The color in me knows the blues, it feels the hands deep pulling to the surface the song of me. Can’t wash away or drain out the fullness crowding my insides where its standing room only in hallways and from chairs full of listeners waiting for the pouring over of what I got. A song … More THE BANK OF BLUES
An open sound of notes thawed with heat what was cold and deep with loss with waves of warmth from fans in heaven rolling to the ground turning over knocking around a sound birthed as jazz and rich with blood pumping and breathing finding a breath speaking with voice like bread … More NOTE BY NOTE
The rock of his fingers scratches out, pounds out the language of jazz, spreading over fast hearts and soft skin. A wretched smile, crooked with time, boiled in emotion soup, spreads him out as he releases the scars of high and low, winds of cold and years remembered with trouble. His fingers swim … More BOILED UP
Notes with wings take flight like dust pushed by the breeze of a horn finding every corner where music brings to life snapping fingers heads bobbing eyes agreeing ears laughing as sounds fill your head like jam on toasted bread Where crumbs fall like notes with wings. … More NOTES WITH WINGS
The brass of her voice struggled smooth, like feet running underwater. The climbing of her song planted her on high ground, where angels protected her in clouds. Her message is full of her; arms of the past, faces fading, she turns to shadows for comfort. Rich velvet agonies slide … More IN THE CLOUDS
AT NIGHT Shadows intent on magic sway on plaster walls as dancing gray images surrender to kingdoms of jazz. Horns with finger tapping and pushing tempt valves to sing on streets of gold where Gabriel’s heart frowns jealous, of the cool hots below. The jazz continues with a rush … More AT NIGHT
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
Her eyes speak of remember……….fallen rose pedals tumble hard to the floor like kisses and promises. A night song waits within her…she colors lips that once pouted for flowers and diamonds. She wearily walks on…………pushing her feet into the spirit of her youth. The words transform her into beauty………seizing the air and eyes listening to … More ONTO THE STAGE
Sandpaper songs chisel her image into rough edges. She is sharp to the fingers and smooth to the skin; dark pearls follow her steps.. She is an alligator wrapped in ribbons; gentle without meaning, harsh with intention. Her sound is muddy thick. Dust storms jump from the caves of … More IRREGULAR
His sound developed out of water, dripping like icing from cakes; sweet liquid fingers anger the gods. Flat oceans hold a deep energy he draws from, like waves rushing over unbelieving eyes, salting the pain onto cellophane skin where it all shouts release. Rocks cool from scattered rain, where spots join into a gloss as … More CELLOPHANE SKIN
Roger Singer 