"chet" poems
I'm always hungry even though I just ate a while ago
If I go without food for 2 hours my brain works kinda slow
I eat all the time, even when I'm driving
I wonder how it'll be to eat when I'm sky diving
But there's a particular food that I always crave
And if I don't get it, I tend to misbehave
It's amazing and delicious, my favorite cake
I'd go to any lengths for it, no matter what the stake
I'd eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner
I'd marry a pâtissier even if he was a sinner
When it comes to cake I show an utmost devotion
My bucket list includes having cake by the ocean
But something happened this summer, which makes me tremble in fear
And now when someone says "Cake" I tend not to go near
I was in Spain, and I was looking for some cake
I was whining and crying; my friend ignorantly sipped her milkshake
So I walked on ahead and finally found a baker
I paused my music; I was listening to Chet Faker
I walked over to him and shouted "I WANT CAKE"
He looked at his buddies and said, "This is the one we take"
The baker and Co. suddenly picked me up; I was too scared to shout
I just wanted my cake and I had no idea what this was about
I tried to escape but it proved to be rather hard
My friend had no idea I was missing; she was looking for an SD card
I didn't wanna think about what might happen, I just wanted to go home
The men had brought me to an outhouse that had a ceiling shaped like a dome
Then they placed me down gently, and were almost too polite
I turned around once I could finally stand and couldn't believe the sight
A crowd was waiting at the back, just waiting to yell "Surprise!"
A man shouted: "You fools! You brought the wrong girl, she isn't even the same size"
They apologized profusely, but honestly I couldn't care less
I just wanted to have my cake and get away from this mess
I walked back past the bakers shop and heard something that gave me déjà vu
"I want cake" said a tall girl; she smiled at me, she didn't have a clue
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
Slashers Defined
In response to my piece, Slashers, it was requested that maybe I could
reveal at least which band or other info these great guitar players performed for to gain their claim to fame. I don't want to spend too much
time on this defintion, but will give what info I think is pertinent. If you do not know some of the names I have presented to you, and you are a blues,
rock, jazz, fusion guitar fan, I suggest you take the time to listen to some of their work. I have included some of my favorite incredible fusion players that do not have a super star following, but are renowned in their group of fans, probably mostly musicians to some degree.
If you are a frustrated guitar player like I am, do not listen to the likes of Holdsworth, Johnson, Gambale, or Morse unless you love being tortured.
Anyway on with the show.
Eric Clapton – Yardbirds, Cream, Blind Faith, Derek and the Dominos.
Jimmy Page – Yardbirds, Led Zeppe, The Honeydrippers, The Firm
Jimi Hendrix – not only what is, but, what could have been
Alan Holdsworth – Solo jazz fusion player – hot
Steve Howe – Yes, Asia - Progressive rock, jazz –
Bill Nelson – BeBop Deluxe, Solo
Terry Kath – Chicago (25 or 6 to 4) – another sad early departure
Ted Nugent – Amboy Dukes, **** Yankees – The madman
Jim Krueger – Dave Mason Band – solo progressive rock
Eddy Van Halen – Van Halen
Ritchie Blackmore – Deep Purple, Rainbow
Jerry Doucette – Doucette (Mama let him play)
Eric Johnson – Solo – New Age, jazz
Frank Gambale – Australian- Jazz, fusion, rock
Goerge Benson – Jazz
Larry Carlton – Jazz, new age rock
Marc Farner - Grand Funk Railroad
Peter Frampton – Humble Pie, solo
Joe Satriani - New age – solo
Johnny A. - jazz, new age – solo
Danny Gatton – jazz, rockabilly – solo
Chet Atkins – jazz, country
John Mayer – Pop, blues – solo
Neal Schon – Journey
Steve Lukather – Toto
Masyoshi Takanaka – New age, jazz – Japanese solo
Lee Ritnour – Jazz, new age – solo
Leslie West - Mountain, West Bruce & Laing
Monty Montgomery – jazz, blues (accoustic you have never heard)
Wes Montgomery – jazz 40's – 50's
Phil Keaggy – New age Christian
Robin Trower – Procul Harem
Brian May – Queen
Rick Derringer – Montrose, Edgar Winter Group, Steely Dan
Robin Ford – John Mayall, Chick Corea, solo jazz, fusion, blues
Carlos Santana – Santana
Ronnie Montrose – Montrose
Steve Morse – Dixie Dregs, Kansas, solo jazz, fusion
Trevor Rabin – Yes, solo new age
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:19 PM UTC
Let's talk about this jazz club
that lives in my cellphone
in 1950 something with Chet Baker
back from the dead.
Let's toast to random notes taking flight
into the city in the middle of nothing nights we've known or been familiar with.
Let's shake hands cordially with the unfamiliar as in "deal", or "peace be with you" as if in church, tipping hats at that stranger passing by at the crosswalk some late evening in spring alongside dandelions sprouting forth from the pavement. Let's read between breaks of beats Kerouac must have hit in 1950 something San Francisco in yelps into the moonlit stages of the balcony of his boxcar boxcar boxcar gone by in a mad blur with whatever graffiti'd message of hope it bore on its sides. Let's hitch into the unknowingly infinite by way of the pen's mighty point. Let's unlearn the way syllable by syllable and demolish languaged signs like hurricane force candor blowing down fact-ory made terms and political decorum as smoke from the pages of their corporate handbook joins the Chet Baker solo note pilgrmage into the holy skyline. Let's move side by side unspoken as those jazz notes he forgot to play. Let's fill in those blanks with uninformed confidence beyond our abilities and grasp the unsayable names of our dreams remmebered. Let's see in seconds passing like bums inebriated with the holy moments gone too soon. Let's talk about nothing but this sacred second at hand on this clock unseen pointing overhead to the face of the moon gone full and hungry for attention. Let this happen only now. Only then will we talk about where it's going.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 12:44 AM UTC
How terrible
And all the same delightful
Are the chapters in life
In which we begin to enter love.
A rosebud's bloom
Chet Baker said it best
"I fall in love too easily,
I fall in love too fast"
I would add that I tend to fall in love hastily, with no second guess.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 5:39 AM UTC
Norwegian summer night.
She opens her guest room window and
Balcony door to
Give the scent of warm pine and
Sunstroked willow a free tour of her
Apartment on a welcome breeze.
I mute the TV, as she enters her bedroom
Leaving me shirtless in shorts on her
Sofa, headphones nearly plugged into
My laptop when she requests a tuck-in,
Knowing that granting me the remains of
Her Saturday night sixpack means
She's going to bed alone.
I kiss her forehead goodnight. She steals
A bonus hug, wanting it to
Last until morning though it's
Futile. I bury my face in warm, soft
Neck. She
Releases hesitantly. Smiles.
She has bed. I have Johnny Cash and Chet
Baker, Alan Watts and Allen Ginsberg,
Beer, time, and a window of solitude.
"Silent" and "listen" are spelled with
The same letters.
My impairment is that I am a man.
I love her. And the aloneness that
A man can only obtain when
Even the loneliness has left him.
I can't feel my feet, unless she does what
She has learned to do;
Give me space. Space with the texture,
Colour and pattern of the
Blanket one tucks
Around
The legs of someone
In a wheelchair, gesturing by it:
*I love your
Every single
Circle.*
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
I don't want to stay
On autopilot anymore
I wanna go home with a
Bouquet of wild flowers
Cook your favorite meal
And dance with you to
A Chet Baker song on
Our balcony by the
Light of the stars
Dec 16, 2024
Dec 16, 2024 at 1:21 PM UTC
It's one of those days
where you wanna get
home and fill the tub
with nice warm water,
get naked in the
dark of your bedroom,
play some Chet Baker,
dive in the water,
melting away (melt!),
open a gallon
of whatever wine
and chug it down slow,
turn the hairdryer on,
softly toss it in
your cooking *** and
let the jolt massage
take you someplace calm.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 9:59 PM UTC
It's been one hell of a night.
She sat in blue light, artificial,
fingers tangled in dreds, natural,
head bobbing to bare beats
and **** draws upon the well of
electronica, O' jazzia,
O' sense-sinking psychedelia,
O' fleeting fingers ********* false feelings in the dark;
And this is what music is.
This is what music has always been.
The arrangement of sounds to tell a story,
paint a picture,
build mindscapes and landscapes upon which stories and feelings
will meld and melt and freeze to ice,
hot ice,
a paradoxical nocturnal noctuary of dreams and nightmares and candles dripping with wax.
Sing me home, Chet Faker,
bring me back to your apartment.
Sing it long and sing it low,
(This gas station fluorescence sure is hard on the eyes.)
sing me back to Boulder, Colorado;
to Joliet, Montana.
O' jazzia, my jazzia,
my sweet sand dollar saxophony,
will you meet me in Amarillo, Texas?
Will you play me a tune before the water-meter puts me to sleep?
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
—Chet Baker, '88
I put The Lost Tapes
on while I shaved my face, inching
around two chin nicks turning
the lather into the remnants of a strawberry
shortcake paper plate soak-through.
I tapped my Chucks on the pink,
checkered floor to the cymbals.
Heel toe, heel toe strut,
stopping every few measures
to re-tuck my herringbone-detail
tie beneath my collar. I heard
his trumpet wail, and mimicked
it on the rusted shower rod like a cheap
snare, deep drumstick strikes patched
with meat tape. I carefully ran the flexed
blade beneath my cheekbone
like a piano-park saunter, trying not to step
on the drummer’s heels ‘cause he hits
it just right. And the brass birds
are just right. The bench creaks, the cinder
snaps, the twilit fountain dance, the pop-
skip needle, the slick floor, the jazz faucet,
and the shave
are all just right.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
Since representation
Is often labeled
Ungodly, pardon me
For my sins.
At the worst times,
Spiced thoughts accompany
My empty, double twin bed,
My crowded head.
Her aroma is
Rolled up inside my covers,
Like the smell of earth
After hard rainfall.
She has a way of
Tangling my dreams,
A citrus flavor of tangerines
So subtle, and present.
The **** sweetness that
Won’t leave your mouth,
Even if you taste
Something else.
How lovely is a full-blown crush?
Like hot cider
On a chilled December day,
It can be so delicious,
And scold your mouth.
I watch the warm,
Vaporous breath become visible
In the frosty air of the holiday season,
And walk from place to place.
I feel the cold of my belt buckle,
Hear the crunch of frigid under feet,
And know that
Winter is now.
I try thinking my way into happiness,
And out of loneliness,
But it’s not quite for me,
And I find myself listening to Chet, again.
Of all the places
To lose myself in contemplation,
It’s not so bad here,
Under the pull of this crescent moon.
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 1:10 PM UTC
Listening to Dave Grusin,
"Mountain Dance," vintage 1979.
The thought strikes:
"Why is it that only the
Early Jazz Giants are deified?
Of course, we need Chet Baker and
Miles Davis in our pantheon, &
Gerry Mulligan & Charlie Parker
Not to mention (cue Soupy Sales:
"Smack. I told you not to mention that!")
Coltrane or Stan Getz.
And yet, we're all getting long teeth and
there's a lot more Smooth Jazz to come,
Post-1950s, take Grusin, for example, or
George Benson or Herbie Hancock, and
What about Earl Klugh & Larry Carlton?
Let's not forget Spyro Gira &
The Daves: Benoit and Koz.
And we would be remiss
To miss Chris, young Chris,
Chris - "The Whippersnapper" - Botti.
But I digress.
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 9:25 PM UTC
Rumah joglo di tengah sawah.
Dengan cahaya remang yang berasal dari pojok ruangan ini.
Pemutar piringan hitammu baru selesai kau perbaiki.
Ku memilih untuk mendengarkan album Chet Baker Sings dengan vokalnya, seingatku itu milik mendiang kakekmu.
Gelas-gelas tinggi sudah kau siapkan, sebotol anggur dari Bordeaux sudah ku buka.
Makan malam kita sudah tandas, dua piring penuh berisi daging sapi yang sore tadi ku panggang, hampir matang penuh, bersama hancuran kentang yang sedikit dibubuhi garam dan lada, dengan saus krim jamur.
Jasmu sudah kau tanggalkan dan sampirkan di sisi sofa coklat tua itu.
Gaun hitamku masih rapih melekat pada tubuhku, namun rambutku, yang hanya sepanjang bahu, sudah ku urai, agar kau bisa menghirup harum bunga sakuranya.
Kita menari, pelan, sembari menengguk asam dan manisnya anggur Bordeaux itu.
Ku kira Chet Baker telah letih bernyanyi dan bermain trumpet, suaranya perlahan hilang, digantikan oleh suara jangkrik dari luar sana.
Aku pun lelah, ku rebahkan tubuhku di sofa coklat itu, menyandarkan kepala di dekat sampiran jasmu, menghirup bau cendana yang hampir hilang.
Kau menghampiriku, memelukku erat, menghirup leherku, pipiku, dan mengecup bibirku.
Pelan-pelan, satu per satu pakaian kita tanggal, di bawah cahaya temaram, ditemani suara jangkrik, kita melebur, melebur jadi satu.
Tanah Ubud, tak pernah gagal membuatku jatuh cinta, sengaja maupun tidak.
Jun 5, 2020
Jun 5, 2020 at 1:57 PM UTC
Story Teller
I've been a dancer I've been a singer
many years ago I was a church bell ringer
I'll tell you stories and I'll tell you lies
my favorite story is the one I see in your eyes
I was a cowboy I've been a prince
had my hair colored in many different tints
played on the stage sang in the halls
but sometimes I feel trapped inside these walls
I was a soldier I've been in war
never knew what the hell I was fighting for
they said it was freedom they say it's right
then why in the hell can't I sleep at night
the times are going they're going fast
not sure how much longer I can last
drinking the ***** taking the drugs
feel my body crawling with tiny little bugs
I hear the sounds of the trumpets call
is that you Louie on my stomach I crawl
trying to get to you to save your life
what's that you say I'm not your wife
my head is spinning my senses weak
guess I have gone a little past my peak
just one more story just one more tune
let me tell you about Camp Lejeune
let me sit for a while on this stool
get you ****** hands off of me you fool
where is my rifle where is my knife
there go those bells again the end of life
play this song for me will you Les and Chet
make your guitars sing on every fret
I think I can see the glowing light
so Mrs. Calabash guess it's goodnight
Gomer LePoet....
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 8:29 AM UTC
You said, "I'm going to college—I'm not dying",
but you might as well have.
Now you exist to me as the dead do—
As a ghost;
an old photograph;
a sigh.
You haunt me
in old Chet Baker songs;
at four in the morning
when I wonder if you still suffer from insomnia;
when I walk down Broad with sweaty palms;
or even that nickname—I always hated that name—
but I liked the way it sounded when you said it.
And you're alive—
picking your fingernails; breathing—
when I can't stand the lights
and I shut the door to let
darkness settle in my skin; into my pores; in my head.
It's then when I realize:
I've never felt more human—
and my heart has never been so raw.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
Daddy: I did not know you well/except for the suits you wore
they were always well tailored in the color blue
would it be okay if I told you how much I miss you...?
You always smelled of Black Jack gum
I remember running up to you
when you came home sometimes you smelled of ***
n' I was barely four
but I remember uttering the words, "gum-gum"
Daddy, I loved you so much...
why did you have to leave/why did we lose touch?
I loved the letters you used to send
when I left for college
I thought my life would end...
but you wrote humorous lines
about long dog your wiener schnitzel pet...
you always made up stories about some guy named "Chet"
I'm so sorry I didn't get to say goodbye--
I wished and wished...
the day I found out you had died...
it was a bad joke/a terrible lie...
I love you Daddy...if you can hear me up there
I hope Tigger n' Lion's are fly'n everywhere
just like the stories you told me every night...
before you tucked me in bed with my baby bear...
n' you brushed my hair...
you always said, "Papa loves you...
Tiger, you sleep tight...
now you just go...
n' let your dreams take flight"
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
The complexity of notes
Chet Baker hits
a rainy morning downtown with
match the rise and fall
of rooftops,
the streams created by gutters
He traces the city's architecture
against the grey sky
with the wind from his trumpet-
there, outside a corner cafe on Hargett and Wilmington,
trumpet case open,
playing for passerby.
I take my morning coffee
studying Chet,
him putting notes in my head
through wired earphones,
Me writing them all down.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 8:38 AM UTC
Te podrás imaginar
la erótica rupestre
para quien solo vive
por las sensaciones
para quien, aún confinado
a la déspota tiranía de si mismo
nada aporta
a su sed de querencias
Te podrás imaginar
la erótica rupestre
que pintan sus trompas de marfil
te podrás imaginar
el salitre de sus pardos muros
en la noche
en el ocaso plateado
en el rocío helado de la madrugada
en el granizo
que eriza la piel de la multitud
en la indiferencia del chofer
en su charla vacía y protocolar
en el ahíto evidente de sus palabras
en las luces del puente
reflejadas sobre tu mirada perdida
en el sudor clandestino
en el ciego tiento proscripto
Te podrás imaginar
la erótica rupestre
tiznada sobre las sábanas
Chet Baker de fondo
y el viento
meciendo los restos
de la ciudad
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
Tessa III
"I believe in human rights," Chet Faker, I am trying to
find your softer side over Bose... Trying hard to forget the
ghastly scare you gave me. Smoking cigarettes and deleting
details I think you shouldn't get too deep into...
Underneath, when swimming, the story is getting more sad.
Explain to me about India, Kamasutra of many pages long,
why your part was left out. Many years have passed, dry blee-
ding the sun in shameful memories, I was on the other side.
Time is becoming a long stretch on the couch, if you remember
how you danced, exploring rhythm and ecstacy, when quietly...
Aug 16, 2019
Aug 16, 2019 at 9:44 AM UTC
If you hear the song I sing
You will understand
You hold the key to love and fear
All in your trembling hand
Just one key unlocks them both
It's there at your command
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
Romance Unclassified
lover
wanted
times are bad
need some romance
my love life has gone to hell
need me some sort of magic caper
need to find someone who I can tell
put me an add in the Sunday paper
let me see what sort of response I get
do you think maybe I should add my pic
so far only a call from some guy named Chet
I told him sleeping with guys ain't my schtick
he said he could teach me a trick or maybe two
teach me to play sweet guitar make the ladies sigh
write sweet words is another thing he said I should do
soft sweet voice and sappy sad guitar sounds make them cry
maybe a fine new hobby would be good for me
heck I could learn to weave a basket
I need something don't you see
before I wake up in a casket
need some romance
times are bad
wanted
lover
Gomer LePoet ....
Aug 21, 2011
Aug 21, 2011 at 7:22 PM UTC
Breathe it all in love some mind
Set it off your fiber fall
Leaves an hole in rough your mind
solo sunrise by Chet faker
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 5:19 AM UTC
my head is cloudy I need alcohol,
why am I not drunk,
beware of spyware when the
entire network is composed of spyware
the internet runs on spyware
I should be drunk
mothers I'm too lazy to go out to the liquor store; picking upp & dating anorexic girls outside of TJ Maxx telling them how good they look
I don't need it going for a walk in the park;
those girls are in their graves along w/ those days that bad but it would be tasty right about now
the cache of naked Jennifer Lawrence photos was leaked deliberately to turn men off the naked female body
that was right before #MeToo basically said women
aren't **** anymore
oh, those days are gone
we have crossed our Victorian thesh
hold where what was once is no more
bikinis are embarrassing mmm breeding
Manchurian Candidates
the concept of cyberwars is stupid : how to wage psychological propaganda
superimposed on weak ******* pictures new prophets have been born oh, yeh, I need some hot jazzz
where there s none, Chet Bake r
ought to do me; working on a computer, computers, not programming code
just trying to get decent literature
out of a complex espionage machine that turns the most brilliant poet into a hack; I can see Faulkner & Dostoyevsky trying to use a computer & defenestrating
it like Galileo;
although I think Tolstoy & Shakespeare would
get the hang of it pretty easily;
imagine Socrates using a Mac..
it's like making love to a girl w/ Down
Syndrome , which may not sound bad but
computers are no smarter than the Magic Markers we used to
write on walls before facebook came along; sartorially & in every other way
Mark Zuckerberg
isn't smarter than a Magic Marker;
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 10:58 PM UTC
sous le ciel de paris, un mur disait
"Je t’aime comme un soir d’été"
mais c'était en décembre
et il pleuvait toute la journée
malgré le temps, un feu brûlait
au retour de « la butte aux cailles »
dans mon vieux cœur d'âme
comme celuie de Notre-Dame
sur le chemin du Sacré-Cœur, vers chez lui
mon feu s’est enflammé avec ses lèvres, tout éblouie
pendant que Chet Baker chantait, douce mélodie
j'ai peur, je tombe sûrement amoureuse trop vite
et si demain, tout disparaît?
un souvenir que je ne veux jamais perdre
"Je t’aime comme un soir d’été," disait le mur
mais moi, je t'aimerai comme une soirée d'éternité
Dec 24, 2024
Dec 24, 2024 at 6:14 AM UTC
I don't think you know I used to listen to Chet Baker.
He's likely sung me to sleep once or twice by now,
but I lost him to time and blues, hidden upon layered
snowfall flung from new ears and new sounds.
So it came as a surprise I'd see him again
elsewhere somehow late one night before bed.
It baffles me you listen to such songs
when most people would rather hear a track from Red.
Our tastes may not align a hundred percent of the time
but at least your palate is something I admire
despite its wayward crimes and objections with mine,
for all its, let's call it, bona fide desire.
However, in the many instances they shake hands--
when they share stances and break lines in the sand--
those moments make me proud I met you.
Not many people can juggle in tandem.
After all, it takes two to know tango is best
when both are aware of exactly how either
would break the rules of the dance
to bend the movements to their own fancy.
Jun 18, 2023
Jun 18, 2023 at 1:36 AM UTC