Best Miles Davis Poems
Tag words: advertising, bebop, bird, bottle, Charlie
Parker, Coca-Cola, Cole Porter, Dizzy Gillespie,
door, flag, heart, jazz, light bulb, Louis Armstrong,
Miles Davis, palette, Pepsi Cola, pluralism – found
object, retablo painting, sculpture
Arbitrary or subconscious, Saunders picked six.
Man created on the sixth day from darkness;
we came into the light, of knowing, of naming.
Satan, sin held within, black of skin. Oh,
Africa chopped up bleeding, the third world’s
doors shown black, nailed shut. With the skin
of drums, the heel of hand, he pounds the nails
on the trail of the carpenter.
Kept in place, biblical wives of Lot turned to salt,
white-line the globe. White powder, white power,
sugars the unpalpable, addicting, coca leafs and
caffeine, doping the public, the poor for dimes.
Reinforcing the lure of the bottle; the cola bottle
that fell unbroken to earth from the sky in The
God’s Must Be Crazy. Some have always used their
addictions to create. Like a found objects, we too
fall calling to Mother Mary.
After: The Gift of Presence Raymond Saunders 1993
First Published by Ekphrastic Art:writing and art on art and writing
*Lot the nephew of Abraham, husband of Edith
who was turned to salt.
Categories:
miles davis, art,
Form:
Ekphrasis
Lamentation
born among the travelers of her day
she played in the sandpile with Woody Guthrie
sung in the chorus with Allen Ginsberg
walked in the way of The Weavers
and bathed in the rhythms of Miles Davis
she lived unconfined and dreamed of change.
today, we see her still betrothed
committed to this sacred ground
searching asking, questioning, ...
consumed with her desire to know
engaged to a doctrine as a lover's pledge
she marches, occupies, writes,
relentlessly struggles, driven to ask
to whom shall she lament
for life's ambivalent adaptations?
her life defines her cogent mission.
she continues to flay against an unjust world
where equity kindness trickles down
and evaporates among negative forces.
shall she rage against God
for not eliminating suffering
in the details of man's creation?
shall she cry to the architect
who left man to face the agonies
of hunger, war, sickness,
and the loneliness of death?
to whom shall she lament
for life's ambivalent adaptations?
will the glorification of beauty
love, compassion, and mercy suffice?
will her breath, touch, hearing,
sight or taste suffice?
will her ancestors, her tribes
her spouse, her children
rise up and see her as blessed?
or will a requiem be the one
purpose of her life's fulfillment?
to whom shall she lament
for life's ambivalent adaptations?
C.A.K. 3-17-2013
Categories:
miles davis, america, conflict, feelings, life,
Form:
Light Verse
There are those who improvise within a structure,
with four beats to the bar like down home blues,
melodies and harmonies which stay within the fold,
embellishing the tune how e'er they choose.
Then there are cats who improvise to their own drummer,
inventing sheets of sound no ear has heard,
who bounce off one another, and break off from the norm,
Sun Ra's Arkestra, Sonny Stitt and Bird.
They wrote a new agenda, redistributing the forms,
inventing broader schemes of interplay,
as Jazz became a melting pot of signatures and styles,
through Ragtime, Big Band, Bop, until today.
America's indigenous art form,
born here, appreciated everywhere,
we are proud of all these marvelous musicians
who bring joy and recognition for us all to share.
********
...to Miles Davis in particular, R.I.P.
Categories:
miles davis, music,
Form:
Quatrain
She’s been making quilts
for half a century and he’s been
making poems that long as well
and every now and then he brings
a chocolate shake to her place
so they can take a break and talk.
He always finds her at the frame,
peering through thick lenses.
"I’m still house bound, Walt,"
she laughs and likes to say.
Once she told him quilts are poems.
She works with scraps of cloth
and he with scraps of words and quilts
and poems are never done until all
the scraps are where they have to be.
Now she's working on a Double Wedding Ring,
a quilt not unlike a sonnet in that both follow
patterns of their own but she likes crazy quilts
because she can improvise with scraps
she finds on floors around the house.
Her job's to make something beautiful
from scraps others might throw away.
He has no problem understanding that.
He saves scraps of words and marries them
in ways some folk find odd or useless.
Finishing her shake she says maybe
they play jazz and just don’t know it.
She likes Miles Davis and puts his album on
when a crazy quilt won't go her way
but she would never listen to Miles while
she’s at work on a Double Wedding Ring.
Yo-Yo Ma, she says, is the man for that.
The old poet says he would never disagree.
Donal Mahoney
Categories:
miles davis, art,
Form:
Blank verse
What is that feelin'
Creepin' 'bout my heart,
I think its kind of blue
Breakin' me apart
Fallin' into pieces
How many a heart has,
Once throbbed with neon
And all that jazz
I'm feelin' kind of blue
Not deep enough to cry,
A solemn kind of blue
Don't need to wonder why
Revolving slowly into
This somber attitude,
Azure leanin' on green
A pale, indigo mood
Muffled sounds carry
The smoothest baritone,
Over a muted trumpet
And a sad, sad saxophone
It's nothin' strange to me
Been right here before,
... Turn up the music
Slowly, close the door.
Categories:
miles davis, blue, color, heart, heartbreak,
Form:
Rhyme
A world without music, is a life without inspiration,
music itself is inspired by every nation.
No jazz, no soul, no rock, I'd probably die,
no tunes in my ear when I travel and fly.
No sound when I drive, no euphony in quiet times,
nothing to hum or sing, no melodies of delicate chimes.
Why breakdance when there's no hip hop around,
why adidas, why freestyle, they'll be no radios about.
No music, no music, I cannot imagine -
A world without music will bring nothing but sadness -
A world without music, is a concert without felicity,
if I didn't exist, would music be missing me?
No African chants that touch my soul once heard,
no mezmorizing songs from those Kingfisher birds.
No Elvis, no Prince, no Chaka Khan or Sting,
no Miles Davis or Madonna, Tupac or Alicia Keys.
What would you dance to? There's no such thing as rhythm,
You'd be moving and moving, but with no music in it.
No music, no music, I cannot imagine -
A world without music will bring nothing but sadness -
Categories:
miles davis, happiness, imagination, inspirational, love,
Form:
Free verse
Haunting notes
Pacify enchanted souls
Modal blues palliate
The most wicked of heart...
For Miles Davis.
Categories:
miles davis, music
Form:
As I drive by the end of days I see a pumpkin and a happy witch on the doorstep of my joy,
As I pass by my four year old’s awe toward friendly ghosts down the street of nostalgia,
I am reminded of Saints gone home and good souls on their penitent journey,
Zora Neale Hurston, Langston Hughes, Countee Cullen, Paul Robeson and the poets of my past,
Hendrix, Morrison, Michael, Louis Armstong and the Sounds of my testimony,
Prince and Wynton Marsalis, Miles Davis, Amadeus, Earth, Wind, and Fire,
Saints living, saints dead, souls vibrant, souls sad in the darkness of regret,
We are a glorious symphony on this, this all Hallows Eve,
The eve of that day when I celebrate the muses of my sacrifice and the foundations of my epiphanies,
“Halloween is here” my youngest daughter exclaims and I am reminded of many a night spent scavenging for sweet things and expectant laughter,
Tragic kings like Edgar Allen and Charlie Parker, souls with so much pregnant genius that the world was too much for them,
It is our celebration dear friends that will move the mountains of discontent,
And so in this season of harvest, carpe diem calls me to absorb as much love as I can as the sun sets on purple leaves and gorgeous corn stalks,
And in mother Africa, the ancestors dance like their Celtic sisters who fused the worship of our Lord and the glory of mother Gaia,
And in mother Africa the land recovers from the grief stricken sting of rape,
And in mother Africa my sisters and brothers celebrate the saints gone forward into that great mystery,
Tecumseh and Black Elk I celebrate the brilliance of your aptitude,
And I cry with you in triumph for the resurrection of a people forsaken but not defeated,
Come Glory,
On this All Hallows Eve, I celebrate the beauty of a journey full of confusion and catharsis,
For the reality is that we truly cannot fail,
As our cloud of witnesses sing to me of the victory that awaits,
Tonight, adorned with the fashion of merriment,
And the subtle chill of October wind reds our lips,
Come Glory and Glory be to the faithful departed,
Happy Halloween!
Categories:
miles davis, happiness, holiday, mother, africa,
Form:
Blank verse
Jazz Pleiades
Just feelin’ kind of blue
Jazzy blues harmony
Joined modal indigo
Juxtaposes smooth joy -
Jaunty jives splashing notes -
Jiven’ through the moonlight -
Jeweled mood reflections
10-14-20
Contest: Pleiades – Music
Sponsor: Joseph May
Dedicated to Miles Davis; Kind of Blue
Duke Ellington's Mood Indigo
Categories:
miles davis, music,
Form:
Pleiades
From East to west enslaved in chains
To work the fields, make tracks for trains
They sang their song antiphonally
To dull their day, hide misery
Those blues notes hit in wailing tone
And words about the heavenly home
Their doleful sounds had paved the way
To blues and jazz in later day
Rhythms and chords became complex
Joplin’s ragtime was a great success
For well practiced piano on old upright
Those old time rags are still a delight
New Orleans was where it began
In ghettos for blacks with time on their hands
From morning to night they developed their skills
On trumpets, sax, it staved off their ills
Mastering their instruments with deft virtuosity
Jazzy riffs marked by smart improvisatory
The Mississipi paddle boats chugged their way
Aboard, the sounds of jazz in full sway
Entertaining, with a sense of pride
Scat singing, cross rhythms, boogie and stride
And took their art to far off places
Strutting their stuff, no airs and graces
White bands were now beginning to swing
Inclusion slowly becoming the thing
With time to go, but heading that way
In church, brilliant gospel helped them to pray
Spirituals continued to highlight their plight
Fair treatment becoming within their sight
Jazz continues to wow one and all
In different forms to really enthrall
Miles Davis and Matt Dennis both just the same
With jazz in mind, they played the same game
Blues and jazz have impacted new sounds
As popular as ever its music abounds
Categories:
miles davis, slavery,
Form:
Light Verse
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Wonders Of The World
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: June/2015
i e R
k o
c b
a Hank Aaron i
J. Mahalia Jackson n
Miles Davis s
M. Dr Charles Drew o
u. Madam CJ Walker n
h. George Washington Carver. i
a. l
m. A
m. a d
Black Wonders
Of
The World
Categories:
miles davis, black african american, celebrity,
Form:
Shape
A stirring lilac breeze for an alarm or,
alternatively, a morning dove's song
Minimum one, maximum two people
absolutely no minors
Several medium-firm pillows
a well-fluffed quilt, untucked
Two auto-frying eggs and strips of bacon
and auto-toasting toast, buttered, triangular
A large glass of freshly-squeezed (by someone else)
pink grapefruit juice
Espresso served in tiny cups à la volonté
steamed milk upon request
A stout newspaper, of which no more than 50%
can be composed of actual news
Miles Davis "Kind Of Blue" looping
in the background
One pair of loose fitting boxer shorts with t-shirt
one pair of bare feet, regardless of the season
And absolutely, positively
no planning whatsoever
Categories:
miles davis, life,
Form:
Free verse
Love
When it hits you like a ton of bricks
Wham!
You're down for the count
1.2.3...
You're up!
Your eyes rise to the sky
only to catch a falling star
for a split second
Whoosh!
Then it's gone
You walk away
beat
then you see your old buddy Jack
"Jack!"
you shout out
and he shouts back too
You go to the local coffee shop
only to find what you ran away
from
You look to your left
and in the corner
with his sometimes girlfriend
is a young punk
all dressed in black
They sit and shoot the breeze
about nothing at all
or even in particular
You walk further
and chat with the owner
about old times and good coffee
You proceed to sit
on the ragged and torn old couch
that reminds you of a couch
your parents once had back when
Kool & The Gang were cool
and whenever you heard
Earth, Wind, & Fire
it really was a celebration
Your old buddy Jack
sits along side of you
and you talk of good times
and lost loves
you'll never see again
Then all of a sudden
Whoosh!!!!
It hits your ear like a frieght train
The cool sounds of Miles Davis
trump-trump-trumpeting
like no one else can
and then you think
"You know Jack, he sounds like I feel"
and you move on to talk about
the emotion and soul of jazz
As you sip your last sip of
coffee you remember what you
were looking for
Love
That funny and mysterious thing
that everyone longs for but
few truly have
So you hit the back streets
that are all but unfamiliar to
you as a kid
and you keep searching....
You keep searching
for that crazy thing
called love
But the question remains
"Did you find it Jack?"
Categories:
miles davis, life, people, old, old,
Form:
Free verse
It's one of those moments,
the guy in you grabs the micro
starts talking on and on;
mine is often sarcastic,
from high school to career,
spinning around the questions starting with why,
no escape from responding.
It's like life itself, which is always to blame;
and which you can not do away with.
In that moment you go through a mental trance.
Next, a piece of music wakes you from your journey.
It does not matter who it is,
be it Ravel, Brahms or,Rachmaninoff;
But, mostly it's Pachelbel knocking at my door.
in that moment, lightnings thud in my world,
just as my internal lights are dead blind.
The dried, barren soil kisses the wild stream
through cracked lips,
A mom presses her toddler into her chest,
that moment, life leaps into joy
stripped of mournful sorrow.
It feels like seeing the smile on the kid's face
who made her first step;
it feels like being picked up by
the Baroque tune in "Canon In D".
To some others,
it feels like waking up to Miles Davis.
People keep pouring through the streets,
no matter what happened last night;
it's like life itself,which is always to blame
and which you can not do away with.
Next, my eyes get blurry
they see the loved one behind
the foggy hills of my mind.
it feels like covering her naked body with blanket,
shielding off the morning breeze
slipping through our ajar window
as bed sheets smells of our sweat of bliss.
That moment, it feels like sensing life
running through your veins.
So, you show interest in these verses
partnering with me in that moment
don't be intimidated with sharing it
It feels like being a single body, united
with all of our good deeds and sins.
Afar, The Sun sends her last rays
down the snow capped mountains of my heart
that moment, my ears are cozily stuck with
the arias of Andrea Bocelli, warm and gripping
it feels like my dad's still alive and smiling
Categories:
miles davis, happiness, introspection, music, life,
Form:
Free verse
This is an attempt to go further than thought can contain
Something like when prince got off on purple rain
We wander these unleveled streets
Without long barreled heat
Seeking pain to meet
But taste not defeat
My stride floats without feet
Not a crawl but a creep
The second coming of Langston Hughes
Miles Davis couldnt blow these blues
Constructing unbreakable foundations using words as tools
Life in the fourth quarter and breaking all the rules
Fear not the atmospere but what lurks beyond
Resemblance of a childhood thats to far gone
Some hearts cry out when others yawn
We built this city but wont stand upon.
Categories:
miles davis, food, growing up, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse