"saxophonist" poems
Lucid, abusive
Tongue in cheek divine
Stupid, elusive
Lost soul of mine
A snap of orchestral fingers to summon the suave illustrator
Mohawk punks and minions to smash the limp masturbator
Loveless, acquiesce
Arpeggio flutter ripples
Convalesce, Fancy dress
******* with perky *******
One or two drinks, make it three then five
Keeping the blood warm and love alive
Visceral, peripheral
Dark raven hair
Liberal, scriptural
I couldn’t even care.
I adored her all, her everything, her gleaming demeanor
The subtle wink of her eyes, the glow; even greener
Exotica, ex machina
Street amazon of desert glass sand
No drama, rural karma
Flesh sweating like the heat of Sudan
Dead singers like Cole and Morrison sing of paper moons and Crystal Ships
The mixed CD segues to U2, Pulp, and then a full disk of The Flaming Lips.
"Nightingale", minor scale
The saxophonist played under the street lamp outside
Folktale female
“Another drink?” she abides, two glasses and wine supplied
On her balcony we watched and listened, to the call of urban passion
The wordless music we adored, a testament to our mutual attraction.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 5:07 AM UTC
so, here i sit, having read that semicolons are a ******** tool - im only a partial ******* so, its admissable. in a bar drunk, sass'd, white bitch'd, hot as ever-living hell, hoping for a saxophonist. white ******* off bike lock keys in the bathroom as the door is attempted to be opened; "Sorry, we were ******* splurted, what an excuse; white ***** on a bike lock key - protection from theft, i guess. almost out of tobacco, yet i feel i can sustain, excuse me, remain. "i cant believe you did that, ***** crystal." (not what you think (totally what i think)) ambient psychedelia and a saxophonist (shes been mentioned) wailing, wail, whaling; expunge that Conscious ocean as if you were a Japo. yeah, racial slurs racial slurs. im told its 11.55 post on the 7th, but i am quite aware thats a lie. (most knowledge is (vindication symplified and unerred) unaware of what is being typed anymore) ..
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
Braced,
For the rough, graceful sandpaper offered
by the saxophonist while he woos you with
outright randomness arpeggiated.
The titanic soul of the double-bass
quivers my body,
it lives in the catacombs of my ribs.
And,
I'm jazzed.
Pure chaos,
with a complete understanding of order
but a gleeful disregard.
"I could do that."
Then do it.
And, exhale.
Jun 24, 2011
Jun 24, 2011 at 1:34 PM UTC
If I lived a thousand lives
with you,
I still wouldn’t have enough.
I would still ask for more—
more of you,
more of your passion,
more of your jazz,
and my pasta
you do so well.
Well,
nothing seems definitive,
nothing beguiles me
more than the rhythm
and beats
we share over
a glass of Pinot
and the unrecorded vinyl.
Vanilla perfume
and the New Orleans clubs—
no human is restored
from the disdain
my brothers stretch
over gully phrases.
Where the saxophonist
who raised me got her fringe,
and her never-ending endings,
and longings,
and belongings—
only the strong survive.
Where have we gone
with the tones
no one recorded,
and the lights
no nights
can overshadow,
and the stream
no dream
can portray,
and the greedy green
waves of tranquility.
What happened?
Three twenty-seven
is the perfect time
for jazz and depression,
jazz and repression,
verbal oppression,
and the starvation
of the posse nation.
If I had a thousand lives
to live with you,
it would never
be enough.
I would always
crave more.
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 6:03 AM UTC
Please do not ring
For your eyes sting
As I see the many failures
The shadows in your eyes
For I seek to hide
From the many mirrors
Of this world
Please pass me by
Dismiss me
For your presence hurts
My very wishes
Splitting my heart in two
And the blessing of others
Chisel my brow
Aged by my own hope
I star gaze into
The world of relating
Never has a breath of love
Felt so far away
But there is a beauty
In the midnight black
As I gazeee
The love between stars
Dances and plays
But as day turns to night
I switch of the light
Feeling the gravity
Of this earth
My heart seeks
An unconscious sleep
Where my head rests
In the soil of my mind
For I am a solitary saxophonist
Who echos his song across
The still silent lake at night
Stirring the leaves of the willow trees
Who stretch over the moon lite lake
Slowly I tread
Into the dark lake at night
The murky waters of my mind
Descending the waters of fright
Where devils and demons
Lurk out of sight
Where I seek to meet
The dwellers of the deep
To hear their hidden screams
Releasing the sounds
Of the forbidden wounds
That haunt the twilight night
As the world seeks to draw
Me into their petty quarrels
Their childish fights
As they play
Pitta patta , pitta patta
Bakers man
So that they may find their hands
I bath in the warmth of God
Protected by the many showers
Of many disappointments
That are sprinkled on many a love
As I seek a deeper silence
Where the world flees from
I seek to find a solace
As I bring much company
To the many painful parts
Searching to cushion them
With a gentle love
Harvested from the oceanic realms
One we all may find
If we simply care to look
Taking breath to feel
The great aloneness
Can be a nervous task
But our many demons and angels
Will all be found
Standing close so very close
Hand in hand cheek to cheek
One the doctor ,one patient
So finding the treasures of our deep
Will bring you a great new sweep
As we wipe my feet clean
Before I enter another soul
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
time thought of long words and
the sun’s life as it burns,
never minding the hip or the un–
as the cat awaiting shores
looses his body to
the darkness of the year,
lame-eyed ******* wrote thirteen
in repetition. lingering on Vonnegut.
unnamed, land-lover ran between
the death of the night and day,
creating waste. riding on, rinding on.
hoarse questions grew as
tea scalded palate and man tapped
his heart in waste of thought.
drawn by claims of a saxophonist,
******* wolfish with stolen cigarette,
spouting roundabout racial slurs
called the Ocean’s syllables.
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 10:29 PM UTC
The muted state of this world
Keeps disturbing
The shivering noise of my thoughts
..Then I close my eyes..
THE SAXOPHONES OF THE WORLD
I heard them saxophones
In the air
I heard the only saxophone
In this whole world
With its tunes
Floating
High
I once heard the song of a saxophonist
Who died in the gutter,
However,
Something about painting the open seas
is so refreshing.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 4:16 PM UTC
Well in socio,
I was asked what is my identity?
I thought,
sure I know plenty,
but actually,
what the hell do I know,
am I build up of what people think around me?
Well this is what I think,
you don't have to agree,
I don't really know who I am to you.
To me I'm a unique bloke,
physically short and strong due to painful labour and exercise,
mentally I'm ****** up due to obsessions,
visions and life experiances,
I don't hate much,
danger,
drugs,
wankers,
and body modifications,
so you're alright with me if you keep yourself clean.
I'm a contemporary saxophonist,
with a bit of old school classical,
my ****** dyslexia is my downfall.
I'm a moral monster,
just remember that,
I still have some faith,
so cut me some slack,
I just want you to be gorgeous and safe,
whoever you are,
I may have a large mouth,
but it's a wise one,
my real name is Jack.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 6:01 PM UTC
There's a saxophonist that insists on keeping me awake
Blaring, drowning in the noise
Taking in spit and saliva from the reed
And going at it again
With fervorous gusts of screeches and yells
There's a horse that insists on keeping me awake
Neigh, he says, to the summer heat
And say he does, proclaim he does
Loudly, proudly, ever more
The morning light rises above him
There's cicadas insisting on keeping me awake
Buzz, chirp, skree, zumm
That is what they say, and what a fruitful talk
I'm sure it must be riveting since they want me to hear it
If only I spoke their tongue
There's a brain that insists on keeping me awake
Loud yells of bygone memories
Honest mistakes of the last decade
Fears of tomorrow, fears of today
What's the saxophone, horse and cicadas matter if I couldn't sleep anyway?
Jun 23, 2021
Jun 23, 2021 at 9:51 AM UTC
Her Cupid arrows has sunk,
Into my xylophone spine,
She has me singing notes,
Every single time,
Her ice cream clouds,
Gets me high,
And her marshmallow smile,
We are two of a kind,
She has me here,
Singing blues,
And there is no other place,
I'd rather be,
Than to be next to you,
The kitchentop you sit on,
The coffee you sip,
The bug spray when you camp,
The float when you swim,
I wonder what your doing,
As I write this mush,
And when you read this looking back,
I hope you are still my smush,
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
why do you follow me in the light?
and leave me again the dark?
i like to play a game with my shadow.
i call it hide and seek.
sometimes in the night, when the stars come out to play
you come out too.
and when i need you the most, you're nowhere near to be seen.
this goes on everyday, our continuous routine.
see, what if i lost you?
would i lose a bit of gravity?
or would i stop existing?
some say that you only come in good times, some say that you're the reason
i am dreaming.
i think you have another life as a jazz man, a saxophonist because when
you are not around, i hear every type of sound. i hear crazy jazz music,
and piano melody lines and maybe thats your life.
why do you follow me in the light?
and leave me again in the dark?
i am just a young fellow who likes to question his shadow.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 5:27 PM UTC
We were your little notes inside our peaceful home
A stream of staves on a song that's as sweet as Rome.
With a familial bond that grows beyond the ledger line
We felt more contented than all the octaves combined.
You and mom are the key signatures guiding our way
Her sharp lectures and your flat humor always saving the day.
You taught us how to dance along all the pitches of life
No matter how many clefs there are, no matter the type.
You are always there telling us when it's time to rest
And binds us together with a tie to faith in our chest.
When we felt half of our whole you're willing to take a beat
And point us to the missing dot in our scrambled musical sheets.
You are the chosen composer of our shared symphony
Giving beat and rhythm to every precious melody.
You're as great of a father as you are a talented saxophonist
And we're the living legacy of such a legendary artist.
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 7:30 PM UTC
He is the old cat
the one purring
half notes in undertones
from the shadows of the stage
he beckons with unearthly sounds
scaling in exclamation,
He casts his spell with blue notes
which conjure up his lover’s shape
she is a thin alto
he cannot help but look
as she slinks with effortless bravado
her figure the opus of lust
a binding contract with his demons
she whispers to him and
and he glows with stage light
like an ember inside the oven
dazed by fevers of unholy matrimony
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC
I bought a Jazz LP
in Dobell's in
Charing Cross Road
then made my way
back to see Nima
in Leicester Square
she was sitting on
one of the benches there
in the small park area
smoking and gazing
at passing people
I sat beside her
and she said
where have you been?
Dobell's Jazz record shop
I said
what did you buy?
John Coltrane album
who's he?
saxophonist modern guy
I showed her the cover
she took it
and stared at it
any good?
I think so
he died
the other month
I said
heart I think
gave out
I'm not keen on jazz
she said
prefer rock
like the Beatles or Stones
how are you keeping?
I asked
so so
she sighed
had to be good girl
or they wouldn't
have let me out
of the hospital
she said
you still off the drugs?
she stared past me
at the passing crowds
guess so so far
I'm on medication
which helps but
it isn't that good
it doesn't have the kick
do your parents see you?
not if they can help it
they ring in first
to see how I am
if I'm being a sod
they don't come
she said
forget them
let's go for a drink
ok
I said
so we walked through
the Square and found a bar
and took a seat
and I ordered two drinks
and we sat there
looking out at the people
outside passing by
where does it all end?
she said
what?
life and love
and careers and laws
and wars and love
and babies?
she said
it goes on
long after
we have gone
I said
is it worth it?
all this circus?
what's the endgame?
she said
each have their own
I said
she sighed
when I shoot up
or ***** or have
a steamy ****
life seems ok
but then nothing
creeps in
and a big hole appears
and she was silent
and we sat
and drank our beers.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 3:28 AM UTC
Ma's other half,
Our chief of staff,
The house custodian,
His grandkids' guardian,
Always the humorist,
Seasoned saxophonist,
Spiritually rooted,
Retired but lauded,
Champion of good reason,
Father for all seasons.
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 6:42 PM UTC
i have never heard of morals give me more autumn chill me
shiver my shins sleep in my flesh keep warm with bled blanket that only just fits we sit herded on sofas bigger than psychiatry though it holds us barely
our minds a millennium freestyle
i feel revivable, immortal, extorted
went under in a fortnight
now i feel reborn like Zephyrus
i stride westwards never slowly i am storming on
what were strong teeth and pearl mask
this venus retrograde i am unmasking you
my mouth is a telephone spit line and i will call you tomorrow
my memory is split twice and i will never forget how
we sank deeper into my mattress
lowered into the foam
two froth corpses one bite out of my each of my feet
bottled up scabs to heal something else maybe later i am saving on everything now just in case ploughed down my
plan b capitalism saxophonist co-producer nudess star
reverse of i am ways revisited
sent some string quartets to my past self some poems some antlers and me in a black-and-white dream again reliving the uncontrollable
taste the soap lips eyes inwards finger gun pointed
focussed on myself
my essence is wild picking
flowers off of your back a stroll
a toll on my muscles
i crawl
lift my left leg slightly
bend my fronton backwards
i drink more air craft
restricted
gulping
death metal
i want you to
go inside my room
outlive yourself then go
outside amid plains and forget all of the limb peaks and die then rebirth yourself in the morning climb yourself mount yourself
causal cliff
and in front of me
you are hanging by a thread
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC