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
The juice of apples got no hold over what makes the jazz breathe bold and not some windy city towers reaching to the moon or Frisco bay winking at hills where houses tilt like the bass mans sizzling strings can not compete to Bourbons marching feet and horns lipped by … More BIG ON THE EASY
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
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
She steps into the music. Her fingers, thin brown pencils sign the beauty of her voice into the microphone; a signature pressing through metal. Red singing lips. The voice of voices within. Waters of her storms gush to the surface. Her rough sound blows the crowd into smooth. Her feathered hat; stiff proud wings, like … More SHE CRIES OF VOICE
Air notes of glass slip sharp through smoke, cutting a path to a crowd lazy with music sitting under willow trees holding hard the jazz like warm black roads of summer. Fat clapping hands, long days of beer and evenings short of gin, cool his hands into the drain of … More FIRE WITHIN
Roger Singer 