of Shubert, Bach and Liszt
He sang of constant sin
He looked but he saw no one
He was zoning, all alone
He sang songs of faith and hunger
Time to give the dog a bone
He played and drank his med-cin
For sometimes he got dry
The bluesman had the crowd entrapped
Beneath the shining moonlit sky
He talked of how his smoking
Through the years gave him his sound
It only took me fifty years
I'm surprised I'm still around
He sang of love and window panes
Of jealousy and trust
Of walruses and potholes
Of people turned to dust
As people sat in wonder
Of this prophet in disguise
You could see a certain twinkle
Deep in the bluesmans eyes
Gianni, stood off to the side
Timekeeper of the show
He signalled to the bluesman
One more and we must go
He had to close the restaurant
Turn the lights off in the back
So the bluesman took another sip
And grabbed a song from his minds pack
He finished up with something
Singing songs for all who came
He made them feel it was their heartsong
Although he never said a name
He sang of waitresses and barkeeps
Pawn brokers and of guests
of family and train tracks
of watchers and of quests
He finished up and packed away
His crate and his guitar
And he collected appreciation
In a two quart mason jar
The crowd left thirty dollars
almost ninety cents a seat
A fortune to the bluesman
And the folks here on the street
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
Rumours were flying all around
Someone was moving in
They question at the table was
Just how long has it truly been?
Windows boarded, papered over
Not a good sign most times
But, there in the shop window
Coming soon "Broken Spines"
The street folks all were questioned
By other street folks who
knew nothing of the tenant
On the whole, nobody knew
The Bluesman worked the alleys
finding out just what he could
But, in the end, he came up empty
And here, empty was not good
The building had been vacant now
For at least ten years plus four
It was at least the old millenium
Since someone used that door
The building was a shoe store
Selling discount boots and shoes
A new tenant or an owner
Gave the street some cherished news
The bartender told the others
She tried to see in on her way
But, the window was well covered
That was all she had to say
No one knew the agent who
Brokered the deal at all
They were surprised someone was coming
Most new stores went to the mall
Cy, the Pawnbroker ventured
It must be a medics shop
No one understood the name
And the questions wouldn't stop
A young woman in the corner
ordered her breakfast and sat back
she listened closely to the council
and followed them on their mind track
She had coffee from Gianni
He served it up himself
Joe had cooked her breakfast
"Two eggs, bacon, and a shelf"
The Bluesman coughed and ventured
We'll know all we need to know in time
I'm off to have some med-cin
and rest my weary spine
The others laughed at his words
Saw him off and watched him go
He went back out to his alley
Away from where the wind did blow
The Captain followed closely
He was heading to the bar
The others closed the meeting
before he ever got too far
The woman in the corner
Paid her bill, and left a tip
She left ten dollars on the table
With a yellow paper slip
She also left beside it
A small card of olive green
She was gone and on her way
Before the little card was seen
Gianni, read it , looked around
There was now nobody there
So he read it to himself and smiled
No use, just reading to the air
It said "Catherine A. "
Seller of used books
Owner of Broken Spines
Books in need of second looks
Gianni didn't know the name
But the store just fit the street
Everyone here was damaged, flawed
Second hand....to be discreet
There has to be a story
To go with our young Catherine A
I guess we'll find out more
On the street....another day
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
You've met the people in my mind
They live upon The Street
It's near nowhere special anywhere
They don't know the word defeat
We all know people like them
And I hope it jogged your brain
Maybe they reminded you of someone else
And if they did, I'm glad you came
The bartender and Bluesman
Harry Cooper and Old Cy
The old man at the graveyard
And all the other passers by
They're all a work of fiction
But, they're people we all know
We all know a street a bit like this
No matter where we go
I hope that you enjoyed them
And I hope some made you think
I hope some made you smile
And others brought you to the brink
These people are inside me
Their stories needed to be told
But now that you have read them
They are your stories now to hold
I thank you for your patience
And I appreciate the time
You walked in a mind's garden
And I'm glad that you chose mine.
Thanks for enjoying "The Street" and it's people.
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
This is just a mirror and this is just a desk and this
is just a car crash and this is just a bicycle just as
this is just an exit like Greco-Roman architecture
where you may see someone approaching like a
UFO or a synagogue or a suicide bomber ATTACK
shh don’t fight don’t close your notebook look
the leaves are falling said the blind man while
the columns collapsed and the bluesman strummed
on the sidewalk see we are all dying here we
just know when to lose to let go to buy to sell
to realize that the mountain we made means
that we may never breathe again
May 5, 2011
May 5, 2011 at 1:11 AM UTC
I was banging out some music
When from the dark I heard a voice
Son, if you want to make a living
Then you gotta make a choice
I heard what you was playing
That was music, not just noise
Son, you wanna make a living
You gotta make your choice
Son, pass me that there growler
Over in the corner
Don't drop it, you'll be sorry if you do
It'll burn on through the florboards
It'll burn right on through to China
It's a wicked drink, A nasty witches brew
He said, I know you is the cleaner
You clean up when night is done
But, I've heard you from the alley
You're a bullet, shy one gun
Kid, you play piano like it ain't been played before
You're wasting your **** time in here cleaning up the floor
There's a whole world out there waiting, just go on through the door
Oh...they call me The Bluesman....before I say much more
I played some boogie woogie
something light just to begin
He said, boy...get that growler
I need some med-i-sin
He pulled up close beside me
Rubbed his face and scratched his chin
Now, follow close young player
The lesson will begin
We played for near five hours
Didn't hear the storm outside
We played what struck his fancy
We told stories, we both lied
He played that guitar so smoothly
With the strings so loosely tied
He brought things out from deep within me
Stripped bare, nowhere to hide
You got to feel the music
Not just play it to get paid
You got to let it lead you
You got to know why it was made
The folks who made this music
From the normal line had strayed
You got to feel the music
Play it right, you may get laid
He drank most of the growler
said, son, now I need to rest
I've heard bluesman all around here
And I'd say you're second best
There only is one bluesman
And then he puffed his chest
You met him, and he taught you
It's up to you to do the rest
I finished with my cleaning
Heard him leave and go out back
Then I heard the whistle
Of the train, pass on the track
I had to choose the music
Be a bluesman, not a hack
I learned that in five hours
I'd learn more when he came back
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 6:36 PM UTC
Once, I had it bad for a girl
She let me play ******** music
in her living room,
and she had long brown hair.
she had a big *** dog.
it was a good dog,
nice to be around.
she was too.
I'm pretty sure
That they both
bit our bluesman friend
at one time or another,
but that's beside the point.
Once, we stared at each other for a long time.
Nothing really happened
Except that I fell into the chasm of her eyes,
And have spent every day since
Working my way up the cliffs
Outlined in shades of blue and green in her retinas,
a Bedouin for my affectation
and enamoration with the woman that I used to know.
For a moment,
I was even tempted to move into a cave in her mind,
But the spirits called me forward
Into the desert of my own mind.
It's been a few years.
She's in the embrace of methamphetamines now.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
It was early Christmas Eve Day
There was light snow on the ground
And lightly, if you listened
You could hear the slightest sound
It wasn't from a choir
Nor, a speaker on the street
But, a voice, tired and raspy
That would not admit defeat
Normally, at Christmas
The street would be alive
With last minute visits
Before Santa would arrive
Gianni held a party
For the vendors out this way
But, this year, there'd be nothing
There was no party today
Behind his place, The Bluesman
Had moved inside from the cold
He'd moved to the old Church basement
Where his stories were still told
He'd head outside and sing some
His "med-cine" in his jug
Behind the Church he'd set up,
On a wood chair, with a rug
The Bluesman sang to no one
His voice crisp, but not as strong
The elements were tough now
But, they would not take his song
The pastor, always present
Standing, watching by the door
He loved hearing the Bluesman
But, he loved the people more
Some Sundays, not all though
The Bluesman would begin
The service for the pastor
Then the choir joined in
He'd sneak off to the basement
Or outside, with his guitar
The Bluesman, felt his music
Was his lightning in the jar
This morning, though not Sunday
He was singing to the few
Lost souls, and some locals
Who had nothing else to do
The church doors were wide open
Every candle had been lit
It wasn't cold inside there,
But, maybe, just a little bit
He sang some Christmas carols
Some old blues, and Lennon too
He stopped and took a swallow
That was the choirs cue
They'd come in from the alley
The pastor had them in behind
The Bluesman, kept on singing
He was lost inside his mind
The church was filling up though
The voices carried on the wind
To those who always came here
And those who never sinned
There were masks of every colour
In every second row
The pastor kept folks distanced
For this little make shift show
The Bluesman sang a few more
Then he spoke unto the crowd
"Keep those you love inside your heart"
Though it wasn't very loud
He walked on past the pastor
By the choir, to the stair
And like Clement Moore's old Santa
In a blink, he wasn't there
Things this year were different
Not like parties in the past
Held up at old Gianni's
No one knew how long they'd last
There was no star to sing to
It was early in the day
But, we'd got our Christmas present
We'd got to hear the Bluesman play
Maybe next year, would be better
Back to normal, as before
But, who knows, just what will happen
What the muses have in store
So, take the Christmas message
"Keep those you love inside your heart"
God bless you all this Christmas
Another year is set to start
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 3:52 PM UTC
Life comes and goes
Nothing stops the flow
To the sound of a beat-up guitar
Some believe back to the Creator
We all must go
To stop the panic in their hearts
I just believe in that old guitar
And the melody it sadly plays
We dance to its rhythm
Which is all we can do
Until our dying day
Some ancient but ageless Bluesman
Blasting away in the key of E
He hammers on, bends strings and twists the tune
That is life to you and me
He lifts the bottle to his black lips
And starts to jam on ' Dust My Broom '
Our lives are just swirls in the dust
Of his beat-up, broke-down room
He knows the Crossroads, the Hellhound too
Many times he's rode the blinds
He's walked down all those dusty roads
Knows his first and second minds
He opens his mouth to sing, out comes a moan
Darker than a moonless night
Deeper than the depths of all seven seas
The Bluesman sings of wrong and right
Of salvation, sin and all between
He weaves his words of woe
To the unearthly clang of his guitar
On the world must go
So pray he never runs out of songs
That there's always another to choose
There drinking whiskey in his old railroad shack
Sits God singing the Blues
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 10:59 AM UTC
Professor Longhair's piano
Tightly wound strings
Bottleneck traffic the honking horns
A bluesman sings
Freedom freedom
Freedom amongst the braves
Roaming the west crossing
Markings in caves
Bent notes on Little Walter's harp
Arrows as sharp as a dart
B flat, low-F,
Trumpets muted
The occasional fiddle
An ex-rolling stone chugging some Berry soul
Get me started with the James
Go to the country for some shine
American music is the way to unwind
Cloaked in enigma and sweat
Back to the blues, Muddy couldn't read
His mojo was working
Followed by Elvis twerking
Sugarcane Harris and a wishy washboard
Mandolin and a back to the blues man sings
Ain't no Arian twang like Downy sang
Just the rhythm and vibes of some stranger stranger than a steel drum... come and get some
Dec 9, 2021
Dec 9, 2021 at 10:22 PM UTC