Archives for posts with tag: Voices Songs & Blues

the blues flattened my fedora into a beret
stole my zippy-de-doo-die-ay
gave me a saxophone,
told me, “blow it kid, you can never go home.”
I keep snapping my fingers to invisible sounds
and I squeak confused the squares to confound –
it’s times like these I do believe —
the Blues have got me Beat.

my Shakespeare reads like Kerouac
I bought a ticket to Paris though you never can go back
I tore a Brooks Brothers suit to hang it on my door
and there’s two guys lying on my living room floor
arguing whether a white man can sing the blues –
or is it all just some 20th century repeat
& that’s when you know –
the Blues have got you Beat

I sold my home and bought a club
where I sell espresso and absinthe
my girlfriend was born in leotards
and they’ve never been rinsed – since.
I’ve shaved my head, grown a goatee,
I’m starting to talk phonetically
this phone call’s coming to you from me
‘cuz brother – I must insist,
Oh sister, don’t resist
‘cuz in case you just missed
the ineffable fact I lay before you Jack
then I must repeat
the Blues,
the Blues,
I believe the Blues
— have got me Beat.

<this ends my 8th book — tomorrow — #9 — Autumn>

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Stand by me
and I will stand by you
together we make
our dreams come true

Stand by me
and I will stand by you
take my hand
and our dreams come true

You gave me a gift
I could never buy
you stole the heart of the sun
and made it mine

I kept falling
never asked why
I just kept following
you into the sky

raindrops about us
rainbow clouds below
you kept on calling
I knew because I know

love is a gift
you can’t easily hide
you want to show it off,
wear it with pride

if it makes you cry,
makes you feel pain
then you know it’s real,
you know love’s name

if I could hold you
I would tell you why
love is the answer
it’s the only reason why

so cry for love
cry for the pain
now that you know
the love will always remain

Stand by me
and I will stand by you
together we will believe
believe it is true

and if you say that dream
will never come true
then stand by me
and I will stand by you

(for Arlen)

I couldn’t see you.
I looked right through you,
you didn’t see me.

Your eyes are sky blue,
your smile shines through,
you walk as though I am dreaming.

You know the truth.
You see things as they are,
you see through the meaning.

If only I could hear
the symphony
that you hear,

but I am only dreaming.

love life
what the Bible said
love life
is what I read
I should love life
is what her note said

just a phantom
just a dream
county fair afternoon
looking for ice cream
cotton candy on my mind
salt and vinegar
is all I find

a simple message
I could not deny
so I ask you as I cry
Why oh Why
must I — love life?

love life
it’s like some kind of sin
love life
look at the mess I’m in
don’t get me a doctor
I’m OK
get me a horse doctor
‘cause I’m shitting hay
get me someone in real estate
I got nowhere to stay
get me a pharmacist
I can’t stand the pain

someone take pity
and please explain
when you strip it all away
when nothing remains
Why oh Why
must I be in this moment
where love cleaves to the knife?

and you tell me I gotta
get me some — love life
get it on the run — love life
hotter than the sun — love life
I gotta find some — love life

K — Have you ever met the killer? There are so many. Invisible — that’s how you can tell … when you do not see them, their cold dark eyes, but you feel them as they pass, and know them without understanding.

A — What do you mean invisible? People know murder when they see it, killers are caught … sometimes there are even videos!

K — What you see from the corner of your eye is true. Ignore what is right in front of you. Ignore the man talking to you, pay attention to who exits.
One of my favourites was Stick. He called himself that as a joke. Stick was skilled with the ice pick. But this was no ordinary ice pick. An ordinary ice pick is an overgrown nail in a handle, low grade steel, heavy, thick, in fact, somewhat repulsive — you know, the idea of using a tool to kill someone. You have to understand, the true pro kills precisely, exactly as they want to — it’s a matter of pride.
Now, Stick had ground a sharpening iron down to needle gauge. It was like silver. He showed me once, how he could walk so it flashed like a moment of sunshine reflected from a store window, how he could hold it so the light would glare in your eyes and you would never see the blade … .
He’d take down his target in public, a part of the crowd. He liked being the crossing guard no one noticed — kids are perfect camouflage he once told me in his calm monotonous voice. Otherwise, he would just be someone crossing the street at the same time his target crossed.
He bragged to me that once he was fully invisible, he would follow his target, weapon exposed, and no one would notice, as if he were a ghost. But, I of course know that no one would see him as he was unthinkable, it was impossible to see him, exposed, obvious — it was and is too much — people cannot bear it, so they turn and look away.
His pick, so fine, would enter from back, at the base of the skull, right above the spine and out again so quickly, he would appear to be catching a man who suddenly staggered.
He would shout, “Help, someone help, this man is ill,” holding his hand over the point of entry long enough for the wound to seal — the pick was that fine. He would stay, talk to the police, the paramedics, give his name and number, comfort standers-by, then go and buy a take-out meal and return to eat it on the spot, reluctant to leave his moment of perfect anonymity.
The illusion complete, time would pass and after a proper autopsy, investigators would start to realize Stick was their prime suspect — but no one could describe him — was he tall, fat, short, white, black? — no one could say, he was kind of tall, kind of short, kind of mixed, kind of older, younger … no one could remember him.
Stick is legion. He surrounds you, me, your family, everyone you don’t know. You don’t see him, because you don’t want to see him. And because he is so obvious he is impossible to describe. His greatest defense is everyone’s wish to forget.
And so he plies his trade, undisturbed.

my name is Mr. Poop
I never cease to stoop
and blow it out my rear
let me whisper in your ear

<repeat>

Seaside Louise
how she longs for a squeeze
she’s such a daisy
she drives us all crazy
By the briny breeze.
Oh, poor Louise
She’s a little bit gone at the knees
she’s fair fat and forty
and looks rather naughty
My Seaside Louise

late 19th century

I got a gal
whose 6 foot three
when we make love
she looks down at me

she says

“do you wanna do it?
(do you wanna do it?)
course you wanna do it!
(course you wanna do it!)
if you’re gonna do it
then you’re gonna wanna
do it with me

I got a pal his gal’s
the neighbourhood cop
every time they do it
she keeps hollering “Stop!”

he says

“do you wanna do it?
(do you wanna do it?)
course you wanna do it!
(course you wanna do it!)
if you’re gonna do it
then you’re gonna wanna
do it with me

I know a girl
she’s awful kind
but her boyfriend’s black and blue
cause she goes out of her mind

she grabs him and says

“do you wanna do it?
(do you wanna do it?)
course you wanna do it!
(course you wanna do it!)
if you’re gonna do it
then you’re gonna wanna
do it with me

my gal told her doctor
I’m over the hill
she said don’t worry honey
just slip him this pill

and

Now we’re gonna do it!
(Now we’re gonna do it!)
‘Cause we wanna do it!!
(‘Cause we wanna do it!!)

cause if you’re gonna do it
then you’re gonna wanna
do it with me

(for Joanna Kidd Hart, whose nickname was “Wanna”—for all of
the right reasons)

I got the sad blues
saddest blues you ever heard
wake up sad every day
going to be sad tomorrow
feeling glad I can’t beg steal or borrow
only thing I got going is sad

day I was born I was sad
made my momma cry
I kept crying
from that day forward
going to be sad
until I die

got dirt in my mouth
my soul heading South
heading North my heart
I’m not from around these parts

I got ache in my memories
every day feels like a month
scars of stories are all that remain
some days I don’t even feel the pain

I got the sad blues
saddest blues you ever heard
I can’t beg steal or borrow glad
only thing I got going is sad

sunset cloud skates chromatic
spring fever officially begun
drum thrum
singers chant
chorus melodium
fingers stray upon the keyboard
slip ‘twixt black and white

where has my piano gone?
my playing is outta sight
slipped the keyboard
slipped the string
never mind, each hand stomps
lid closed, still, I sing

march of keys
march of time
something ahead
something behind
can’t you hear hammers cry
can’t you hear woodwinds sigh
strings a sing, tympa-knee-oh-me-oh-mah
what is that sound?
just me crying

where is my piano?
— gone baby gone —
where are my keys
— chain gang digging gone —
I’m ruffing without riffing
— what’s the news, that’s the news —
I need my strings
— ask the sun, tell the moon —
hear them ring,
little hammers pound pong pang ping
I just gotta, I just hafta, I just wanna sing

hands brush ivory with simple caress
Lift that Load!
Lift that Load!
admire the harp – hold the lid
heave hard, Ho!
kick aside the dolly
set it on the skid
by the numbers,
on one — Hard!
Hold The Lid!

Sound of tumbling
pennies and marbles my sons dropped in
silent strings sing
hammered by lesser things
keep them singing while I’m humbling
little song set spinning
one end marks another beginning

twirl that box of sound
set it on its end
music is universal ground
gravity won’t make it bend
start at the beginning
get those sevenths in a circle
rack up the minors
break ‘em eight to the bar
make the blues purple
pile those harmonies
on the trailer behind the car
rock the casbah
rush the stage
they’ve taken my piano
feels like nothing
like nothing remains

steel a piece of my heart
iron wood ebony ivory
I want to play endlessly
my piano’s gone missing
seems all that remains
feels like pain
like I’m standing still

lift that load gently
take care how you set her down
hold her reverentially, boys
she’s got a heavenly sound
kick aside the dolly
set her on the skid
all on one, Ho!
hold the lid!

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