Jazz musician Alan Davie
an artist also was he
Known as very prolific
no easy favourite to pick
A jazz musician
wonders back
to his days at the keyboard…
each note over practiced
until melody pure
and magic releases
A poet in laurels
wonders back
to his primers and notepads…
each word placed in order
until imagery calls
—and syntax digresses
(Villanova University: October, 2021)
Bumblebee Babineaux, the younger daughter, has just reached the age when self-confidence makes the most sense. Bumblebee is generally a pleasant, well-mannered girl, with a smile like freshwater pearls, and sparkling emeralds for eyes. However, being a middle child has its disadvantages, to her way of thinking. She is often righteously intolerant of her precocious younger brother, Gnat, who takes every advantage when left unsupervised to rummage through Bumblebee’s dresser drawers, curiously examining all her girly-girl things. Bumblebee is very protective of her girly-girl things, especially her large collection of jazz musician stickers. But more regretfully, she is envious of her beautiful and talented older sister, Labyrinthia, who is currently in Baton Rouge studying to become a yoga instructor. Bumblebee harbors an incipient resentment toward her older sister that will have dire implications in the story about to unfold.
He walked down the high street in tropical Havana
Where he spotted a bar named the Copa Cabana
The weather was hot he could do with a drink
An ice cold beer and some time to think
However did he finish up in a country like Cuba ?
Was down to a jazz musician who plays the tuba
The jazz man told him of those fancy cigars
To watch and admire the old and vintage cars
He liked Cuba and would stay another week
The night-time dancing was certainly cheek to cheek
One thing though he really wanted to know
How did this country ever be ruled by Castro
"Don't play what's there.
Play what's not there."
Quote from Miles Davis, Jazz Musician
Writing poetry always in forms?
Why not write with the flow of life's
dancing waters?
Expressing yourself, freely as one
chooses.
Adds to a poem's bright light..
Bringing out brand new, lovely
"Poetryscapes"
The songs in your soul, that's my
biggest delight.
The inner landscape of you.!
So shining and true!
12/9/2020
Up the dark barricaded staircase
with a monitor well focused between their legs
they came to digest an ego
caress ten long fingers aflame at tips
Imbibe bright juice
heal a chequered heart
mount the focused quartz
don weathered leather
as African heroes of the past stare
through windows draped in
white chiffon
They smooth peppercorn hair
in ecstasies of bliss as delicate oil
flare their nostrils, ignite their liver
while township youth play dice upstairs
modelling their future on one man alone
as jazz tunes are whistled from corners
a piano remains covered in velvet
with a blighted knight trying some stunts
and wizard talks tales of Mecca
then prays on centre stage
They twist locks and slit bars
violet Sun stream in
all is touched with gold as he glances
at their toes, skirmishes their
breasts in figures of eight
on a path to the beyond
White Witches in Wind
Midnight's hollow streets...
Rolls Royce crushes cigarette butts as sinful, cold drizzle of animalistic desire
lurks on shadowy corners of locked buildings, for a price... negotiable..
Balconies bear yesterday's broken beads as a jazz musician is soundly asleep.
So much hard numbness in those easy to open bottles...
It rains over useless signs: " Do Not Park On Bridge!"
Skid marks end in despair...
A street light dies totally alone...
The phone rings with a grin looking for a Call Girl.
... Hello?
I tear out my heart and replace it with a wallet
Lipstick crosses boundaries of good taste so romance cannot develop.
I lay down frames with pictures of loved ones, face down...execution style...as I
pour myself a glass of Morality Suicide...I drink it before I let myself go for, yet,
another night of desensitized numbness...
Midnight's hollow streets
Rolls Royce crushes cigarette butts
Sinful, cold drizzle of animalistic desire
Lurks on shadowy corners of locked buildings
For a price, negotiable..
Balconies bear yesterday's broken beads
A jazz musician is soundly asleep
So much hard numbness in those easy to open bottles...
It rains over useless signs: Do Not Park On Bridge!
Skid marks end in despair
A street light dies totally alone
The City keeps on pulsating hopes of togetherness
In a Midnight's hollow streets
Full of happy windows...
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