The Jazz poem brothers, so hip and so way cool,
With their smooth jazz talk, they never play the street fool/
They snap their fingers and dance to the bass conga beat/
Their rhythm and rhyme are hip in time/man, they are kicking the verse and breaking it down/
They paint a mind collage with each word they say, Man, it just lays me out / What can I say/
Taking us on a word poem journey, in their special soul jazz spoken word way/
Get down to their word flow/ a slaughterhouse of jazz words/poetry from the jazz edge/let's go/
The brothers transport us to a place where the bebop Buddha shows his face/
Yo listen up tight, to what their jazz word orchestra has to say/
Let their words guide you to the jazz planet in the Milky Way/
The Jazz poem brothers know how to groove high/to the spoken word poetry/ in the simmering jazz Zen sky/
Their poetry word jazz will lift you/Man, it's a swingin' affair/ Miles, Trane, and Diz/ horn blowing word jazz and a gin fizz/The jazz poem brothers/in search of the new word vibe/Tossing a snow storm of words into the crowd as they wave by by/
After a tired
labor of love day
got on the Trane
and after a few Miles
I reached Monk
later laying
back travelling
towards Sarah
and Nina
and after
getting Dizzy
headed West
boarded Bird
flying onto Art
leaving me
to ink
this poetic flow
I’m sharing with you
before my melatonin
MJQ disembark
to peacefully Cannonball
deeply into
poetic gigging…
Melodic music
depths me
in deep thought…
and as it is
with such thoughts
about our creator
what we think
and hope for
can’t be divorced
from place and time
in history
culture and ourstory…
Our reality here
is not of heaven
but of this
bi-polar earth
and our freedom
and liberation
must be sought
in this reality…
Check it out…
heaven is beyond time
and earth-bound stories
but as earthly beings
we are fixed here
in definite time
stories and culture
and we can not divorce
ourselves from such realities…
Just think about it…
our liberation has never
been nor should ever
be a mere fusing
of concepts
rather our liberation is
and has always been
a strategized perceived
process…
So just go and sit down
on the dock of time
and don’t worry
about a thing
for everything
is going to be
alright
for we are recipients
of an almighty healing
amazing grace
and it has our backs
in life’s “Trane-like” race…
The 'Sax' and 'Trumpet'
That 'Trane' ran for four big 'Miles'
Through the 'Big Fifties'
Improvisation 'So Cool'
Driving jazz to a new day
I'm riding and flying into dimensions beyond the 3rd,
Sweet melodies and harmonies of rhythmic words.
They speak melodiously and deeply to my soul.
I'm riding and flying; I'm losing control.
No seatbelt to buckle into or even think of,
But I'm safe and feeling free, flying like a dove.
Above all pain 'cause Trane, Bird, and Hawk are soulfully saxing,
Sweet, harmonious melodies got me chillaxing.
Free! I'm so free,
And my mind's eye can see.
And my heart can feel,
I'm riding and flying into a peaceful surreal.
From High Point, he hailed
With his instrument, he had a
story to tell
Many pundits call him insane
But for those who know simply call
him Trane
His claim to fame was riding the galactic
ship of jazz
Pushing the status quo and exploring with
a whole lot of pizazz
But his earnest desire was to get to know a Love Supreme
Through Acknowledgement, Resolution, Pursuance, and
Psalms, his soul was able to gleam
Saint John, a quiet storm that blew with a serene
veracity
With Giant Steps, he walked through the world of jazz with a divine tenacity
Hurry! Hurry!
All aboard the Cosmic Trane
Where the mind runs free and
the soul feels no pain
A location for the elevation of
humanness to the existential
realm of salvation
Galactic spiritual religiosity in the
form of rhythmic sounds
Free. Free. Running freely into
dimensions away from the third
A ride. A glorious ride of
harmonic bliss
A kiss, a sweet kiss...
So fasten and secure your headphones
and be sure not to miss
Because this is sure to be a ride
of epic proportions
Away. Far away from the chaos and
distortions
My God!
Jones will be thudding
With Tyner tinkling the keys
Oh yes, Garrison will be a 'bassing'
And Coltrane blowing like a breeze
A ride. A celestial ride out of
this world
To places and spaces where all
dreams and hopes are unfurled
O' Wise One in the sleeper for a
Song of Praise
And Afro Blue reflects on Africa
Giant Steps in the coming days
Blues Minor to Sweet Naima
I have my ticket, so you know this
means I can not stay
I just pressed play, and now I'm coasting
and floating away
Moving 'Round Midnight'
Before Miles and Miles of Trane
Thelonious Monk
Playing the white and black keys
Preparing food for the soul
"IT N' EST
PAS SAGE DE
BOO LE FAUORIL !
LE QUAH,
LE QUAH
LE QUAH !
HI BOU, HI BOU,
IGNORE-LE !
LE MOO !
LE MOO !
IGNORE , LA
TRANE !"
SUM THANG BIN EATIN OUR
COWS AGAIN!
VAISSEAU SPATIAL !
VAISSEAU SPATIAL !
REGARDEZ DANS LE CIEL !
LE QUAH !
LE QUAH !
I AM LE TRANE !
'k kyk neer rivier
wat kronk'lend paaie baan
in dalle vloer
afgemat en steeds geboè
poele plas en blitsend 'kaats
drenkend dans palmiete gras
soos manne kras in kroee
dalk net dromend was
my refleksie in jou oè
Iris geruit as wimpers sluit
was binne-in my hart getoor
en bloedriviere in ons are bruis
vuurspuwend ons in lawa doop
die magma braak in kers se was
dog rooiend en bloedend soos ons passie was
eiland swart en eenkant ek
omring atol n trane oseaan
wat reent verkoeld tektonies bars
in woorde was so onbedoeld
was dit gans so ongehoord
Helaas!! KEER DIT VOOR!
..en eggo steeds nog minder so
Swart trane
Donker gees
Gebroke hart
Eensaam siel
My lewe het tot stilstand gekom toe ek jou ontmoet
My lewe het bedoeling gekry toe ek jou ontmoet
My lewe is nou verby as gevolg van jou
My lewe is nou niks as gevolg van jou
Eks ingedoen
Eks gebreek
Eks teleurgestel
Eks moeg en uitgeput
Eks nie meer lus om aan te gaan nie
Eks nie meer lus om te hoop nie
Eks nie meer lus vir wat kom nie
Want wat kom is donker en leeg
Daar is min soos eensaamheid
Maar hier is ek nou
In n donker put
Die diepste put
Wat ek self met my
Eie bloedige hande gegrawe het
Die rooi bloed wat my hande vlek
Is my eie
Die trane wat oor my wage rol
Is my eie
Die houtpaal deur my hart
Is my eie
Eensaam
Verlore
Hulpeloos
Sielloos
Le ek in my put en vergaan
My siel is besig om te vlok in die wind
My hart veras in n see van self haat
So verdrunk ek in my eie bloed van
Eensaamheid
as pure as imagination is
(apropos grooving to the word)
imagine this:
drumming words
to 88 keys
rainbow
ending
into each other
mellowing out
like trane
waters
streaming tears
flowing
sidewalk raise banks
to drains
cascading monk falls
following birds to sea
to be free—
the real macoy
how time flies—
wingless
as it is
leaving grooves
with unseen notes
screaming
night and day melodies
exploding
like cannonballs
sliding out and up
bursting
a staccato rife
pounding
drifting away
to return
when words wish
to play again
an up tempo write
as pure
as imagination
is—boo du
de boo de boo
Red x trane
(a black arts movement kwansaba)
by ‘bro.zayid’
Garvey greased Harlem struttin
Baraka bluuuue New Ark floats
Chicago ‘sippi blood thick
Watts fire ibeji badd
Big Eazy polyrhythmic
Dee stroyed broadsided lovin
A red X’d Trane flyin home…
@2015 all rights reserved
Violis
Vrolik, opgewek en bly
klink nog ‘n suiwer klank
van die violis se viool.
Die deuntjie tol
na ‘n dalende mineur mol
Iemand laat rol
sy trane van emosies.
Op laas word hy toegejuig
en bestrooi met
wit en bloedrooi rosies.
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