The notes had feet running me down with slaps to my face speaking hard of the pain forged in rooms with smoke and ice as the beat jumped me like thieves intent on harm bruising with jive a blues fat with thick and jazz painted black. running songs fast to catch them all shaking … More BRUISING WITH JIVE
The hand of jazz leads me like a river pushing water slowly to the sea. Sounds with soothing hands tug hard like strong twisted rope pulling me wide awake. Each and every time the music washes over me with thirsty licks I fall deep under the spell. … More UNDER THE SPELL
He pulled her in with music, fishing for her eyes to focus on lines he extended. She fingered pearls about her neck, turning them over like wet thoughts of the man on stage. Black ties and buttons hold shirts in place. Cuff links with initials fawn for attention. Hat pins point into the mystery of … More PASSION
Under the skin, a motor of sound. Molasses fingertips play dark thick jazz. Wet soaked dirt roads kick start the aroma of his thoughts. Smooth perfumed skin smiles into his lust. His mile of strong words runs like a river engine; a power few own. A wind moves on a sweet green growing field. His … More DEEP POCKETS
The spin of his jazz rolls in grand circles twisting, tumbling over angrily into a voice of growls loosed into solid dog eared words flea bitten and worn thin like harvest fields he shouts up with blazes of fire unquenched spreading as if kicked from hell setting up swirling sparks flaming the starving Souls inhaling … More A NEW LANGUAGE
She’s got the pain of me in her walking hard on shadows of who we were. Her voice is my jazz favoring thoughts she planted with the water of her touch. We have captured the deep caves of each other seeing in the dark what others with eyes will never grasp.
Blow horn man blow dark out of night with wicked blasts scaring the silence into running. Blow hard knocking down the bones of stand up music into rattling corner dice. Blow long that solid note piercing sharp like a knife cutting deep opening wide the jazz.
A high lunar slice silver painted a sterile face unlikely warm soundless suspended solidly overhead where hinges in heaven slip it over nights curved sky speeding to a place over there where people point at shards of light reflecting on water hoods of cars windows the ancient stone the Mona Lisa moon half smiling. … More MONA LISA MOON
One step, two, the march of funeral feet slaps leather to pavement and jazz for the dead. ….blow mighty the horn of Gabriel. Tambourines snap under white parasols and spotless suits; angels watch in jealous pain. …the band lifts spirits beyond the grave. Black hands and red fingernails hold fever tight handkerchiefs, waving parade air … More FUNERAL MARCH
My walking soul, borne on the blood leather of my shoes, scratches its skin on the red uneven bricks below my curious walking. The aroma of gardenias melts from trees like icing on warm days running thick and sweetly; crooked fingered branches above reach stiff like the dead. A snappy stringed guitar … More JACKSON SQUARE
Roger Singer 