There’s no member fee required
In the club “My Quaint Rebirth”
It’s a sheltered place, so quiet
It’s a paradise on earth
Drinks are free so are the snacks
Smoking is allowed
Come inside, sit down, relax
Get your pint of stout
You don’t have to say a word
If you feel like this
Anyway your word is heard
Never to be missed
Your most daring thoughts were said
Centuries ago
And most likely you have read
Some of them before
You were bound to come up
Just by chance, you think
Welcome to the beggars pub
Give yourself a wink
Everyone you see is friendly
No one talks too much
You feel safe and unpretending
In a place like such
And the only news you get
Tell of sport and weather
Makes it all soon to forget
Cause they blend together..
From Hip-Hop to bop, we ride the jazz tide, swing till you drop/underground Monk playin' some funk/Max Roach coaching the field, drums in the playbook/ Brother Jack McDuff runnin' for a touch down in the open filed/Superman and Jimmy Smith, the dynamic duo’s look flyin' high/Abstract truths on the wall, Warhol’s silver glow/Basquiat’s brush storms the gallery floor/Miles, out of the kool, breakin’ every rule/a trumpet thunderbolt/ stereo vinyl playin'/ Sonny Rollins vibes in the club, cookin’ up fresh notes/church bells ring in his horn/ Man, a river of quotes/The Jazz Messengers mark the milestones in the mist/Miles all the way live, his Sketches of Spain we can’t resist/ HiFi prayers/ Jazz time/ Peace and love for all mankind/Blue Mitchell in the barroom a mural on the wall/Man, it’s all right, baby, hear the crowd ignite/Wynton Kelly’s trio is out of sight like way gone/From street corners to jazz low down rooms, the groove is our creed/a lineage of legends planted in every reed/Spoken in breath, in rhyme, in rhythm’s Sly Stones art/a saga of swing that lives on, heart to jaged heart/ The soulful vibes keeps use alive
meet the go-to guy
better behave in the club ~
a hulking bouncer
From the day we’re born we’re in the club
Consuming yet eerily beautiful
A club that commands no fee
Where its expected for us to be dutiful
We appear the same in little ways
Yet are different in our own minds
A connection so strong and solid
With no escape one often finds
Cause this is the club called family
Of parents, sisters and brotherhood
All herded up like cows in a field
Bonded by bone and blood
Occasionally theres break in the chain
Where speaking becomes a chore
And while we avoid and keep our distance
Our love just burns forever more
No one really forgets each another
The heart just decides it’s hiding away
Until that moment along the road
Where it’s ready to come back and stay
This is because we’re family
Created from the same mould
Push and hurt anyone of us
And our fight will be big and bold
We all know where our bread is buttered
It’s the lessons we’ve learned together
From our first cuddle to our first row
We will always look after one another
I learned to fly
In a box
Zooming up
To my desk
In Tower Two.
And looking down
On planes
Cruising above
The Hudson.
Gazing at
The Statue
On its island
In the Harbor
Or the yachts
In the club
Marina
Down below.
My thoughts
Sailing off
To distant vistas
Never thinking
Of planes
Planning
A future flight
Toward my tower.
Silly Billy Dilly come chill with the bees and me.
Floating into my mind’s eye is Luna moths, three.
Dazzling in the club of commons, we click with a knee.
Pleasing the grasshopper who gives a loud tee hee hee.
In the club, everything is the same:
Lounge, tables, chairs,
music playing..
Only people weren't
the same... They went to
to the salon, longing...!
I’m busy as a bus.
Ten hours on the telephone, research resources,
school staff, counsel clients.
Some sleep.
Then invite Lorraine downtown, the lovely loyal
secretary, to hear jammin jazz crew. By taxi tonight,
sans subway.
I’ve never been to this joint before
but admire the women in their dresses and makeup.
In New York, they smell wild. Elsewhere
women are ranchers and gardeners.
We find a small table in the crowd,
order drinks. The band is four young black men.
Lorraine is black too, by the by.
We get up to dance and I leave my cowboy boots
under the table. I’ve always enjoyed
the way Lorraine puts her arms around me.
I’m the oldest cat in the club
which is frightening
since just fifteen years ago I was the youngest.
I wink at the trumpet player with my fairly abandoned mien
who comes over to our table between sets.
He likes Lorraine. They jukebox it.
She falls in love.
“It's gettin' hard to please 'em
You start to feel the rub
You know it isn't easy
Well, welcome to the club
Come on and join us in the club.”
– Joe Walsh
The marquee glares with brilliant light.
A talent takes stage to delight.
Too many hours, too long the show
Painful pressure in too hot glow.
How much more can they surely take
before they crumble and then break?
They are ever pressured for more
and always seem stressed to the core.
What more is left after they give
memories for fans to relive?
Choking on their artistic fame,
each breath becomes a burning flame.
Fraught with fear of losing the edge.
closer and closer they get to the ledge,
Woefully, they bend, twist, and crack;
pushed too far to ever come back.
Might 27 be given
to those depressively driven?
Another club’s members alive;
the ones who struggle, yet survive.
In the club we rave chicks
Munching on glow sticks,
While sipping from a tub of acid,
Sipping on tube shots until we rabid.
After hours we doodle on the sidewalks
With a pack of rainbow chalks.
The people in the streets listen to our hums
As we march to the beat of our own drums.
Our heads filled with magic
As we drink coolers until we sick.
We rave girls love partying:
Dancing until we feel like we're dying.
I once had that Afro hair you now rock, oh yes i once had it.
Not in the 40s, not in the 50s but in the summer of the dark age. I was a pretty little thing, A fish and oh yes i swimmed all waters.
My blackness got it strength from that Afro hair, not the wigs you rock now that has no shadow under.
My Afro hair.
I rocked it in front of the mirror and it sent messages to the slave masters that i have scribbled their skeletons on my wall.
My Afro hair.
I rocked it in the club and a white brother got the message that liberty needs a glass.
My young Africans.
You rock your Afro hair in front of sloths, drink wild, your winks die and you lie you represent the liberation party.
My young Africans.
In the summer of the dark age i was among the black panthers, we pounced on herods and never wore another skin.
My young Africans.
How do you rock your Afro hair?
What do you make of the coco butter inside your skin?
Oh what an ebony skin you got.
My young Africans.
I'm Sekani
Remember the days of the redcoats,
Always there to help,
A family holiday it was all fun and games,
Competitions by the pool,
Knobbely knees and glamorous grannies,
Kids clubs so adults got a break,
Party games having a laugh.
Adults go out in evening,
Children asleep in bed the redcoats are on alert for children crying,
In the club a red coat holds a number up,
Mum goes to see to her child dad stays drinking.
Breakfast was in the canteen long tables and benches,
Everyone ate together everyone mixed,
All these things where paid for with the holiday,
You didnt need much money,
Butlins was great back then.
In the 80s Butlins went into decline they needed to change,
Kids wanted a lot more,
People started to go abroad for the sun,
Butlins now is arcades, fast food not within the price,
Now you pay through the nose,
It's not the same anymore.
Back then she was singing the blues,
In a smaller club where the sunset-
Splashed the walls in various hues,
On a plummy street called Somerset.
I was introduced to her backstage,
In that far away, long ago place,
Before she had become all the rage,
With her jet-setter's renowned face.
Her voice then was as liquid gold,
And eyes reflected the bright lights,
And her song a melancholy tale told,
Of her dream which had taken flight!
All motion in the club would cease,
Anytime the blue lady in red sang
Her beautiful, musical masterpiece,
In a voice which, like bells, rang!
Now, in the still of a pastel dawn,
My memories wander back to Somerset-
Of those happy, sun days quite gone,
And the blues song I cannot forget!
*MY ROOT*
*I know my root*
*I know where I started*
*My tears weren't just from pain or sadness*
*Many at times from my efforts*
*My sweats weren't all from heat*
*Some from the struggles I made*
*Many times I fell to my knees*
*Not because of my loss*
*Many times I was praying*
*That my labour shall never be in vain*
*If tomorrow comes and you see me smile*
*Not because I've made it*
*But because I have hope for better tomorrow*
*And if you see me balling in the club*
*I'm not a wasteful spender, I've paid my dues*
*But no matter how great I make it on life*
*I shall always remember my beginning*
*And I shall always thank God for my root*
(FM CONCEPTUAL ???)
I couldn't suppress
How music makes me feel if I tried
It comforts me
It spirits me away
From stressors of the day
It's almost like magic
How it buoys my spirit
From song to song on my playlist
Bobbing my head front and back
Grooving side-to-side
It gets my fingers snappin'
And my hands clappin'
And my feet tappin'
It makes me dance
Like nobody's watchin'
A good beat keeps my body movin'
When I'm in the club, whooping it up
When I'm at the gym, sweating it out
When I'm at home, relaxin'. I love music...
It doesn't matter the genre or language
Submitted for...
Strand Select Y,Any Form,Any Theme Poetry Contest (Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Date: 02/22/2020
Date written and posted: 05/26/2019
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