An over wind pushed up a black shirt collar; his shoes form a bond with wet sidewalks. His eyes absorb the night, like a hawk searching the land. Lines of street lights step him from one circle to the next, where he slides through shadows with cool his face. The sky broods … More THE GARDEN OF SKIN
A full puff of air filled my sail lifting the need of my soul pushing me with lovers hands into up and over settling into my ears oiling my breathing parts nurturing me with the strength of a rushing train heavy on metal tracks rolling with running blowing steam crazy with sound grabbing the crowd … More CRAZY WITH SOUND
Real time straight jazz curved the room. Its ribbons of play formed justice to notes, releasing streams of fever. Unconnected sounds rush over a landscape of faces and whispering fingers. The pulse of breathing mists the windows as dancers and spirits of long nights course their path to dawn. Red dusted words … More THE PATH
A thickness of quiet pulled the air into slow where it begged to be filled. A big muddy of thoughts spread over the crowd, like the water they were; wet collars, sweaty palms. A low tide of moving hands struck a line of strings, releasing songs too heavy for corners, to bright to hide. … More A LINE OF STRINGS
The dirt of jazz roams like roads under his skin. He feels the change of his blood to hot. Listeners drip words from warm whiskey. High collars and smooth talk rolls off chairs of night wisdom. Eyes breathe in an appetite of full. A piano dresses the air with diamonds. Voices long like ribbons pull … More CONTROL
The warm water of jazz found favor on my ears cleansing the inner me rolling cool into air bad with thirst forming breezes lifting hair and silk skirts blowing licks and healing suffering wounds with the gift of pure song like stars born falling to earth and into the hearts of horns and strings with … More FALLING TO EARTH
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
Sing me up. Bring the jazz for the baptizing of souls, living strong, breathing cool fires from river running out of the Ohio snaking down mightily to Louisiana where the steps get wide and songs speak of folks left behind, walking river banks, looking south, humming the tunes I know, lifting my blood to Little … More LITTLE LIZA JANE
She was a chance for good air the beginning of song released in the wings of her words bold with color strong with history on the stage where she worshipped the words opening black nights with subtle breezes like her travel to towns blurred with names and faces melting into closing as she moved on … More SUBTLE BREEZES
He knew the around of the block. His city in a square. He recognizes sidewalk cracks, stains from blood and stores still offering candy for a dime. He claims the lights on his corner turn green with his snap, even beggars know him by name when shipments are in town. Some friends are memories … More BACKSTREET SHADOWS
Roger Singer 