NOTES FROM A JAZZ JOINT
No longer merely on the cover of my textbook, but here, in random order. . .
***
Morning sunlight,
mellow and warm
clouds passing
as heliotropes
bend their faces
to share in its hope,
its promise
for the new day.
*
Do you think Little Sister could
ever paint something as supremely
vibrant as his tone?
*
“Cubism” -
sharp
and fractious.
*
I wonder if there’s ever
a togetherness that can know this space
as the aloneness does.
*
The singularity of spirit yields,
gives rise to,
releases
a new horizon
that can’t be otherwise
known or beheld.
*
Rivers,
the blood of the earth,
obey no one.
They pass peace,
unleash rage
such that every man fears.
He fears –
for his life,
for his family -
that she’ll carry away his footprints,
the very proof of his existence.
*
The congos,
come like a heartbeat,
from far away
reminding me,
that my feet,
belong to the Earth
and not the sky.
*
They are little boys
who first jammed
in a treehouse,
beating the hell outta
their mommas’ wooden spoons,
pots and pans.
*
The voice from his horn
truer than any word uttered –
each crescendo nuanced,
with the subtle hues of hope –
each tone inflected
with the shades of compromise.
*
A sense of urgency
imbedded
in a samba.
*
He took me
to a grassy hill
I had never known
*
And Dexter Gordon looked on. . .
*
Making tracks on
the hardened sand
with an identity the
dunes don’t allow.
*
You weren’t with us at first
but now you’re here.
*
I soak you in
through my skin
and feel you
in my blood.
*
the intricacies
of it
the supreme
technicality
shatters
and explodes
as emotion
rises like the oceans
spilling out
beyond the borders
of your being
seeping into ours
*
who is
your
cell keeper?
*
Sounds
rich as any
Arabian jewels.
*
like gold flowing
through my veins
*
When did jazz
take up the pain
of white kids
from the suburbs?
*
When she’s feeling love,
she takes him
any time of day
or night
she is his captor
and he her prey
*
I fall at your feet,
a prisoner -
dangerously unable
to finish a thought –
swept away by you.
*
I wonder if he knows
how many nights
he’s taken me to bed,
lulled me to sleep.
*
“Now!” Alhi hollars
throwing a punch –
but Aaron holds back –
“Not yet. . .”
*
There are layers to him
the likes of which
I’d never have known
were it not for tonight.
*
Your music
seeps below the callous
that keeps the acid of the world
from getting near my heart
*
Starfire
meets energy personified
and the two undertake
a cosmic bossa nova
*
Power -
transversing the earth -
in white tennis shoes.
*
Precious
your giggle
at trying to jump in
hesitating
like flirting
with Double Dutch.
*
And again I was transported
to that porch
where Don Juan
welcomed the morning sun
of New Mexico.
*
He took me
to the dark and quiet side of the moon
where everything
is cool and still
And I awoke
in a little cafe
where all was red
and the scent of coffee
flooded my senses.
*
The continents,
the languages
fuse
meld
into one energy
one life force
time.
*
Masters
stirring the soul
of the Universe.
*
There is nothing
like the brightness of your eyes
when your heart meets the groove.
*
Supreme Arrogance
Did the women in Tunisia
know how beautiful
their carpets were
all those years
before they were
sent across the sea
to hang on the wall
of this penthouse or that?
*
Where did the daylight go?
The story of a young woman struggling with depression.
*
Darkness is lurking –
its evil imprint,
apparent.
*
Immortalized in these lines,
hung on a riff
*
The duality of purpose,
of existence,
of being everywhere in all things.
*
A bubblegum striped tie
leading beats
that are
anything but.
*
Smokey breezes of urbanity
choke children,
lurk on doorsteps
for unsuspecting prey
*
directed by sidewalks,
by maps,
that lead me nowhere
*
driving rhythm
*
It ain’t easy.
Nuthin ever is.
*
Something familiar,
something new.
*
Honeycombs of fire,
tangy & sweet.
A caramel lava
sinking into the senses
the metamorphosis
of day, of time
*
each in separate spheres
coalescing along thin ribbons
*
Artists prefer
the mystique of night
over the commonness –
the material demand –
of day
*
Crumb and Coltrane
cascade over
Buddha
in a sullen
Chinese reflecting garden
*
What is ten feet?
Can that distance be measured
when you are a part of me?
Ten thousand miles
or across time
we are still one.
*
3-5-3
try my hand
at diamante
and like it
5-7-5
. . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . .
*
My words converge
with your sound
collide
explode
in shards
like a supernova
*
You took a blue-ribbon medal
off a star
and crowned me with it.
*
Measured time
and little glass boxes
into which everything
fits
every element
requisite for being
*
The city mosaic
captured vertically
and horizontally
in mirror image
and reverse
then tied end-to-end
in a knot
*
A tigress’ eye
*
wipe your blood ink
across these pages –
shattered illusions of
a girl that never was
*
self-congratulatory thanks
*
It is in this place
that money does not matter
Nor does color
or creed
In fact, none of the divisive
categories of man
*
I love how you stand –
as I imagine you did
as a small child,
one foot atop the other,
too small for the horn
you would command.
Posted by Amanda at November 22, 2003 07:51 PM
