FALLING TO EARTH

The warm water of jazz found favor on my ears cleansing the inner me rolling cool into air bad with thirst forming breezes lifting hair and silk skirts blowing licks and healing suffering wounds with the gift of pure song like stars born falling to earth and into the hearts of horns and strings with … More FALLING TO EARTH

SOLID WIND

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

LITTLE LIZA JANE

Sing me up. Bring the jazz for the baptizing of souls, living strong, breathing cool fires from river running out of the Ohio snaking down mightily to Louisiana where the steps get wide and songs speak of folks left behind, walking river banks, looking south, humming the tunes I know, lifting my blood to Little … More LITTLE LIZA JANE

SUBTLE BREEZES

She was a chance for good air the beginning of song released in the wings of her words bold with color strong with history on the stage where she worshipped the words opening black nights with subtle breezes like her travel to towns blurred with names and faces melting into closing as she moved on … More SUBTLE BREEZES

STREET LANUAGE

Streets feed on the language of cool and jive.   Tongues of curtains slip from sides of windows as if pointing with their curves with creases to music like steam rising in waves over blacktop rumbling energy the sound moves pressing against doors and into alleys as night encourages the people to open packages wrapped … More STREET LANUAGE

INSPIRATION

Night chords drip a slow pace. Porches fill with moving voices. The ice in drinks mix with perfume and sweat. The bass man spills the passion while his hands create a sound blessing. He has a garden of jazz to release. Colors in the crowd move forward, bright with face, soft in soul. He provides … More INSPIRATION

WHERE DREAMS MELT

He was a sax man, raising the heat on the here and down, firing up stoves, cooking with jazz, pushing it with a lifting of hands, creating great sounds from reaching as the wall clock crosses over to tomorrow jumping his ride colliding with the sun, splitting the shade to shadows and jive until night … More WHERE DREAMS MELT

THE UNDERFLOOR

Up from the rafters of the underfloor, the old man forces the his sax to whisper out the birth of favored notes. His fingers strain and shoulders ache but he plays from his mind the songs he knows, remembering the clubs and dancers, the circling smoke and passionate eyes absorbing the music.   In his … More THE UNDERFLOOR

SLOW MOVING

The walls move in on him, pressing out the vintage of his flavor, forcing a banquet of jazz into drunken lazy air where lipstick releases secrets and gin holds no lies as the music burns through the smoke of last night   while morning slaps the creases of a sun between chairs and over faded … More SLOW MOVING

BLUES MAN

He breathed out the blues with the release of a raspy washboard, capturing the days full of sweat under a full sun or nights hanging moss or in backrooms where spilled whiskey drenches sawdust floors.   He had a birth of songs flash spitting from hot greasy pans of his kingdom high thoughts, peppered with … More BLUES MAN