Jazz improvisation is a favorite vehicle for cognitive psychologists and neuroscientists, while smokin' weed in the lab/ the mind scrambles into a rhythm, thoughts improvising on beat/ fingers rippple over the white and black keys/Stimulated thinking, they call it, a mental jam session where ideas riff in and out of the mind and evolve, where the cortex keeps time with the bass line of curiosity and wonder/You've got to learn your instrument, then you practice, practice, practice man/hit the band stand and cook your ass off/ Charlie Parker high even high in the air/ would practice in the doorway, the gateway, on a bridge like Sonny Rollins did/ the ignition for invention, motivation and just havin' a good time in playin' your horn/Flow, baby flow, movin' on out, cracklin' them jazz notes across the room/ the zone, where pressure bleeds away and enless possibility streams in like sunlight through a wide open window, yeah, improvise jazz flow is not a song you finish, but a doorway you walk through again and again, maybe bumpin' your head on the way out but always in the flow of this thing we call jazz/
I'm riding and flying into dimensions beyond the 3rd,
Sweet melodies and harmonies of rhythmic words.
They speak melodiously and deeply to my soul.
I'm riding and flying; I'm losing control.
No seatbelt to buckle into or even think of,
But I'm safe and feeling free, flying like a dove.
Above all pain 'cause Trane, Bird, and Hawk are soulfully saxing,
Sweet, harmonious melodies got me chillaxing.
Free! I'm so free,
And my mind's eye can see.
And my heart can feel,
I'm riding and flying into a peaceful surreal.
The baby cried, but the wailing was a soothing
Jazz melody in E flat, a sound associated with
that baby for thirty-five years. A Bebopper,
a jazzer, a revolutionary, a Bird! He could
make you fly like no one else. But the scars,
the scars he received while crashing after flying
too high, higher than the birds should ever go.
Every breath was a sigh, a craving for what he
could be, if only…
The baby cried, this time the Bird flew without
any help, for that baby was his own. This time
the baby crashed for him, her life instead of
his, and his life depleted with every step
after that fateful day.
The baby cried, for a man with the Baroness.
For a man who hated hospitals and wouldn’t go.
For a man who finally played one last note
of good bye. For a man whose dying rocked the
masses, and the masses not believing a word. The baby
cried for the Bird, the legend, the man,
the Bebop sound, rolled into one.
In the midst of all this chaos
When frustration’s only grown,
Let us pause to stop and listen
To the lovely saxophone.
Adolphe Sax was its inventor
Back in 1846
And his instrument remains
One of musicians’ favorite picks.
Charlie Parker, Clarence Clemons,
John Coltrane and Kenny G
Are a few whose sax renditions
Have made music history.
So forget this doomed election.
Take a breath and clear your head
With the melancholy musings
Of a saxophone instead.
Scott Joplin, Paul Simon and the Beatles pop,
The Stones, Dire Straits and, Yes & ZZ Top.
Bob Dylan plays his heart out, Northern Soul,
Rod Stewart, The Traveling Wilburys do their stuff,
And as if that isn't enough, there's Jeff Wayne,
With his War of the Worlds in a musical vein.
Cajun, Bluegrass and Dueling Banjos to boot.
I got Spike Jones & his city slickers, what a hoot.
Bill Haley, Leo Sayer, and some Monkeys abound,
Each one giving out their awesome own sound.
Now Meatloaf is a band I love to hear.
Coming close behind is the great Chris Rea.
Eric Clapton always stops me in my tracks,
Charlie Parker and Stan Getz on their Sax,
Some great big band sounds at their backs.
All this and more on my headphones tonight,
Just listening to music has been my delight.
I have cleared all the shelves, nothing is left,
All on my spare hard drive, I'll not be bereft.
I hope the charity shop this stuff can sell,
So more folk can enjoy this music as well.
© Dave Timperley 25/10/2018
BY STREET CRIES
READING BOOKS TO THE SOUNDS OF JAZZ
ABSORBING TUNES TO A HYPNOTIC PAST
WHERE HORNS ARE BLOWN AND KEYS PLAYED
AT JUST THE RIGHT TONE
ITS A SOULFULL VIBE THAT CREATS A RELAXING
ZONE
PROVIDING THE LATE GREAT DUKE ELLITON A
PLACE TO CALL HOME
MILLES DAVIS RELEASES RHYTHM EQUAL TO A
HORMONIC CELL PHONE
THE LOVELY ELLA FITZGERALD VOICE IS MORE THAN
WELL KNOWN
NATKING COLE SINGS UNFORGETTABLE SONGS THAT
MAKES MONIALISA DREAM
BY ALL MEANS
SPENDING SUMMER TIME IN STORMY WEATHER
BROUGHT YOU AND BILLE HOLIDAY CLOSER TOGETHER
HOWEVER
NOBODY KNOWS HOW LONG AUTUMN IN NEW YORK
LAST LIKE LOUIE ARMSTRONG
AS I CONTINUE ON
CHARLIE PARKER DISPLAYS LOVE FOR SALE THROUGH
HIS SAXOPHONE
LEAVING A HOT HOUSE OF HUNGRY KISSES FROM
GENTLEMAN TO MISSES
EQUAL TRUE WISHES
THESE ARE CHARACTERISTICS OF THE AMBITIOUS
LEAVING LISTENERS SPIRITS UPLIFTED
WITH TALENTS THAT SAY UNRESTRICTED
BLESSING THE WORLD THEY VISIT WITH THE TIME
THAT WAS GIVEN
Villanelle for Valentine’s Day
Remember we danced to Charlie Parker on the dorm-room floor?
Our hearts were staccato and wouldn’t heed a rest,
And I read you a poem: tides crashing my love into your shore.
Gentle jazz carried us, on currents, across the floor,
Your laugh against my cheek from my whispered jest
When we danced to Charlie Parker on the dorm-room floor.
My heart was bass booms, it was something you could not ignore.
It beat with a mallet, a roller falling against your breast,
And I read you a poem: tides crashing my love into your shore.
You heard mine, your heart always singing to implore,
My rhythm was awful, steps stuttered, it was not my best
When we danced to Charlie Parker on the dorm-room floor.
Finally I began to dance, to float, knowing it was your
Heart that I heard, singing over tides’ waves’ crest,
So I read you a poem: tides crashing my love into your shore.
Our dance was a music, a tide we could not ignore,
On my shoulder, my heart, you took your rest,
As we danced to Charlie Parker on the dorm-room floor.
And I read you a poem: tides crashing my love into your shore.
Business in my head … it won't stop
When it starts it can't end
Where it ends nobody knows
Decisions, decisions - always, never ending.
With the wind in my face, wheels turning around and around
I hear the YellowJackets; Theonius Monk pulsing in the background
Charlie Parker screeching to the beat of real jazz
Melodious chords after chords floating onward – peacefully in tune inside.
Momentum carries my thoughts of one, today
With smiling green eyes of
Golden hair forcefully driven - dressed in happiness, colorful
Echoing throughout my day.
Outside she … coated in sugarless healthy sweetness – wine in hand
Inside I wonder - what moves her?
What thoughts she may have of life’s joys and false toys?
Wearing outer power … searching inner self for what she is, will be, wants to be?
Wondrous movements of such deep intensity – hmm.
© Charles H Keys, 2012. All Rights Reserved
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