He is a gathering man, like wind pulling at leaves, or dry ground praying for rain. He is the cents of a dollar, changing for no one. He spits in places shoes fail to go. Music knows him; his style is the air escaping from the stage. The aroma of a carnation boutonnière is the … More SOLID WIND
Morning went quiet like angel hands touching the depths of unreleased grief. Outward clouds receded, revealing an Egyptian blue sky. An envelope of breezes slipped with small notice over warm faces. Blond uncombed hairs twist like holiday flags under boughs of summer. Words opened with birthday surprise, fulfilling desires while holding dreams yet released. Sunday … More TAKE ME THERE
I feel the challenge filled with words causing my steps to change, a new course, an open road, the thirst for something more. I sense a fullness lacking that fails the void within an emptiness, a shallow soul, a person incomplete. Its then I hear my name from waters stirring deep pointing … More BRAND NEW
Vines of music crawl over the listening parts of me. The aroma of it lifts from lines like everyday wash hung from my soul; dripping the old part onto the soil of my comfort, drying me into a creation I thirst for. The smoke of my thoughts curled tight, feeding on the moisture of my … More WASHING ME
The edge of me rounds out, Running with jazz, pulling on paper words and twisting of hair in a crowd where sunglasses hide searching souls and feet eager for a place to call home like buttons spilled rolling and slapping round on a floor without mercy in a smoky room where last names don’t … More LETTING IT OUT
Late clouds sighed deeply under a the hands of a yellow sun, as day pressed forward to dusk, clearing the table for night and its curtains of dark to silently descend. Breezes dance without concern between arms of crooked branches. A silver moon opens on meadows, shedding release to paths now open. A … More QUIET FOLDS
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
Roger Singer 