"redding" poems
Led down from the tower
Head high and hands bound
Blindfold declined against the wall
Black square pinned to his heart
Eyes afire and shining proud
He sang...
He sang of Caruso, Townes Van Zandt
Pavarotti, Bocelli, Mercury,
Carreras, he sang of Antoine,
Of Sinatra, Lennon, Morrison, Redding
He sang and songbirds paused in flight
He sang like them all
He sang a song of himself
Of leaves of grass, of second comings
Of Byron, and Bharti, and Cummings
He sang of Neruda, and Plath, Tagore
Dickinson, Kamala Das and Naidu
Oh, he sang of them all
He sang of art and beauty
Of Mona Lisa and starry nights
Girls in green dresses and pearls
He sang of Van Gogh, of Picasso
Of Rembrandt, da Vinci
He sang of Michelangelo
He sang of sadness, pain
He sang of My Lai, Sand Creek
Of Guernica and Krystallnacht
He cried and sang of Wounded Knee
Of Katyn Forest, Sabra and Shatila
Oh, he wept as he sang
He sang of history and wonders
He sang of Olduvai and pyramids
Machu Picchu, Tikal, and Angkor Wat
He sang of a great wall, the Taj Mahal
Stonehenge, Easter Isle, Mesa Verde
His song took us to them all
He sang of courage
A song of Bunker Hill, Gettysburg
Of the Alamo, Normandy, Stalingrad
Of Lincoln, Guevara and Dr. King
He sang of Bolivar, Bhutto, Ghandi
He shamed us with their song
He sang his song...
As women sighed and peasants cried
He sang until the rifles fired, he died
Songbirds fell from the sky
Soldiers broke their guns on stones
And marched into the deep blue sea.
r ~ 4/12/14
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
.
The red-headed woodpecker drums,
Drilling hollow life into old pine tree,
Insects scurry in dance of spiral daze,
Robins waiting for the grubby entrails.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
When ever I touch the ground that’s hot
With the sole of my foot that’s bare,
I never fail to recall a time,
And the memories lingering there,
Of a day when I was just a boy,
Beneath equatorial skies,
And the tactic used to keep me indoors
While the missionaries rested their eyes.
My mother was sick with malaria
The curse of the tropic zone,
And while my dad was away on the hunt
Their station became our home.
And after lunch when the sky was hot
And the morning’s work was done
They took my shoes away from me
To keep me out of the sun.
The veranda air was still as a grave,
Not a sound to could be heard outside
Save the click-click-click from the beetles
And the grasshoppers jumping to hide.
Or the scratching scaly slither,
Of a snake on the flowerbed verge,
Or the distant cry of the crested crane,
These are the sounds that merge.
The sight of the distant Koru hills
Shimmering in the haze
Beyond the frangipani trees
Return once more to my gaze,
And the prickly spiky Crown of Thorns
That lined the garden ways,
These are the sights that ribbon back
From my early Kenyan days.
The smell of the room was a mixture
Of scents on the garden air,
And creosote coming up through the floor
From the pilings under there,
And paraffin from the pressure lamps
Which hissed as they gave us light.
With the hint of oil of pyrethrum
Sprayed round the eves at night.
The step to my door should I venture
At noon was as hot as a stove,
The soil on the paths and driveway
Would burn if ever I strove.
And the thorns in the earth would pr ick me
As I cautiously picked my way through
To the shade of the frangipani tree,
From there I took in the view.
So, when ever I touch the ground that’s hot
With the sole of my foot that’s bare,
I never fail to recall a time,
And the memory lingering there,
Of a day when I was just a boy,
Where the images I find,
Set smells and sights and sounds of
Africa sizzling in my mind.
Redding, California July 4th 2005 temperature 105° Fahrenheit
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 4:32 PM UTC
Soulful Mention
Beautiful white women I’m asking you to stand down this time your well noted in the cool cats book of
Love you electrify and defy all true description as all magic does and native American woman copperas
Skinned you bend and lend yourself to the exotic natural wonders your long black hair moves along the
Prairie grass up over the foot hills into the mountain wilds with a sight that is spellbinding you go so far
And when you can go no higher than the powerful eagle carries you aloft where sight is lost and you
Cause faith to enter because otherwise it’s unbelievable the effect you have on me no this is for the
Ones that their voice was first heard among the lions roar who else could have the power and courage
To endure such injustice and burdens dark like your ebony skin it would take men like Sam Cook and
Otis Redding with raw emotion and deep soul to travel out of Georgia through the dark store fronts and
Neon club lights of Harlem flow through the big Easy take your current at flood stage through
Birmingham Mobile the projects of St Louis on through the gateway to the west Kansas City where you
Pick up speed and the drawl is covered by the sprawl through it all your name is being called slow down
Baby turn and stop within those songs and voices your glory is resounding your life goes unbounded the
Honey drops it causes all males to stop you’re in the presence of true ladies they can be soft as cotton
Candy or have an edge that is smoky bluesy best referred to as a trumpet blast that can also smolder
Drift down city streets the horn is sounding oh how appealing the girl has got her groove on listen your
Being called by the most brilliant voices of our time Zelma heard and for a time lived an immortal dream
The transference of sorrow would extend extol these women into heartfelt heroes you truly can’t
Create such ignorance and grim circumstance without creating the rarest black Rose stone walls laden
Fields plantations was their birth place they are the one point that our race has been raised to
Exemplary Character
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 8:17 PM UTC
I contemplate
the inevitability of
Death
Over the course of a
Cigarette
As Otis Redding plays.
I should really stop smoking...
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 11:26 AM UTC
half a dead pigeon
has indented itself in the gravel lot next door
and every day at dusk, when i run my sacred shower,
(with the lights off and windows open
and otis redding echoing through the empty house)
i have to watch the black static tide of flies
swim around one of it's upward bent wings.
the first time i saw it my jaw dropped and repulsion choked my throat closed-
disturbed by it's total disgrace,
i slammed the window shut
and preferred to gaze at tile grime to pass the time.
but from the days that followed,
i managed to muster up respect
and acknowledged that this
battered half of a bird
was now a variable in my scenery
(praise be to impermanence)
and now
the sunset drowns everything in it's hazy blood orange
and the wind floods the trees and fills the underside of the bridge with sound,
and i stand naked in the warmth,
singing boldly out of key, twisting hot water out of my hair,
as the summer breeze politely invades my privacy.
so i salute the pigeon, say i wish you the best.
and embrace the weight and fullness of my happiness,
and know well i am more than body and voice,
and watch it sink further into the arms of the earth each night.
grateful to know that death doesn't end life.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 11:52 PM UTC
Waking thoughts
Lyrics to a song
Shuffle through the playlist
Find the perfect one.
Too many can describe
My mental alibi
So I just take a little time
For the lyrics to fill my mind.
Growing up there was no blue sky rhyme
Metallica, pink Floyd and the cure
Were the ones to describe my youthful shrine.
Older plays
Took some blues away
How is it that I wasn't born
In the Woodstock age?
The doors, temptations, Jim Croce
Carol king
God! It's so godly when they sing.
Then I had to hit that puberty
Like a brick to the face
Picking out my own musical taste.
Adema, korn, Dresden dolls, tool.
Stone sour, shinedown, nine inch nails
Stone temple pilots and more as well.
Give me lyrics that could scream
All the screaming out of me.
Little did I know that in my scene
I thought my music was defining me.
I'm not music. Just flesh and bone
Maybe I should expand my treble tone.
Throw some chicks in there, you know?
No one should have a song on repeat
And have that be the song you hear when we meet.
So I searched for some musical relief
I enjoy a good scream sometimes
But that's not all I breathe.
Some motion city, say anything,
Yeah I like akon, lady sovereign,
A perfect circle and deftones
Classical Mozart and Beethoven makes me feel right at home.
Silver mt Zion, some Phillip glass,
Michael nyman, now I've achieved some class.
Pink when I feel like pop or brass
Punch guys in the **** cause I'm a chick
Hell yes!
No not really. The **** part, I mean.
But I actually really do like pink.
Jon Bon jovi or Otis redding
When I want to think of this guy that I'm loving.
I might have lost track of the lyrics I was originally thinking
But with my selection I'm derailing
With musical tasting.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
Bryant, Williams, Ruffin, Kendricks, Mcgilberry, Davis and Harris.
All are apart of the legacy of Temptation's forever.
And now they are rockin' in heaven.
One with a spin.
One with a grin.
One with a smile surrounded by a heavenly choir.
The sun got brighter.
As the cloudy day faded away.
With the Saints of the Sanctuary marching to the gates.
One with spec.
One with a double breasted suit to the microphone.
With the choir of harmonizers singing along.
And they get inducted into the halls of Rock and Roll heaven.
The audience is supplied with starts.
We see Curtis Mayfield's will his guitar.
And Elvis ready to join in.
In Rock and Roll heaven, they all are musical friends.
Even Johnny Taylor and Sam Cooke and Otis Redding is ready to sing.
And Bobby Hatfield's ready to go upon a solo.
Oh, they must be rockin' behind close doors.
Ready to greet a Staple's singer through the holy doors.
God welcome only a select few.
While we upon earth debate about who?
In truth, only He knows, who He will bring?
And they all don't have to see.
If you've been touched by a song they sung.
Then you're aware of the bells that's been rung.
God, has placed his heart upon everyone.
Especially, his selected choir.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
I laughed at the girl
springing the umbrella
July sun sunning
in the middle of November
Now she's laughing.
It's me,
barefoot on gravel
Pricking my toes
on the blood red road.
Splashing of tequila
and my heart,
it's a'darting
Some summer fruit punch
Now a redding
and you're betting...
I feel it already!
that feeling I get
Grains of sand,
my dear ears
those toes
my ***
a sip, now of ***
The hot mess melting
Here it comes,
there they go
and it's grinding me.
Warming me,
all the way to sleep.
Sleep talking.
She's coming.
Still laughing at me.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 6:39 PM UTC
Felix Calvalari and the Rascals singing Groovy.
As I ride along.
What a lovely uplifting mood song?
Of two people enjoying the mood.
And the Beach Boys singing Don't Worry Baby.
Stating everything is going to be alright.
How can you not love a lady like this?
Who gives off great confidence.
I truly believe, I could never love another.
After loving her.
David Ruffin's blended truth behind the lyrics of this Temptations song.
If I lost her in any way.
I would try something new to reconnect.
The Miracles truly spoke the truth about the things love will make you do.
I guess I'm in a sixties type mood.
When words solely spoke straightly to you.
I understand the woman's that seek respect.
Otis Redding wrote the song addressing it.
Altho' Aretha seems to get the credit.
What can I say about the two Dions?
With Dion Mucci singing about Donna the Primma Donna.
The type you probably couldn't get to ride a honda.
And then Dione Warwicke singing about singing about praying.
Oh, yes I'm in a sixties mood.
When words solely spoke to your heart.
When the Beatles stated don't let me down.
Them words was a message needed to be heard.
And papa never had a brand new bag.
I'm still trying to figure out those James Brown words.
Well, I relax for a few minutes.
Until I get ready to play another song.
Cause for the moment.
I'm just enjoying these sixties songs.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 9:37 AM UTC
I hereby invite every oz. Of pain I've been evading for years even before the recreations, to come forth, and hit me like a truck. I understand you may need to switch between reverse and drive a few times, but I am ready. I need my light again, for there's darkness in every direction I've been heading. Forever unsteady. At this point in my life i'd be happy to spend it sitting on the dock of the bay strumming the days away with the ghost of Otis Redding. I feel like ive been riding a bike, the chain aint on but I'm still pedaling. Show me a mystery and you will find another kid meddling. But I dont wanna hang around while the dust settles in. I want to watch the sun rise and set again. I want to float beyond the skin I've been living in. Soul been starving to go to a place I dont know exists. I'm grateful for my life, but it's getting harder to shake this. Been stuck in a cocoon phase unable to complete the change because the structure's too thick. Mind still races while keeping body tethered with bricks. But I will embrace it with the waves of sound and silence. There is a way to make it through, and I'm hoping I will find it. I will slowly stand up, again after hitting the ground. Maybe enlist the aid of Chris Jericho to help me break these walls down. I have lost many times but have not yet been fully defeated. I want to disappear, but a holistic retreat may be what's needed. Exorcise the traumas we mistakenly call demons. I'll die before I settle being a cheap cog in the machine. I just want to wake up again to see the reality of my dreams. Instead we're haunted by alarm clocks often robbing us of sleep, and memories of truly beautiful scenes...that just happened. Main character forgot his purpose along with the plot of the movie..why's the audience clappin'?
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 10:26 PM UTC
one more for five year old Ian
he is the little boy, on an
I-don't-want-to-go road trip,
yet inside happily,
pretense outward poutingly,
yet he is nosed pressed straining onto window,
so hard, it's window marked, stain leaving,
absorbing, being absorbed by the fresh
flowing of air currents of new scenery
little boys of beauty,
of beauty,
what do they know?
life is action figures,
videos and toons,
colors vivid but manufactured,
daddy hanging them upside down,
coloring books less than quaint,
few museums bid then enter...
how do they learn what needs
remembering, celebrating...
differentiating tween mundane profane and profound...
some say there are pleasure chems,
the brain releases when the
San Fran sun contacts all flesh,
when California coast surf
beckons claiming splashing
and attention demanding,
when nature offers up
mountain trails that insist
one of any age climb her offerings,
to make them "ours,"
if ever so briefly,.
to be map marked upon
cerebral tissues and
leave the boy and the vistas
neurally connected perpetually
of these matters, I,
no certainty possess,
though I well recall
my nose in that windowed position,
the clarity of Atlantic Rockaway
fresh salt breezes
entering, being stored inside
my five year old brain cloud,
so it could be true
what all the grandmothers
claim!
but this know with soul surety,
there are few things
more beautiful
than a five year old boy,
inhaling the passing scenery,
redding his cheeks even more rosy...
he, a painting, forever stored,
summonable with a single blink
of my mind's eye,
perhaps this is how
he will indeed learn too...
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
Ini stilte vani nag
Terwyl di krieke sing
Fluister die slang
Dus ju laastes in ju eigene bed
Hy fluister direk na my vrees
Vrees onbeskryfbare vrees
X vul hu my kop di spanning neem
Hu verlang x vanaand vi ju
Soos woestyn na water
X ken my waarheid
X staan op my waarheid
Ma huveel struikelblokke voor da kom
Huveel spanning n gedagtes voor redding
My redder vertrou x op
Tot my laaste
Amen
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 3:10 AM UTC
Her eyes sometimes looked red as sunset
Trying to hide the tears of late night fight
Caught between the walls of loving self or him
Alone is an enemy, melting down with whim
Should I say, yesterday, the moon was not full
He dialled her aroused and feeling the weak pull
At first, they danced in joy and spoke like butterflies
But the fight broke out when the disagreements were high
Oh the cacophony! that broke out in the silent sky
Their throats gave up and the air became dry
A minute before it was raining with abuse and curse
Pillows thrown at the stone deaf floor to make it worse
Don't you remember the warmth of the Redding rose?
You plucked out from my palm resting on my knee bent low
And the taste of the wine sipped by your lips behind your breath
Your deep rooted yes to my first love confess
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 5:55 AM UTC
The burn
The burn of the cigarette on my skin
The embers that alight the flesh as it’s being put out
Pain, the pain barely registers
I smell the smoke , the chalky smell mixed with chemicals and burnt flesh
My skin is burning
Redding and blistering but still the pain is dormant
Why can’t I feel the pain of this burn
Why won’t it let me feel what I need
I just want to feel
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 8:55 AM UTC
redding revulsion
i am braining ofyou (we) and i am guilty of it
(are on the three double you) one?
you brain so much of you while i am so empty ofme
i hate the sun of my eyes and i am guilty for it
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
At two sixty three on a union street
They ain't afraid of no killer
They'll just shove 'em in their pipe
and smoke him up like backy
They break the neck of a pup/pussycat
Just to try to scare you
They're mendacious mothers/mendicants
You can't ignore their ignorance
Even a sponge has a right to think
The pumpernickel president Hooligans
of the world unite, inherit the wind tonight
Lethal teenagers spread their aids
Interstate Highway Poet off of exit 16A
Here yee Hear ye
Step right up to the minstrel show
We've got your medicine right here
Whatever you need we're giving away
Whatever you want just don't be greedy
Take all you want but, it won't be free
Just say you need be ten thousand, a million
A trillion or more, who could put a limit on this
Go 'head now take a sip
Ain't that good fer ya/ ain't that swell
Mighty fine medicine
Mighty fine medicine
Don't forget your change
Moonlit Minstrel Dancing madness at the
New Millennium Medicine Show
You can't be on the Redding when you drive the B&O;
Heart and run away/Forget
I guess it's not your fault you're you
Look back but, the label stays
the one that I esquired to you
Cops in Vegas teaching drugs to children, 1963
Accuse me of blame with their askance
le seul inform'e! Here I am
I saw white poppies grow at SHAPE
War is used to make debt e. pound
To hate what people love is to offend human nature
The villion shot 'em down Francois
Piero Mazda has no fear his Kumrad
Koba's over here Now fix
John Adams, Jeff., and Lincoln
These men are a really awfully stinking
They won't take gifts/ They want to earn it
Take what they steal; pretend it has value
They drink their way into a bible
Did that one line make me enviable?
Come on someone try to fix it
Malia needs her tap, tax dances
The suffering has got to end
For EVERYONE my lonely friend
WE/ALL have got the power
Here, in seventeenth century France
I always try to give you choices dear mao tse
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC
I wish I could bring you back with me, Home,
to where I live
Home, I miss you.
There was hope spread on the surface of that glistening lake
as our skin broke patterns across
soft fragile water.
Fragile. I miss your fragile nature. Tall trees surrounding us
as we rowed beneath the friend in the sky which hugged our shoulders and tummies and slightly sunburned toes
We'd forget important things like fully applying sun cream
because life felt too short and summer far too brief.
I left you to the hard work and sang Otis Redding, my feet dangling in the cool water,
whilst enjoying the sun because the dock of the bay lay in the distance and I never knew wasting time to be such a pleasure.
Summer. A break. Stress and worries lifted off our aching soldiers
like kites, drifting in the breeze up high
far from our thoughts.
You brought me alive and lifted my soul to heights I never knew existed like when you said 'I'm jumping off the dock' and I followed shouting 'wait for me!' even though Czech families from the hotel were staring and we jumped
off together to find an exploding sensation
Insane and ******* fabulous
to experience life, that rush of cold and the springing of the mind awake.
Never was an afternoon so beautiful.
Sun and shifting memories and contemplating clever EE Cummings on the bank because you understood things I didn't and I saw things you were blind to until
We shared.
I wish I could live at home.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
I flew my plane over these little hills
and thought about my life. I saw all the cities,
Arcata, Eureka, Redding, and an incredible
violet glow along the northern coast of California.
21 years old. I landed in a town that was lively
with families and college students. I sat at a
café near the ocean and the sand, cold from
the winter air. I no longer felt empty
when I saw a pretty girl holding hands with
a handsome young man. That used to disturb me,
but in that moment, I was satisfied
with the Milky Ways of my wanderings.
I read my books until midnight
and decided to lay on the starlit sand.
Golden flicker of lights about my kingdom.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
The father, the son and the holy ghost.
Burning bread which Satan bakes.
Three sit together,united as one, making most wonderful holy toast.
Demonic one, in his dominion,always baking, making cakes.
Spreading their toast with salted butter.
Devil bakes cakes, for a society wedding.
This poet is a freaking ******
Last major cake that Satan made, was for the wedding of Otis Redding.
With qualifications, in cake making,a master baker, so I'm told.
Heats up his red hot fiery oven.
Melts down pieces of eight and gold.
Always makes a baker's dozen.
Cooks meals for his minions, down in hell.
Satan the baker, hey dig that smell.
(c)Livvi
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
all my life I've been told that love is pure and when it comes, it'll make everything easier....
but it feels like my love for you is wrong
if only they could feel what we feel when we're making pancakes at 11 am while we're dancing to Otis Redding...
maybe then the seven years between us two won't feel so "unacceptable"
maybe then it'll be okay for an eighteen year old to be completely and utterly in love with a twenty-five year old
maybe then we won't hide between four walls whispering "love you" through our eyes
maybe then we won't have to drive hours away to have dates...
maybe then... just maybe, we can go to walmart at 7pm when everyone is there and we won't be scared to hold hands and kiss each other on the cheek
but maybes don't always come true....
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 10:32 PM UTC
He was holding court between sets at the Texas Bar
(Not his usual stomping grounds, necessarily,
But the owner was a decent guy whose checks were good,
And a Wednesday night gig pretty much found money)
Going slow and easy with a scotch and soda of uncertain labels,
Having come to rest at that station where, as he sighs it,
Wallet tells me I prefer well drinks to the top shelf.
He’d been, if not a name name, at least recognizable
(He has posters showing him sharing the bill with the heavies,
Redding and Bo Diddley and Jackie Wilson,
Smaller font for sure, but there nonetheless)
Getting a little air play,
Even outside of niche Detroit and Chicago stations,
And one song which peaked
All the waaaaay up at seventy-eight on the chart.
*Lotta uncertain buses and club owners
Who never quite caught me later,*
He muses, a touch ruefully, but he finds some solace
(Indeed, he has become quite adept
At finding comfort where he can)
But, if he has not exactly prospered, he has carried on carryin’ on,
Getting steady work here or Chicago or Gary,
The odd campus Motown nostalgia gig in Lansing or Ann Arbor,
Even six or eight weeks in Florida
(Nice to be the young guy in the room for once, he all but cackles)
Covering the tunes the headliners sang in his day,
And perhaps one could say he is a Fleance or Percival,
Plodding onward from the wreckage of great man all around him,
But such contemplation is a luxury,
The province of lake houses and brokerage accounts,
Though he is fond of holding his thumb and forefinger
Spread apart just so,
And telling the listener I was this close to hittin’ it big,
Invariably following that assertion with a chuckle,
‘Course, that might not be measured to scale.
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 12:14 PM UTC
Eddie Vedder's voice is the one singing on the song,
But the words were written by Otis Redding,
When he was out experiencing the world,
Contemplating his future after R&B.
You ever had experiences like that?
Where all the curtains are pulled away,
And you realize you need to plan your next step.
Have you planned yours?
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 6:55 PM UTC