THE GOODS OF JAZZ
By Roger Singer
The brass,
Strong on bold,
Speaks to
Fallen tired
Wanting souls
Melted into night.
A bunch
Of sound
Jumps onto ears
Like gangs
With angry fists
Spilling bad blood.
Horns with sass
Snap at notes
Passing in air
Like chained dogs
Tight on leashes,
Burning to bite.
Thieves steal
But horns deliver
The sweet honey,
The goods of jazz,
Delivered loud
Like babies crying.
-----------
VULTURES PICKING
By Roger Singer
Rattle the bones
Out of my flesh
Like vultures
Picking sharp
And tearing hard
I feel
The jazz
Smacking at
My soul
Like pins
And needles
Scratching sharp
And making pain
On my skin
As I cry
Out loud
And the music
Thumps my ears
Like fat
Elephant feet
Pounding and
Pressing thick
As clouds
Start spitting
Raindrops onto
My face
While I’m
Looking up
Waiting for
The sounds
To wash me
Clean into
The next
Song.
----------
SUMMERTIME JAZZ
By Roger Singer
Hard hammered
Jazzy notes
Pour from horns
Like molten steel
Forged tight and hot
Cut and sharpened
By the air between.
Sounds drip
In passionate
Heated flavor
Like wilting lovers
With fingers
Curiously touching,
Then reaching the end.
Rivers of hair
Swirl madly like
A carousel spinning
In summers heat
Where shirts cling
And eyes absorb
The language of sway.
Busy lips
Speak in whispers
To willing ears
Forcing shoulders
To jive and dip
Then melt,
Warmly breathing.
-----------
BRUSHING OVER ME
The notes
From his
Guitar
Brushed me
Into awake
With thoughts
Jumping into
One another
Winning me over
Like the eyes
Of a lover
Speaking in
Whispers
Wishing with
Prayers
For the night
To never end
While the music
Creeps with
Cool under
The skin
Flowing with
Purpose until
The whole
Part of the
Person
And the soul
Feel the storm
Of the jazz
Gusting inside
Of them.
-----------
LATE INTO NIGHT
Lifting piano notes
Break the air
Like lightening,
Beating the sound
Bright with heat.
The music feeds
The hungry
Banquet full
As dancers
Drift darkly.
Moving warm tides
Of lovers hands
Brush the night
With whispers
Breathing of jazz. |
SNAPPING THOSE STRINGS
By Roger Singer
The stars
Don’t have
A chance
And that moon
Up there
Fat with cheese
Smiling silver
And winking cold
Holds not
A candle
To the man
And his guitar
Pulling strings
Thick like
Christmas bows
Each note
Popping up
Like the sun
But that to
Can’t hold
No heat
When those
Picking fingers
Snap into
Fire
Flaming alive
The song
From smoke
To blazing
Burning jive
Sweating the
Foreheads and
Hands with
The jazz
From that
Man.
-----------
UNDER THE MUSIC
By Roger Singer
His bright sax
Lifts to alive
With his breath
Jumping to life
Like horses
Slapped hard.
He roughly
Snags the sound
Catching hard
The high jazz
On lifted air
He commands.
Wanting eyes
Target his face
With long looks
Reaching up
As they drown
Under the music.
-----------
BRASSY AND TIGHT
By Roger Singer
The edges of
Silk dresses
Slip the air
Where hands
And fingers
Lift with jive.
Money and lust
Warms ice
Into melting
Where it runs
Onto fast shoes
Living to dance.
Dark shadows
Cover the eyes
Where night
Is the jazz
And desires
Speak sharp.
Hips sway
With a hungry
Wanting thirst
As music jumps
Out of horns
Brassy and tight.
-----------
PLAY IT ON ME
Sing the song
Into me
With your
Fingers on
The bass.
Place my wants
In order,
Tell me what
I need and
Where I am.
Cover over
The darkness
Rich in me
Pulling tight
My soul.
Pour the life
Of meaning
Onto me
With the
Deepest jazz.
-----------
NOW THEY SEE
The voice of sax
Finds blue notes
Starting early
Then runs hot
With lipstick red
Firing to burning
White invisible
Flames singeing
The weak
Weary with regular
Sounds sounding
Without meaning
And fearful of
New beats
Like those
Of horses
Strong with
A musty sweat
Running wild
And uncharted
Like the songs
They now hear
And the words
They now see
And feel
From between
The lines
Once hidden
Now naked
Like apples
Waiting to be
Plucked
Into jazz. |