"reeded" poems - Hello Poetry

Puce fresnel washed its light on his over sized African patterned dashiki, while paisley notes poured from his reeded dreams. Like the Hamelin piper I was mesmerized by hypnotic tones, every sweet and spicy slur, every bend of every breath, I followed him down history’s path and heard the world come boldly through. “You got to keep the magic”, was his advice . “Don’t give away too much of the theme.” Through fake fog he swirled his love, his passion, his calling. “Summertime”, played on an oboe is like hot liquid southern summer *** It crawls up your spine and explodes in your brain, and you understand the songs meaning without one word sung. Hundreds of years of vassalage reenacted in every blue colored measure. This man did not think of himself as a descendant of slavery though. He was, like all of his brothers of color, a descendant of great Princes and Kings, stealthy Hunters and fearless Warriors, grand Land Owners and Wise Men, Great Leaders of Peace and Brotherhood, and he lived out his life as they did, changing the world one note at a time. He played the music of all people, “World Music” it later came to be known. Listen….he is in the rhythm still. Wherever there is an ethnicity holding on to their heritage in song. Wherever there is an indigenous rhythm, a harmony, a feeling…… Yusef is there, and he will be there forever. *Yesef Lateef Born October 9, 1920 in Chattanooga, TN Died December 23, 2013 Shutesburry, MA Musician, author, spokesman, educator Instruments: tenor saxophone, flute, oboe, bassoon, bamboo flute, shehnai, shofar, arghul, koto Recalling a magical night at Stratton Mt.,Vermont, in the winter of 1975 when I opened for Yusef Lateef.*

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Dec 26, 2013

Dec 26, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC

ld-goodwin

Opening For Yusef Lateef In 1975

Puce fresnel washed its light on his over sized African patterned dashiki, while paisley notes poured from his reeded dreams. Like the Hamelin piper I was mesmerized by hypnotic tones, every sweet and spicy slur, every bend of every breath, I followed him down history’s path and heard the world come boldly through. “You got to keep the magic”, was his advice . “Don’t give away too much of the theme.” Through fake fog he swirled his love, his passion, his calling. “Summertime”, played on an oboe is like hot liquid southern summer *** It crawls up your spine and explodes in your brain, and you understand the songs meaning without one word sung. Hundreds of years of vassalage reenacted in every blue colored measure. This man did not think of himself as a descendant of slavery though. He was, like all of his brothers of color, a descendant of great Princes and Kings, stealthy Hunters and fearless Warriors, grand Land Owners and Wise Men, Great Leaders of Peace and Brotherhood, and he lived out his life as they did, changing the world one note at a time. He played the music of all people, “World Music” it later came to be known. Listen….he is in the rhythm still. Wherever there is an ethnicity holding on to their heritage in song. Wherever there is an indigenous rhythm, a harmony, a feeling…… Yusef is there, and he will be there forever. *Yesef Lateef Born October 9, 1920 in Chattanooga, TN Died December 23, 2013 Shutesburry, MA Musician, author, spokesman, educator Instruments: tenor saxophone, flute, oboe, bassoon, bamboo flute, shehnai, shofar, arghul, koto Recalling a magical night at Stratton Mt.,Vermont, in the winter of 1975 when I opened for Yusef Lateef.*

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Power the dark twinkle stars barking corners suspending time twice kinks come harking cutting the fabric weaving wearing magic bending the burning distance past echoes from the future wand collecting in the pestles wrung shrunk reeded in the rock crests green, the glory that flowers thorns crucified to the firmament after the rains departed never to return in the heart what flames red above in the depths what fills the sky pressed to the earth in the desert song of rivers coursing among stars

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Oct 24, 2017

Oct 24, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC

prabhu-iyer

multiverse

Power the dark twinkle stars barking corners suspending time twice kinks come harking cutting the fabric weaving wearing magic bending the burning distance past echoes from the future wand collecting in the pestles wrung shrunk reeded in the rock crests green, the glory that flowers thorns crucified to the firmament after the rains departed never to return in the heart what flames red above in the depths what fills the sky pressed to the earth in the desert song of rivers coursing among stars

15

Do I remember those eyes those lies hidden beneath? Do I recall those lips those slips of a reeded tongue? And were you even my lover now that it's over the times we shared? You were here- my heart to **** you weren't for real. It's a painful confession, A burdened admission., T'was a ****** Illusion!

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Aug 6, 2019

Aug 6, 2019 at 7:58 AM UTC

Muthoni37

ILLUSION.

Do I remember those eyes those lies hidden beneath? Do I recall those lips those slips of a reeded tongue? And were you even my lover now that it's over the times we shared? You were here- my heart to **** you weren't for real. It's a painful confession, A burdened admission., T'was a ****** Illusion!

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