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
Walk to me the songs crawling silently like cats at night stalking the dark with eyes piercing deep into me. Tie my thoughts with the strings of a righteous bass preaching sternly to my ears the message of jazz. Help me snap my fingers free like running legs of children against the wind, never … More TEACH ME THE JAZZ
Like a bridge, expanding, long, holding tightly to the valley sides. A formula of stone and sand. Rigid with support, flexible for passage. To some, it is the middle of hope. The way out or back. A long finger of steel and cables pointing to or away. Either direction of passage is a handrail of … More MIDDLE HOPE
I press against the pull of chains That others fail to see, The battles raging in my eyes The hours lost within. The failings mount In dark storm clouds Like horses pulling strong And thunder speaks in final tones As I drift away from home. The warrior stands affirmed for … More WARRIORS WITHIN
KEROUAC’S ROOM A brown box radio plays scratchy songs into a room where outside neon lights breathe a fuzzy hum of blue and red through weathered curtains as the river far below rumbles deep past the town covered in soot as he groans out a snappy beat on a pawn shop … More KEROUAC’S ROOM
The notes had feet running me down with slaps to my face speaking hard of the pain forged in rooms with smoke and ice as the beat jumped me like thieves intent on harm bruising with jive a blues fat with thick and jazz painted black. running songs fast to catch them all shaking … More BRUISING WITH JIVE
Day sheds its skin. The low bass of time moves daylight to its end. Streets open their hands to my arms and feet. Low light. Last light puddles. Dusk coughs a last breath. Night paints faces with shadows. Windows shut. Whispers find corners where promises are broken. Hats tip and collars rise. A cool breeze … More NIGHT WALK
Words become a watershed, the express of desire, a fountain draining to the ground, forming streams of release. The engine of day caresses the eyes as they mirror the images of streets and voices crowding into fast lines. Hats hold close the thoughts, while hands point or find pockets for rest. … More STREET NOISE
The hand of jazz leads me like a river pushing water slowly to the sea. Sounds with soothing hands tug hard like strong twisted rope pulling me wide awake. Each and every time the music washes over me with thirsty licks I fall deep under the spell. … More UNDER THE SPELL
He pulled her in with music, fishing for her eyes to focus on lines he extended. She fingered pearls about her neck, turning them over like wet thoughts of the man on stage. Black ties and buttons hold shirts in place. Cuff links with initials fawn for attention. Hat pins point into the mystery of … More PASSION
Roger Singer 