Long Louis armstrong Poems
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Is my awareness limited by my bad habits?
Within the absence of engine sounds I find time to sigh
I should be searching for the cultivators of my net dreams
Instead I’m buying paper for the books I plan to write
What the heck? It could be my awareness is limited
I feel echo chills from out of all the walls
The gradual sacrifice of my solo man
I’m nailed to my nickels and dimes
I make all of my skillful errors
while pounding on Sunday keyboards
Anonymously meeting in interstellar coffee shops
limits defining my unlimited choices
So I play Louis Armstrong
pondering the reason for words
These words borrowed from his titles
I feel the echo chills pounding like rain
This requires no sacrifice
I’m paying for nothing
I removed his Debit card from the table
It could be one more of those bad habits!
I was inspired to write this piece after reading some of “Sand Blown’s” poems. I found the title names to be intriguing so I used them to knit this piece together. Please join me in welcoming a talented new poet.
deep and late into the hem of night
my thoughts question uncertainties,
perhaps my heart does not believe in life
anymore, and deem men as anti-heroes;
so i lock the door of my tactile pores,
yet i speak of men in my accepted duality
somehow, honoring the smell of their laughter,
and their taste of affection with anger
to sketch their contours with my skin
on white linen between ceiling and lamp;
that when i open my eyes to look at their faces,
i see the whole universe.
then to recall how gazing through a skyline
the moon reflects tints of past flames and strangers,
as peak of moments’ rapture explodes
slicing the darkness ...changing whimpers to wonder...
that all i could say is “ thank you”,
appreciating my imperfectly perfect world...
i recall filling a basin of warmth for them
when streams of giving chains me
in the under –toe of hunger’s ebbs and tides,
embracing the divine wonder in their beings.
-------------------
* if we perceive a man or woman from a perspective
of seeing his/ her inner beauty despite some flaws, wouldn't
it be a wonderful place to be?
*inspired by Louis Armstrong’ “ what a wonderful world”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCp3K3XUhvU
Frank H's I Recall Contest
by nette onclaud
A Little Knowledge
My son just started big school and now he knows it all
He says that all the laws are made by bloody Sid E. Hall
We frowned at his bad language and that made him assure us
He’ll speak a lot more better with a book by Theo Saurus
But one surprise he got at school, the first day he went there
TV was invented by a chap named Yogi Bear
He’s not quite sure what happened to make Louis Armstrong Kneel
But one small Schweppes for man seems a pretty lousy deal
He had a suit with lots of space, his eagle landed steady
It seems he might have taken off the cape of Ken and Eddy
A Vulcan interruption killed a town back in the day
They blamed it on an Englishman... but they made that Pom pay
There’s a film about a fish and all the cash it swallers
So my son’s doing a project on A fish full of dollars
He says, ‘CDs and downloads should all be thrown away,
don’t you oldies know that music’s gone vinyl today?’
I guess my son is full of it but that’s made me recall
There was a time when I was young and I too knew it all
Tag words: advertising, bebop, bird, bottle, Charlie
Parker, Coca-Cola, Cole Porter, Dizzy Gillespie,
door, flag, heart, jazz, light bulb, Louis Armstrong,
Miles Davis, palette, Pepsi Cola, pluralism – found
object, retablo painting, sculpture
Arbitrary or subconscious, Saunders picked six.
Man created on the sixth day from darkness;
we came into the light, of knowing, of naming.
Satan, sin held within, black of skin. Oh,
Africa chopped up bleeding, the third world’s
doors shown black, nailed shut. With the skin
of drums, the heel of hand, he pounds the nails
on the trail of the carpenter.
Kept in place, biblical wives of Lot turned to salt,
white-line the globe. White powder, white power,
sugars the unpalpable, addicting, coca leafs and
caffeine, doping the public, the poor for dimes.
Reinforcing the lure of the bottle; the cola bottle
that fell unbroken to earth from the sky in The
God’s Must Be Crazy. Some have always used their
addictions to create. Like a found objects, we too
fall calling to Mother Mary.
After: The Gift of Presence Raymond Saunders 1993
First Published by Ekphrastic Art:writing and art on art and writing
*Lot the nephew of Abraham, husband of Edith
who was turned to salt.
Quote:""One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain." - Louis Armstrong
In my mind, depths transcend,
Music weaves, divine blend,
Sorrow, hope, intertwined,
depths transcend, In my mind.
Melodies seal, vibrant retreat,
Pain subsides, miseries fleet,
Resonating unique feels,
Vibrant retreat, melodies seal.
Music’s power, crystal clear, tears cascade,
Glass shatters, sound's brigade,
Cobras tamed, deer draw near,
Tears cascade, Music’s power, crystal clear
Uniting souls, music’s grace, solace found,
Love in notes, words unbound.
Waves serenade, love's space,
Solace found, Uniting souls, music’s grace.
Late to the party we arrived at seven
At least we showed up before eleven
Sweet Ginette, joined us both at the door
A bottle in my hand ready to pour
Off to the kitchen to see the Birthday Queen
All the happy faces a beautiful scene
Hugs for Chantale, another for Helene
I met a new person, energetic like a teen
Her name if I remember, it is Jocelynne
She is married, to a cool guy his name Martin
Bruno was cooking but stopped to say hi
Christine looked happy to be with her guy
Jokes and conversation, a whole lot of fun
Happy to spend time with everyone
Dave seemed content enjoying the mood
My stomach grumbled, I was ready for food
To the table it was time to sit down
We were all treated, to the best meal in town
First Chantale prayed a blessing on us
Our Savior is great, he deserves a fuss
The meal fantastic but the Tuna was raw
I tried to eat it but it stuck in my craw
My Mary she enjoyed it, although not me
I prefer all things cooked, that come from the sea
The pasta amazing, seafood galore
The wine was superb, I let Christine pour
She sat to my left, Dave sat to my right
Everyone there, made it a perfect night
Once concluded, Christine C sang a song
A Louis Armstrong tune we all joined along
Her voice was clearest ours more like a croak
We were lost in the moment, that's not a joke.
We all started dancing, disco moves on the floor
Armand turned up the sound, as we screamed for more
First time I saw Dave dance, he cuts quite the rug
Armand has his own moves, he likes the Jittery Bug
Before too long it was time for dessert
Hot from all the candles I unbuttoned my shirt
Chantal blew out the candles after making two wishes
Armand served Mary's cake, on rectangular dishes
Chantale's special day, a day to remember
Celebrated each year, October not November
So we raised our glasses, thankful for the cheer
Together we celebrated a friend who is dear!
Especially one courteously wrapped ably
anonymously gifted to
an aspiring gourmet Chef Boyardee
i.e. not surprisingly... revealing mystery
person none other than...
yepper namely me.
Moost anyone can show
off culinary karate chop
suey, whether schooled among
fishy creatures either
from black lagoon,
or privately tutored,
(this haint no canibal)
courtesy mythological Cyclop,
somewhat riotously,
quirkily and precariously,
when blindsided flop
which slapdash loco motion often
misconstrued for latest dance moves
characterizing boogie woogie
(touting Louis Armstrong talents
as token bugle boy), and/or hip hop.
Audible sigh of relief exhaled by
none other than Chaim Yankel,
whose tail feathers ruffled
linkedin to setback, which former
(malfunctioning microwave) did rankle.
No longer must
hungry tummies all told
eat food frozen and/or cold
leftovers formed into Rorschach,
neigh Horseshack habitat mold
more suitable as clay pigeons,
where strong arms
analogous to accordion fold
readied to take aim and fire
young trumpeting Olympian trained
contestants, albeit aghast at
proliferating firearms when polled
wantonly, indiscriminately, and blithely
taking precious innocent lives
worth more than fine spun gold.
Eve vent chilly this monseigneur
and his madam
(Church Lady) conceding faithful
to follow and acquiesce
and countenance flimflam
toward yours truly,
no matter a fake Imam
who offered up feast
Earth friendly biologically/
genetically modified, prepared
artificial intelligent algorithmically
programmed manufactured in Vietnam,
who cooked delectable
Soylent green eggs and ham.
Best not prepare
former entree in microwave
lest they explode instantly
killing home of the brave
necessitating, none other
than one lame rhymester at large
to end poem quickly senseless verse
in order for his hide to save.
Yesterday, Oh, I believe in yesterday—Lennon-McCartney (The Beatles)
I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day—Smokey Robinson/Bobby Rogers (Smokey Robinson & The Miracles)
I see trees of green—Bob Thiele & George David Weiss (Louis Armstrong)
Hardships and misfortunes
emerged to be a distant memory
But as my thoughts look back
It seems to reflect a well-told story
When Spring comes to L.A.
Before the month of May
I guess you’d like to say
What makes you feel this way
My girl helps make this day
Red roses true
Flowers bloom blue
The song I sing
A stunning thing
I am just a human
A natural being
Flesh and bone essences
Not an all-seeing thing
A simple citizen
To this land and country
Just one in a million
For life and liberty
Rainbow hues plus
Auspicious light
Skips before us
Rippling and tight
Love was an easy game
Many places to hide
We’ll seek and find your name
As telltale signs to guide
One way they had to go
Was one they did not know
Something they wouldn’t say
Belong to yesterday
Sweet birdsongs sing
Rejoicing bring
This wondrous earth
A new day’s birth