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
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
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
There’s no washing off the jazz sticking to my skin floating down like feathers beaten from a pillow. Around corners from under cars through windows or down the up stairway the jazz trips me up to listen long. Under half or full moons I wander and stumble finding my way to the soul of music, … More LONG PAST MIDNIGHT
A first breath builds within; a crying life births a soul into notes for the living. Music pulled from years of hard blues sets firmness into a laboring of sounds darkly moaning lost names. Jazz stirred from the pain of absent arms and lips without smiles scratches wounds into bleeding; paths of scars have no … More LISTENING EYES
A willing sax throws out notes like hungry fishermen with long lines of baited hooks into deep swirling waters where souls swim as the wiggling masses tread close with thirsty ears and anxious hands breaking hard the surface calling them that want as eyes go wide and feet twist under shouldered sways while … More WHERE SOULS SWIM
In his fingers a burning pressed hard to the surface. His thoughts smoldered heavy in thick smoke circling about him, then burst like spattering grease into dangerous thirsty flames. His sharp cut pork pie hat danced in circles like planets spinning out of control. Blue dark sunglasses reflected the crowd while hiding … More FAT IN THE JAZZ
He begged the horn to breathe strong for him, to tell a story of pain in love, and love with pain His fingers danced on flat pearl keys spinning jazzy notes like the earth rolling through space. Pure gold sounds flowed richly as he taught the notes to fly into welcome air. … More INSIDE THE HORN
The air had an aroma of mischief, unshaven faces, sweaty collars, dancers and players all fashioned under a darkness, rising in song, raising with voices the chance of a gathering on red dirt roads where magnolias steal the senses and whispers rule the night while fingers become the language under stars without names and in … More MISCHIEF
The pain of his soul welled up thick in his eyes, spilling into glistening lines onto his black cheeks. Piano keys drowned under his fingers while his feet lifted then dropped onto pedals shiny and smooth. His face tilted to the throne of heaven as shoulders swayed with the walk of jazz, speaking … More LISTENING TO ANGELS
Roger Singer 