"jazzman" poems
DEATH OF A JAZZ MAN
( for Jazzman John Clarke )
It was as I
expected
there was these
angel chicks
playing on harps
on Cloud 9
other angel dudes
playing trumpets and horns
but man
there was the Big Guy himself
playing a mean baritone
saxophone
like he was Gerry Mulligan
or something
the lyrics were
you know
hard to catch
"...you are the music while the music lasts..."
or something
Eliotish like that
I strode up
to the Big Guy
checking his *********
with a grin
"Man, that's real
solid gone!"
"I shall be made
thy music..."
The Big Guy
smiled...blew
one long long
final note.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 8:44 PM UTC
Pink behind the rising moon
Your hipbone beneath my right hand
knees clash to Latin percussion
Together we count
1 2 3…5 6 7 8
Trading vulnerabilities over pork and pasta,
I feel, for one awful moment,
The pain of my daughter’s contempt
You reassure a mother after being kicked by her child
1 2 3...5 6 7 8
Supine silence on yellow grass mats. Faint from heat
I feel sad when you recount
how I charged your phone first.
You deserve kindness. I am kind
1 2 3…5 6 7 8
Your laugh resounds above all
A solo from the audience
As proud and loud as any Jazzman’s improvisation
encouraging us all to do better
1 2 3…5 6 7 8
Earthy smell of your skin spread across the sheets
Curled up with tan litheness, I watch
green block letters rise and fall.
Wishing it was more than breath propelling them up and down,
I curse my own heart for swelling.
123...
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 1:22 PM UTC
.
Notes wash over
The no angled ear
Listener, journeyer
See trails leading
To a cloud of sun,
Break in the skies,
Soon to know again
What was creeping
In the eyes of restless
Thought, unrequited
Sense, the whirling
Ride in the globes
Of vertigo and touch.
Dismembered by mood,
The musician conjures
Lost jewels in thought,
Sparks to the mind,
Sorcery in the bland,
Wayout, man, you dig,
Tap the deep rythmns
Drowning under toes,
Shutters we have lined
Go ourselves together
In the blinds. Turn on,
Off those penny eyes,
The horn careening
In its heights of low
Down blues and sheen,
Be bop and stirring
In a rush, unfinished
The player knows
Your got number,
Is offbeat, syncopated
With the pearly drums
Of the sheet, read heart.
Jazzman is charmer
To sleepy serpent
Kept, shot in only bars
That leech into night,
The looking glasses
Pouring over misery
Ride sweet nowhere
In the tempos of fix,
Youngling daddy-o,
Plenty is the brass horn
Of Jazz in the clears,
Cool fingers singing
What the mind hears.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 2:35 PM UTC
.
Notes wash over
The no angled ear
Listener, journeyer
See trails leading
To a cloud of sun,
Break in the skies,
Soon to know again
What was creeping
In the eyes of restless
Thought, unrequited
Sense, the whirling
Ride in the globes
Of vertigo and touch.
Dismembered by mood,
The musician conjures
Lost jewels in thought,
Sparks to the mind,
Sorcery in the bland,
Wayout, man, you dig,
Tap the deep rythmns
Drowning under toes,
Shutters we have lined
Go ourselves together
In the blinds. Turn on,
Off those penny eyes,
The horn careening
In its heights of low
Down blues and sheen,
Be bop and stirring
In a rush, unfinished
The player knows
Your got number,
Is offbeat, syncopated
With the pearly drums
Of the sheet, read heart.
Jazzman is charmer
To sleepy serpent
Kept, shot in only bars
That leech into night,
The looking glasses
Pouring over misery
Ride sweet nowhere
In the tempos of fix,
Youngling daddy-o,
Plenty is the brass horn
Of Jazz in the clears,
Cool fingers singing
What the mind hears.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 4:29 PM UTC
Welcome, stranger Sun
we ain't seen in you in
a long time, Daddy
come & sleep in the fields
& re-spark the colors of the city
bless the children
playing with gravity
on the dizzy trampoline
shine on the ragged jazzman
playing Ellington
I don't mind,
if it's just for today
just for today
I'll eat ice cream
& converse with you a little while
& tell you how
Mamma rain's doing
& write you that poem
I promised you long ago
if you're lucky
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
Oh barman, fill my glass right up.
Fill it so it overflows.
I will try to drink you dry.
Keep it coming, till you close.
I'll drink until my sorrow goes,
Until I feel repose.
Oh jazzman, play that thing for me.
Play it slow and play it sweet.
Don't know why it makes me cry.
Swing the tune and scrunch the beat.
Send me crying to the street.
I'll cry along the street.
Oh pretty lady, take me in.
Take me in your loving arms.
I know you're tired, but I'm inspired
To taste your fluffy female charms.
Cushion me from life's alarms.
Please soothe my night alarms.
Mar 21, 2012
Mar 21, 2012 at 11:40 AM UTC
The jazz man on the metro,
is playing you his song,
while you inwardly cursing,
wonder where it all went wrong.
As light flashes to dark,
you remember that one day,
sheltered by the oak tree,
a glorious morning in May.
The man opposite shuffles,
you need to get off this train,
the sun doesn't rise in this place,
horror tattoed onto your brain.
The water is all frozen,
with you trapped beneath,
sometimes even villains,
need some kind of relief.
Scholars have all thought,
of why men do such things,
but the ghost on your shoulder,
knows not what tomorrow brings.
Her blood will be cold now,
the clown has stopped his show,
the trumpet has stopped playing,
and it seems you've nowhere to go.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
Notes wash over
The no angled ear
Listener, journeyer
See trails leading
To a cloud of sun,
Break in the skies,
Soon to know again
What was creeping
In the eyes of restless
Thought, unrequited
Sense, the whirling
Ride in the globes
Of vertigo and touch.
Dismembered by mood,
The musician conjures
Lost jewels in thought,
Sparks to the mind,
Sorcery in the bland,
Wayout, man, you dig,
Tap the deep rythmns
Drowning under toes,
Shutters we have lined
Go ourselves together
In the blinds. Turn on,
Off those penny eyes,
The horn careening
In its heights of low
Down blues and sheen,
Be bop and stirring
In a rush, unfinished
The player knows
Your got number,
Is offbeat, syncopated
With the pearly drums
Of the sheet, read heart.
Jazzman is charmer
To sleepy serpent
Kept, shot in only bars
That leech into night,
The looking glasses
Pouring over misery
Ride sweet nowhere
In the tempos of fix,
Youngling daddy-o,
Plenty is the brass horn
Of Jazz in the clears,
Cool fingers singing
What the mind hears.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
.
Notes wash over
The no angled ear
Listener, journeyer
See trails leading
To a cloud of sun,
Break in the skies,
Soon to know again
What was creeping
In the eyes of restless
Thought, unrequited
Sense, the whirling
Ride in the globes
Of vertigo and touch.
Dismembered by mood,
The musician conjures
Lost jewels in thought,
Sparks to the mind,
Sorcery in the bland,
Wayout, man, you dig,
Tap the deep rythmns
Drowning under toes,
Shutters we have lined
Go ourselves together
In the blinds. Turn on,
Off those penny eyes,
The horn careening
In its heights of low
Down blues and sheen,
Be bop and stirring
In a rush, unfinished
The player knows
Your got number,
Is offbeat, syncopated
With the pearly drums
Of the sheet, read heart.
Jazzman is charmer
To sleepy serpent
Kept, shot in only bars
That leech into night,
The looking glasses
Pouring over misery
Ride sweet nowhere
In the tempos of fix,
Youngling daddy-o,
Plenty is the brass horn
Of Jazz in the clears,
Cool fingers singing
What the mind hears.
.
Nov 14, 2019
Nov 14, 2019 at 10:42 AM UTC