Jazz rained down in rivers catching out strong soul and soft hands rising to the call of music prayers among blind angels who fail on color and possess great mercy scattering dark thoughts, lost eyes , and roads leading from home and shoes speaking miles and dirty hands breathing out the land with labor work … More AMEN
Spring awakened a morning of blossoms; the evidence of night color drained like a moon governing tide. Low on a magnolia tree, at the crossroads of branches, a flower, no less strong in color than those canopied above, spread its paddle fan pedals richly in pearl and pink. The approach of a late afternoon sun … More MAGNOLIA CHARM
There are a number in hiding, an invisible color, like hedgerows, self-protecting, settling into quiet corners, pulling at their shadow, building on the strength of alone. They are the crowds of the unnoticed, claiming an unwanted seat where they feel secure. They are end tables of thought, conspiring with overthinking, finding comfort as the part … More QUIETLY ALONE
A flock of geese dripped winged shadows on the surface of my arms and face. A moment of cooling, a passing motion washes darkly through my hair, then slips past, continuing over bushes and onto sides of things the images from heaven spread long throughout the day.
We gather. Move into. Absorb the years. Claim the day, wonder about the past. Unclaimed and unfinished minutes become armies of hours, dissolving as they pass, draining beneath us, out of us, drowning us in the air we breathe. In youth our legs championed obstacles. Our dreams outdistanced everything. As gladiators we overcame and conquered. … More TURNING THE CORNER
A Song full of horns fell out an open window, splashing the air while reaching the sidewalk where passerby’s failed to notice the temporary comfort. Tenement dogs growled nervously at barefoot children. Colorful chrome decked cars and men with hats cruised by. A police siren attempted order. A young man ran into the alley. Like … More TENEMENT RISING
The desert is fevered in heat. Dry without compassion. Life on the edge of edges. A moment in the sun risks everything. The temperature is a million candles, burning sand into glass. There is no running. Breathing is labored. Hats fail at being hats. Desert sound is silent at night. Flying creatures move without friction. … More LIFE OF DESERT
The moon is a reflection in the eyes of night people. A silver casting from above draws over dark ground, forming gray shadows on the leeward side of standing objects. A flat moon face gazes into our small space where we huddle, looking up, wondering the distance and how to get back. … More REFLECTION
MOVING BEYOND His hands were soft, unused. Heavy labor failed with him. His eyes were volumes of quiet words. There was a presence of confidence, though slight like random breezes. His shirt was weather thinned. Shoes labored with dirt from long roads. His hat was faded by the suns attack. He half smiled, agreeing not … More MOVING BEYOND
He’s a cat with fight, a tin pan scratcher, a voice clawing to the top of his jazz. He was talked out. His fingers coaxed the horn onto alive where it throbbed like a wound or a hand shaking for whiskey. Water fires of applause waved up. Sweaty … More SLEEPY ALLEYS
Roger Singer 