From deep below the Delta
Up came a smoky contralto; a sweet vanilla
With an intuitive guitar,
And her artistic vision, she could see far___
To New Orleans she would go, then to Sugar Hill, and eventually around the world
Such a shiny Mississippi pearl
Never to be placed in a box
She moved mellifluously through the jazz world like a smooth fox
Glistening and extemporizing with M-Base Collective
Amalgamating Blues, Folk, Country, and R&B all in the name of jazz, which proved to be effective
With unusual phrases and unique arrangements on many covers, she sweetly uncovered the souls of men
Deeply and richly, Caramel Contralto touched so many with each song from beginning to end
'Time After Time'
On this 'Harvest Moon'
'You Move Me'
O' Caramel Contralto
'Time After Time'
On this 'Harvest Moon'
'You Move Me'
Words paint a universe where music is more than background—it’s atmosphere, gravity, and the stardust we breathe/ Here is a poem inspired by space jazz/
Space Jazz: A Dreamy Meditation
Chillin’ on Saturn station, vinyl spinning in zero-g, where the bassline tangos with distant moons and snares spark across nebulae/
Dave Brubeck drifts through airlocks, his 5/4 beat time waltz echoing as bone and starship trade places—beep bop, high orbit, a cosmic groove/
Weed-sweet notes swirl with city lights, lo-fi dust catching the glow of a suburban sunrise, where beats are meteors crashing softly into dawn/
Production geniuses, unseen, build galaxies from sampled fragments—space and jazz, nu soul and neon, downtempo dreams blooming in the vacuum of silence/
To listen is to travel without leaving your chair: fireflies flicker between cymbals, a chilled mode of existence where every track is a little more oxygen for the lovesick, the tired, the hopeful, the lost/
Dope ass mix—wonderful vibe—the universe keeps rollin’, and so do we.
Dancing out on a limb fits mighty fine with me
don't need no tango nor fandango
give me razzmatazz and all that jazz
the whole shebang to set my soul free
breaking out on the floor feels pretty good to me
don't want no rumba or no samba
give me a beat to move my feet
and set my soles free
I can rock with the best of them
roll with the rest of them
born to boogie I'm a rock 'n' roll man
the spotlight's the only place to be
anything less is second best
in the limelight's home to me
a rock 'n' roll man is what I am
It was midnight in Toledo,
With the airport all locked down.
Rats were screwing on the sidewalks.
Not a taxi could be found.
Then appears behind the headlights
A night shift cabbie found his fare.
Knew an after-hours dive bar
"Thank you pilgrim, drop us there!"
Morgan swirling in your Cola.
Three olives in my gin.
Jazz was mellow in The Scale House.
It's Tuesday morning, we're sleepin' in.
In the pulsating heart of bebop’s wild ride, Subway rails sing the rhythm of the night, Blowin’ off the rails/
a thrill to feel alive, Jazz improvises, takes flight in the city’s light/
Looping in style, the beat generation’s soul, Way gone, yet forever new, they roll, Jack and Neal, spinning the tenor’s wheel, Words and notes, a truth they want to reveal/
Coltrane’s solo on Giant Steps, a climb, Echoes through the alleyways of time,52nd Street, ’48’s jazz glow, Earl Garner’s spirit, hip and slow/
Fog rolls in by the Bay’s embrace, Bebop’s pulse, poets’ word art chase, A synergy of sound and voice, Village streets, where poets make their choice/
Jack Kerouac, with liquor and ink, dives into the dark, on the brink, painted words on Lex Avenue’s track, spoken word jazz, never holding back/
Turntables spinning, on the road we go, Jazz, weed, drink—life’s ebb and flow, San Francisco’s poets, breaking free, unveiling truths for all to see/
In the fusion of music and spoken word’s grace, lies a revolution, a sacred space, of injustice, love, and human rights—The beat goes on through endless nights.
I remember the first time I heard Ginsberg's voice,
A thunderous, cosmic howl that shook the air,
Like bebop horns wailing in the midnight noise,
A raw, unfiltered cry that stripped away despair.
His words, a jazz improvisation of the soul,
Breathless, wild, spinning in free flight,
A sacred chant, a rebel's roll,
Inviting us to dance in the neon light.
He was the poet as a bebop cat,
Slinging syllables like saxophone solos,
A spiritual anarchist, a love diplomat,
Breaking chains, defying all the old roles.
In his voice, I heard the universe's roar,
A call to be true, unshackled, free,
A portal to the sacred core,
Where art and life merge in harmony.
Allen Ginsberg, the beat's wild star,
Blazing through the darkness with cosmic fire,
His words, a jazz riff from afar,
Forever echoing, lifting us higher to right now, right here
Jazz: The Eternal Quest
In the smoky jazz haze of days gone by, Masters stood, their spirits soaring high, Miles, Monk, Coltrane—voices bold and free, in their minds, the seeds of destiny/
Jazz players fueled the fire’s glow, inventing new ways to make the soul flow. Each note a question, each rhythm a quest, Pushing boundaries, never at rest/
Today’s young cats, with history in their veins, learn from the giants, embrace the gains, Education sharp, their ears wider, in jazz’s river, they ride the tide to forever/
They chase the sound that’s bigger, fuller, truer, a deeper groove, a bolder view, to craft a world where the spirit’s free, Jazz’s future, a mystery/
So, next gig, let your sound transcend, seek that edge, that magic blend, for jazz’s soul is endless, vast, and grand—A timeless dance, forever unplanned/
I was 468 miles away,
thinkin’, “Baby, would ya catch me on the next one?”
The hairs on her arm would stick up
and she’d think to herself:
Ain’t no way he’s still thinkin’ ’bout me.
Well, listen, honey,
I know I’m a ramblin’, self-centered little prick,
but I gotta be honest—
I shoulda been the one to marry you.
Weeks pass and I forget
the smell of you,
the texture of your lips
and what they did to my soul…
but that’s not what I’m tryin’ to say.
My fiancée is in the other room,
likely entertainin’ a funner guy
who’d offer the moon.
I kill a pint of whiskey,
pass out,
and here I am, dreamin’ of you.
Morning comes, my head throbs,
but my heart hurts worse.
468 miles away,
yet moments ago we danced on the floor.
I kiss my ole lady, one eye open,
guardin’ my throat.
The light peck she gives lets me know
I’m not guilty
for clingin’ to hope—
the hope of seein’ you again,
down on the bathroom floor,
wishin’ you’d come around
just a lil bit more
Hustlin' Soul Jazz to the beat on the street/
Straight ahead Hank Mobley Art Blakey Seven Steps to the cool sounds of Harlem, diggin' deep into the subway, Harlem-148 St get off, take off/
whatcha say, bright moments, Man, bright moments the Pharoah Sanders way Milestones on the eight track Blue Mitchall's trumpet at the Sweet Basil, a jazz club in New York City's Greenwich Village/ a great place to play jazz and hang with no big pay day/
Wow, what a scene, Cecil McBee, Leroy Jenkins, Junior Mance, heavy heavy hitters of the jazz day/
So dig this, don't forget Wynton Kelly and his trio/
cool jazz covers and slick sleeves to get the record-buyin' hipster to hit on vinyl. Man, let me get you a bird's eye view, cause there ain't no cover charge to dig these words to view
Free from cooking dinner and bathing kids
we've exchanged lipstick, off to jazzy jigs tried different costumes, with plaited wigs
let's wear false lashes attached to blue lids
we'll go for raw oysters, no-one forbids
then hurry to club where cool drummer skids
girls will sing in deep voices startling digs
nonchalant will we be, dismantling grids
Black Magic Women, nobody's spare ribs !
turquoise tambourine tingling around
a sassy scintillating silvery sexy sound
jaunty jubilant dancer leaping from the ground
queen of the jazz festival, she is quickly crowned
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/
“Our World”
by Positive Mark
As we all seek a world to be contained in, our peek-out is the news. For those of you less beautiful, I gift fried chicken and the blues.
Horns with a muted bellow for every dead fellow who never made it out. Tight dresses for baby’s mommas, so those bodies leave no doubt.
Pitches peak on slammaday and slumday, then dive by Monday.
Jazz strained by too much salt. It’s food called soul. It ain’t our fault.
I’ve had no chill since Emmit Till.
Percussion is dulled by a pocket of pills. Contained in a world where we’re killed.
Gorilla pimps and ‘rillo scents, when will our world be healed?
I like my life symmetrical, but jazz is antithetical
How do I round out the sound?
He's A. *** DiNG DoNG ***
Duh-Dahhh-a-Deee-Ohhhhh...!
He's A DingDong Daddy-O Dummmmm...b.
And Spirits From Celestial Seas
To Call On Connections From
A Siren's Disease...
And Refreshing Surge Of The Surf
Leaves You Parched, And Struggling
To Understand The Warmth Of The Sea...
Darling Moonbeam, My One True Love...
Built From Sky...
-Gray Squirrel
10-14-2025
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