Long High voltage Poems
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To the legendary teacher I pay tribute
For imparting live voices to the mute
You paid gratitude
To the multitude
On the mountain top you stood
And all the heads understood
You never said ‘Never’
As admired in Geneva;
Tremendous work for real
Remains in me a thrill!
You explored the world
Left in me a living word
Instilled sight onto my mind
In place of being blind.
Domesticated me where I went wild
I lost you – I remain worried
Your education
Was a dedication
For my emancipation
Through marked participation
Hot springs of wits gush out of turgid mazards
Thus; unleashing veracity poses no hazards
From the famous profit and loss account
To how elasticity of demand is paramount
The art of blending species of flora in the gardens,
Merging ideas to console those carrying burdens
Powders mixed to thwart the woes of gout
For chemical blending of dust into ceramic tiles and grout
Artistic laying of tiles with no doubt,
Farmers add granules of compounds to combat drought
Mixing small grains into carling draught
Or into flour and oil for palatable dishes and crust
Spinning of the ginnery, linen craft
Crafting aprons which the chefs trust
Perpendicular tors of triumph echo from Arithmetic
Beneficiaries seducing lasses with cosmetics.
Rhyming rhythms of iambic pentameter;
With 13 amps flowing – records the ammeter,
Or 6 000 amps of the high voltage arc
Fusing rival elements into the Ark
Compelling hard cores of high resistance
Leaving them for complete ‘non-existence’.
We had signed the Teacher concession;
Of study, participation and concentration,
That was the ‘Moyo Treaty’.
Though the exam is always tricky
Finally we dilute the concentrate
Textbook to notes - our carbohydrate.
I recalled my teacher through secondary
That he knew no boundary
He taught to set apart
What had been one part
He taught negative effects of Mainstay,
But God has the main stay
That death has a long stay!
Water is enough to stay!
In that his last essay
He scribbled a lot I can’t say
Keys of wisdom I surrender
We can’t be put asunder
Teacher – pupil
Your words I fulfill
I can now feel
A gap I can’t fill!
Zorora murugare, Lala ngokuthula!
To the legendary teacher I pay tribute
For imparting live voices to the mute
You paid gratitude
To the multitude
On the mountain top you stood
And all the heads understood
You never said ‘Never’
As admired in Geneva;
Tremendous work for real
Remains in me a thrill!
You explored the world
Left in me a living word
Instilled sight onto my mind
In place of being blind.
Domesticated me where I went wild
I lost you – I remain worried
Your education
Was a dedication
For my emancipation
Through marked participation
Hot springs of wits gush out of turgid mazards
Thus; unleashing veracity poses no hazards
From the famous profit and loss account
To how elasticity of demand is paramount
The art of blending species of flora in the gardens,
Merging ideas to console those carrying burdens
Powders mixed to thwart the woes of gout
For chemical blending of dust into ceramic tiles and grout
Artistic laying of tiles with no doubt,
Farmers add granules of compounds to combat drought
Mixing small grains into carling draught
Or intp flour and oil for palatable dishes and crust
Spinning of the ginnery, linen craft
Crafting aprons which the chefs trust
Perpendicular tors of triumph echo from Arithmetic
Beneficiaries seducing lasses with cosmetics.
Rhyming rhythms of iambic pentameter;
With 13 amps flowing – records the ammeter,
Or 6 000 amps of the high voltage arc
Fusing rival elements into the ark
Compelling hard cores of high resistance
Leaving them for complete ‘non-existence’.
We had signed the Teacher concession;
Of study, participation and concentration,
That was the ‘Moyo Treaty’.
Though the exam is always tricky
Finally we dilute the concentrate
Textbook to notes - our carbohydrate.
I recalled my teacher through secondary
That he knew no boundary
He taught to set apart
What had been one part
He taught negative effects of Mainstay,
But God has the main stay
That death has a long stay!
Water is enough to stay!
In that his last essay
He scribbled a lot I can’t say
Keys of wisdom I surrender
We can’t be put asunder
Teacher – pupil
Your words I fulfill
I can now feel
A gap I can’t fill!
Gently lying on my bed with my slickly Pink Pajamas,
I fell asleep like a peaceful baby,
then the windows opened in complete excitement,
and the seas breezed in like a stampede,
raising my night dress from legs to Breasts
leaving me nude, cold but blessed,
then came this guy with a bad intention crested on his chest,
I could not picture his face but could see him so well.
As his tongue kiss and lick,
high voltage current crossed my cheek.
the wet flexible muscle moved quite oblique,
then every action from now on seem to click,
causing sensation so quick,
I suddenly became helpless, weak and sick.
He trade his plight on site,
causing hormonal sparks to ignite,
not considering if he is wrong or right,
becoming more real and clean in my sight,
my increasing arousal, making the moment bright.
His groans made the feeling mutual,
producing pleasure beyond the normal ritual,
and making his movement on me so casual,
cupped my Breast to make the feeling factual,
squeezing them like a newly baked dough,
wheezing sounds emerging from my passionate screams,
and making my freezing feet jerk as he plays with the nipples.
Then down the road he goes to my shin,
spreading my legs made the sensation immeasurable,
the gradual heat from his romancing hand, simply unspeakable,
summed up with his commanding domination like a constable,
began an erotic scene so irresistible,
and since I am already grossly susceptible,
I yielded to his masculine touch as though already compatible.
Steadily and slowly, he drives through to my thighs like a convertible,
causing a body rhythm and sensation so explicable.
Caressing them gently as I wished,
reaching the focal point made me feel accomplished,
hoping to treat my secret garden with a mood so selfish,
making it his possession and ecstasy fully nourished,
complimented with a fantasy already established
As he was about penetrating like a beam,
I already reached the next level and ready to swim,
as real as this experience may seem,
I immediately woke up to realize it was just a dream
Spoken warriors, with rhythm words as their sound swords/
A poetry slam where words and body language put the audience in a sweaty heap/
the spectrum of a creative sound off between spoken word poetry rappers and new time jazz hipsters
has the club bustin' to the rafters/ expressive improvised creative pace and volume on the spot word dance/
man, like a spontaneous mind flow composition
of rap talkin' men and women cookin' up a stream of a consciousness groove/ yeah/ like I feel mile high now/
iconic on-stage impulses of slant rhyme life spoken word poetry/ back-n-forth they go/ words in high gear/ pedal to the metal/ on race, racial slurs, sex, who's doin' who, drive Bys, and TV shows/
like words driving' at a hundred MPH/
becoming telephone poles wizin' by/
high voltage sparks fly when spoken word funk meets uptown nu jazz poetry/
African American poets along with Native American spoken word artists come together to duel it out in a Poetry slam/
it helps to feel the natural flow of high energy words in this performance poetry slam jam/
No reading from pages, just memory’s embrace/
save the date bro It's live with no rewind/
this slam is somethin' else man/
you be reelin' in the feelin' when this Poetry jam becomes a fusion of rhythm word speak on struggles, courage, dreams, love, hip hop rap, and using voice beat drum licks in between word spit speak/
a landscape of uninhibited words with body drum chest thumps/ yo, do you see and feel what i'm sayin'
the dynamic instrument of a voice workin the mic to the crowd with MCs shouting back at ya while you be poppin your performance skills on stage/
the interplay between the mind and free spirit WTF thoughts be burnin the house down/
who's gonna wear the slam crown?
they be back flipping' and word trippin' these slam poets/
trying to outdo each other in a face off/
word lyricism with scat rap concepts/
diggin' deep into emceeing the joint/
keepin' the flow and staying on the beat
Snapping fingers, a low hum in the microphone)
Hey, It's Café Jazz/ But we ain't just sipping black coffee and snapping our fingers in polite applause/
Talkin' Bop/ first idiom where being white wasn't the fast track to success/ Yeah, dig it/ Bop was the soundtrack/ To anxieties, to late nights, to dreams deferred/
A nervous tremor in the rhythm/ Hard to play/ Man, you don't even KNOW. Only Bird, Diz, Miles...a constellation of cats burning bright, digging deep into a new conception in jazz/
A new hip way/ The hard Bop LP Clifford Brown and Max Roach, Study in Brown, 1955?
Got heads blown right off/ This isn’t just music, see?/
It's talkin' 'bout you, talkin' 'bout me/ talkin' 'bout life getting ready to take on a new form/ Be-Bop Creating a dialogue in Blending ideas, twisting sounds, birthing a style from the after-hours jam sessions at Minton’s Playhouse, Harlem/
Extreme virtuosity/ blistering speed/ /dissonant chords/ chordal substitutions – a vocabulary of rebellion/
Offbeat piano action, more action, SUPA DUPA HIGH VOLTAGE, MAN! Scorching tempos mirrored the doped-up lives...the pain... the desperation...of some Bop masters/
Even the beat poets... yeah, they copped the style/ the wicked mix of horn blowin' break-your-freakin'-neck speed, the Bop notes bleeding into their verses/ Jazz poetry on fire/
Did Bop influence Lenny Bruce? while doin’ a A-bomb of Heroin and Marijuana in the back of the room of his late night gig/
Is you black, or is you white?/
That question still under the skin of Jazz America/ still inching, scratching, Racism out of jazz/
Where are the jazz lords of the in-between at?/
What's the jazz world like today? Well, your ride is way clean, man/ got the chrome shinin', the leather gleamin'/ but… your gas tank is on E. (Silence, save for the click of the microphone being switched off)
"Alpha Mnemonic"
Word
Image
without the image
no word
Language
a disease
communicable
by mouth
Alpha from brain
Omega passed
on her tongue
to yours
Ancient codex
genetically kissed
dispersed with
music intonation
gutteral
romantic
cerebral
never rehearsed
language
a virus formed
Mnemonic
from where exactly,
Within?
ad lib
ad lucem
ad libitum
from somewhere
other birthed
codex ancient
Alpha alien
genetic
hive driven
we are observed
writhing in our smalls
amphibian brained
we are still
loud embryos
clashing and clinging
unjust
we are
just learning exotic
movements
within our
blue pitri plate
circular in motion
we are agitated
not calm, chasing long versed
pre-recorded, re-rehearsed tales
a breath blown over us
language divides us
in love and belief
a disease
we are
we think
we speak
we spread
our languages
communicable
by eyes that
envision dreams
of others within
we are not knowing
with clandestined
futures and
over-ripe mouths
to succour
we simulate
ad lib
ad lucem
ad libitum
sensual
cold
science
hot and feverish
we lie
in bed
with irreverent
romantic fate
Omega
ohm resistant
high voltage
across the conductor
Always equal
Metaphors of unity
become
the Sequel
Blissfully ignorant
Ripe Red currents
juiced up and
Blue buries itself
warm palmed
on a soft beating breast
Ideology and
Romance
arrive
late
Memory
lost in the
Alpha
Mnemonic
Stuck in
the warm
and sticky
we grow cold
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"Language is a Virus" / Laurie Anderson
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIOnODxUTZQ
JOE HENDERSON’S PROLIFIC OUTPUT AS EITHER A SIDEMAN OR LEADER/
IS SHEAR SONIC VELOCITY OF MUSIC COMING FROM HIS TENOR THINKIN' MIND/
NO HALF-STEPPIN HERE BRO/JOE’S INSIDE-OUTSIDE APPROACH GOT YOUR BACK TO EVERY SIDE HE PLAYED ON/
TO THE LIVE SHOWS WE DUG HIM AT/
HE BLEW HIS TENOR HORN UP TO AND LET HIS PLAYING SPILL OVER INTO HARD BOP/
HENDERSON WAS ALWAYS DIGGIN' INTO THE HOT-N-KOOL VOCABULARY OF JAZZ TO COME UP WITH
NOTES THAT AREN’T ALWAYS OBVIOUS BUT ALWAYS FIT/
HE WAS A BRILLIANT COMPOSER AND ATMOSPHERICAL MASTER CREATING THE SPACE FOR THE
LISTENER TO DRIFT INTO AND CREATE THEIR OWN SOMETHIN ELSE WORLD OF MUSIC IN DIGGIN HENDERSON’S JAZZ CHOPS/
JUST COOK-N-BURN BABY/ ALWAYS STICKING TO HIS UNDILUTED APPROACH TO HIS TENOR HORN PLAYIN'
FROM FIRST POPPIN ON THE JAZZ RECORDING SCENE WITH HORACE SILVER, LEE MORGAN, AND McCoy TYNER/
JOE EVENTUALLY CAME TO SIT ON ONE OF THE PRESTIGE RECORDING CHAIRS AT BLUE NOTE RECORDS/
AS A TALENTED WELL TRAVELED AND VALUABLE NU HIP VOICE AS A BLUENOTE SIDEMAN TO THE MANY BLUENOTE RECORDING STARS OF THE DAY/
JOE’S PHRASING AND MODULATION
ARE FLAWLESS/
HIS FLOATING THOUGHT PROVOKING SOUND’S THAT WERE AT THE TIME’S HARD LIQUOR JAZZ MIXED WITH
MAD SEX MUSIC/
SET THE STAGE FOR THE JAZZ AFICIONADOS TO DIG THE DEEP GROOVE IN JOE’S RHYTHMIC TEXTURED
LAYERING ON HIS SPEED RUNNING TO HIS FLAME-THROWING ICE-HOT SCALES THAT BURNED THROUGH THE ORGANIC JAZZ ORCHESTRATION IN HIS SOUND ARCHITECTURE/
THAT HYPED UP THE NATURAL THINKIN' IN HOOKIN UP THE HIGH VOLTAGE IN HIS HORN TO FRACTURE YOUR HIPSTER THINKIN' TO NO END/
JOE HENDERSON
BLUE BOSSA
LUSH LIFE
BLACK NARCISSUS
POPSICLE STICK
JOE’S SCATING HIS VOCALIZE
TO HIS SOUNCLOUD JAZZMIX
Train winded whistling and chugging,
leaving behind the city concrete,
it swiftly lunged into the green expanse,
fresh air blew ,trees swayed ,
as the blue yonder and bright sun,
set the terrific backdrop to the moving,
eyes do seldom settle on all but for a fleeting moment,
Mine did so accordingly and several times,
I noticed city concrete was behind,
but organic links of city concrete,
to the bucolic and rural was still there,
stood loftily in the green expanse,
were huge steel girders supporting,
the intricate network of high tension ,high voltage electric wires,
all of a sudden reminding one that in years this would also be city concrete,
suddenly in a flashmy eyes stilled on adark chlrophylled tree,
silhoutted and outline majestically in the green field,
It was a lonesome and noticeably big tree in that expanse,
but that was not what caught my attention for sharp,
It was the clique of white large bucking swans,
that had flown to rest after a laborious swim,
from a nearby pond and sat relaxing for breath,
that caught me sharp and really sharp,
the clique almost formed a pure white outline,
to the dark chlorophylled tree top,
near to the tree ran the straights of high tension,high voltage electric wires,
before I could swallow the beauty of flutterings swans,
one of them flew hard and staright into the electric wire,
there was a loud flash of electric current and twith a last life leaving flutter,
the swan crashed to the ground dead,
the train chugged winded along unconcerned,
but me sitting inside the train was stirred to shaking,
I had witnessed just now how modernity had wasted the nature,
and would do so till it is all completely gone.
I look around and all I see is emptiness.
Surrounded by souls but my mate is nowhere in sight.
I search deep into my thoughts in an alternate world of colors.
There is where you reside, along with the voices in the back of my mind.
I find you sitting on the edge of the lustful cliff, next to the fountain of love.
The zephyr striking your hair strands as the multicolored sun runs a radiant gloss over its floating self.
There I stand, leaning against the tree of reasoning.
Admiring your beauty and wondering if what I see is mirage.
To walk towards you, or to admire you from afar?
An unanswered question that hypnotizes me into the emotion known as infatuation.
How strange to detach in an already detached world.
Transcending into through my thoughts trying to find myself,
But instead I find you.
Are you an answer or are you a threat?
A perilous journey that drives me to a dead end.
A high voltage fence lies ahead, I frantically turn around only to find u standing behind.
Speechless with wide opened eyes I stare blankly at the figure in front of me.
What I was seeking has found me.
I standing in between Death and the truth.
To run away, or to face my fate?
So many questions yelling inside of my head trying to escape,
But not a single word is said.
Sitting on a park bench I get a grip of reality. Awakened by the pouring rain that washed away my wild thoughts.
Observing everything with virgin eyes.
Exploring every visible thing till I manage to go back to the state I was,
before I was assaulted by the thought of you.
Kids are funny poets in disguise
Needing, wanting, blessing every day
From Sticks and stones
To climbing trees
Everywhere I go kids are running
Leaping out, playing hopscotch
Using high voltage of imagination
From bubble gum
To singing songs
Chasing frogs, children are so much fun
Bouncing balls and jump rope
Having the time of life every day.
From short box of sand,
To hand shadows on the wall,
Painting and decorating-
-an everlasting moment
A gleeful smile on every face
Kids are funny poets in disguise
Touching, feeling, sharing every day
From dreaming of candy
To wanting hugs
Playing outside in the rain,
Jumping in puddles of mud
Easy to satisfy with love
From merry go rounds
To down the slide
A born poet in disguise
Navigating the world,
through the best form of imaginary
From rough and tough
To - sharp and sweet
Dirty little fingers
Imaginary friend
Flying kites and frisbees
Kids are funny poets in disguise
Feeling, crying, yelling their hearts out
From chickenpox
To having the flu
Scared, on their first day of school
Scraping knees - kisses, please
Sometimes kids feel more than grown ups do
Kids are funny poets in disguise
Giving life the perfect meaning
~10-25-15~