We meet the road as paths curve away where bending knees seek a word and angels point us on our way. And then there are nights with fear and dread offering no chance for another day with dreams circling and doors wide open reminding us of our past. But the sun then rises with chance … More FORWARD
There’s no washing off the jazz sticking to my skin floating down like feathers beaten from a pillow. Around corners from under cars through windows or down the up stairway the jazz trips me up to listen long. Under half or full moons I wander and stumble finding my way to the soul of music, … More LONG PAST MIDNIGHT
A first breath builds within; a crying life births a soul into notes for the living. Music pulled from years of hard blues sets firmness into a laboring of sounds darkly moaning lost names. Jazz stirred from the pain of absent arms and lips without smiles scratches wounds into bleeding; paths of scars have no … More LISTENING EYES
Late night breezes drift over cooling sidewalks, circling vendors with hands of profit and eyes labored with sleep. Paper lanterns, the skin of butterflies twist lazily, casting light fragments onto storefronts and strangers. Voices, parts of sentences and half words pass under weathered awnings; the air is thick like legs running underwater. Lime Street breathes … More LIME STREET
Inspiration recorded by grace strikes true the chord in hearts with desire. The writer or composer brings life with a message of courage or a blessing of hope. Lets not forget the names below, paying tribute by remembering the inspiration and words: The Old Rugged Cross – George Bennard How Great Thou Art – Carl … More INSPIRATION
She steps into the music. Her fingers, thin brown pencils sign the beauty of her voice into the microphone; a signature pressing through metal. Red singing lips. The voice of voices within. Waters of her storms gush to the surface. Her rough sound blows the crowd into smooth. Her feathered hat; stiff proud wings, like … More SHE CRIES OF VOICE
Air notes of glass slip sharp through smoke, cutting a path to a crowd lazy with music sitting under willow trees holding hard the jazz like warm black roads of summer. Fat clapping hands, long days of beer and evenings short of gin, cool his hands into the drain of … More FIRE WITHIN
I move about in seasons I call my own knowing people, the names I sometimes forget, but not the back doors where diners are served. dogs like me, following my steps knowing something about me, liking the traveling I do. Kids think I’m funny, cause I never grew up, and … More I’M OK
A wave of voices claims pastures of air lifting up songs of worship and praise encouraging the downcast and healing broken hearts. The choir reaches into willing souls with keys shaped like notes turning locks and setting loose with words a fresh breath of life.
A willing sax throws out notes like hungry fishermen with long lines of baited hooks into deep swirling waters where souls swim as the wiggling masses tread close with thirsty ears and anxious hands breaking hard the surface calling them that want as eyes go wide and feet twist under shouldered sways while … More WHERE SOULS SWIM
Roger Singer 