The notes sing to me. A grandma spiritual; warm evenings, bugs buzzing on yellow lights, a fever of warmth. Night solid with dark; the breath of men gasp tired. I see my youth. A ball of knots. Tied up in love, broken under the weight of tears; running eyes, inhaling life into my soul. The … More I SING THE REMEMBERS
Ears grasped for the message in her sound dripping hard and heavy with soul preaching a righteous pain she earned from long nights and bad kisses where tired eyes and wrong desires begged for the shelter of a soft shoulder listening to broken dreams rupturing from the darkness of her … More EARNING THE PAIN
The dust of towns, flat, lifeless. Cold winds and red neon’s fill the need of his searching as he walks the dirt. A song with flavor branded in his head and on his arm, marches his feet to travel; all places look the same. His guitar breathes with sound; a crooked smile slides from … More WALKING THE DIRT
Rising golden and draining warm onto painted houses and wooden wharfs long streaks of sun touch Coit’s tower and sacred hills. Down on Fillmore and Columbus with class where jazz sits strong and grows pulling like lines of hungry fish snapping at sourdough. Across the golden arms and from … More SOURDOUGH JAZZ
From the chairs faces brightly shine like early Sunday clothed to watch and rightly bathed in song and word like baptisms sprinkled fresh over righteous hungry souls. Her jazzy words float like flowers cast on oceans where souls rest far below where lonely ears patiently wait to be freed. … More HER JAZZY VOICE
Hungry teeth shine with white framed by lips singing the music with throaty words offered up bright like morning pushing past sleepy hanging curtains washing night from fibers and fingers reaching into working days of men and sweat and women soft speaking silk and sporting pearls while waiting with watching … More THE SIZE OF JAZZ
Fingertips tap to the drummers beat with bang and slide following the ups and downs of his rhythm like cats scared into jumping high as the crowd waters their moving cool under lazy fans rounding like spinning moons while they dance thick on sawdust whispering words into ears hungry with … More BOILING HOT
In him that thing voiced a noise, circling, surfacing, beating his insides until busting out with the jazz then rising, filling the air with his lightening, pushing brass into highs and making the lows cry tears of songs deep from wells where he sleeps, thinking strong with busy fingers, counting clouds in darkness as he … More THAT BRASSY THING
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
Roger Singer 