His jazz is thick, mantled in hair black with twists rich with shine absorbing the lights as his hands push the track of strings chasing demons of his love while fingers run over fences in his mind into shadowed alleys where smoke chokes the air as his eyes close he slaps the bass awakening the … More SLAPPING STRINGS
There’s a slide, a stretch a long slip of breathing out a note where pausing ain’t considered when the soul of air presses and releases a tight hold speaking the easy from the brass of his trombone. A late Friday night jive bleached white a Sunday sound of jazz pushing back the crowd like … More BORN TO HIM
In the presence of magnolias in full bloom as silver fingers of moss sway warm with summer, voices exchange hearts under the light of a talking moon. Clouds have long folded into nothingness. Soft aromas flood the thoughts. A coolness settles on the skin. The upside of bats turn angles into artwork. A fine dew … More FRONT PORCH
Roger Singer 