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
River edge at the yawning of the delta, I hear cottonwoods rattle voices like people, low by campfires scraping washboards and snapping strings; soft footed fast picking thieves run with shadows. Beating drums stretch the skin of messages released under wide blue free skies of music calling. Red dusty roads rise up stormy jazzy … More DELTA JAZZ
A high lunar slice silver painted a sterile face unlikely warm soundless suspended solidly overhead where hinges in heaven slip it over nights curved sky speeding to a place over there where people point at shards of light reflecting on water hoods of cars windows the ancient stone the Mona Lisa moon half smiling. … More MONA LISA MOON
One step, two, the march of funeral feet slaps leather to pavement and jazz for the dead. ….blow mighty the horn of Gabriel. Tambourines snap under white parasols and spotless suits; angels watch in jealous pain. …the band lifts spirits beyond the grave. Black hands and red fingernails hold fever tight handkerchiefs, waving parade air … More FUNERAL MARCH
My walking soul, borne on the blood leather of my shoes, scratches its skin on the red uneven bricks below my curious walking. The aroma of gardenias melts from trees like icing on warm days running thick and sweetly; crooked fingered branches above reach stiff like the dead. A snappy stringed guitar … More JACKSON SQUARE
His jazz is thick, mantled in hair black with twists rich with shine absorbing the lights as his hands push the track of strings chasing demons of his love while fingers run over fences in his mind into shadowed alleys where smoke chokes the air as his eyes close he slaps the bass awakening the … More SLAPPING STRINGS
There’s a slide, a stretch a long slip of breathing out a note where pausing ain’t considered when the soul of air presses and releases a tight hold speaking the easy from the brass of his trombone. A late Friday night jive bleached white a Sunday sound of jazz pushing back the crowd like … More BORN TO HIM
Roger Singer 