Tag: Jazz

Ticking Clocks

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It’s 2 am

a little Brubeck

echoing in the silence

some distant harmony

making allowance

for a mind

unable to shut down,

just quiet,

listening to various clocks

set their own time,

ticking reminders of the seconds,

tearing about the fabric

of our own sanity.

 

There are pictures on the wall,

each holding court

with years,

reason,

time stamps

our own personal library,

not for public showing,

just, reasonable

reasons to wonder why,

when we do

struggle to answer

a few remaining questions,

we pause,

then realize

then forget again,

these wonders,

the questions in our mind,

stay with us

forever.

 

Simple jazz brought me

here tonight,

letting the hours slip by,

knowing I will have some

absence in my mind

tomorrow when reasoning

how to

catch up with the loss,

where some might argue,

time is not simply defined

by the hours in the day,

or others might suggest

time is really beyond the scope

of what’s inside our mind.

 

Another might just say you are

full of shit,

just go to bed.

© Thom Amundsen 2019

I Am Affected

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I am affected by maybe one, perhaps two,

often it might be you,

the state of mind I carry through my day,

coordinates with how I feel, how I say,

I’m doing

just okay,

and then the hours creep on by

until later in my own quiet solace,

I realize the two, maybe one,

maybe it is you,

I’m still reeling over trying to segue

into a world without the influence

of a demon,

of a skeleton,

of all that is built upon shame and addiction,

on the throes of our own sacrifice,

I’m affected,

by the simple notion of hurting someone

beyond myself,

based upon some silly luxury of

self abasement,

the notion of realizing just how human

our frailty in life,

has become,

has warranted some rediculous

attention upon the here and now,

even though just a second

ago,

just minutes before the letters even hit

the tablet,

the idea of a beautiful evening,

startlit with sweet mystique

seemed to matter more than any one

judgment created by the simple

anxiety of a singular

emotion.

A Little Billie Holiday for Him

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mlk
by Klassy_Lei

I thought I might listen to a little Billie tonight,

his memory is fresh in my mind.

I ‘d like to think he did a little swing in time,

her words, her melody, a smile.

This is a good man we honor today in dreams

a mover with a heart of humble pie.

if Billy might have heard his words imagine,

the groove she’d create in a cadence

that spoke to his hope for a society in change

they could waltz together in a walk,

a stroll that became his march on Washington,

with her crooning voice led the way.

It is difficult to imagine how one life could change

the masses, cause a people to respond

a certain elegance from her, singing the blues,

a reality of time needing change for him.

We celebrate the man that spoke of a freedom,

I somehow have to think when a child,

listening to Billie Holiday speak to the times,

he began to certainly understand peace.

~

*photo found on cuthroathippiegang

Crowd Noise

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painting by Debra Hurd
painting by Debra Hurd

While saxophone serenade melody,

glance across the room, and the world is alive,

with activity, purpose, longevity,

we all seem to want a similar drive,

waiting for the sunset,

while just realizing the crisp morning of a summer day,

we are living without any regret,

sharing our lives together with coffee and a gentle sway.

The rhapsody of that surreal breeze,

listen, can you hear the emotion of that chord,

the fingertips strum soft the lines,

that music, that interlude, such a marvelous journey.

While the noise of an active hustle creates

a steady rhythm of ‘hello who am I’

the eyes wander the room,

we all have our lives,

if only together, we might sing the words,

that suggest universally we can play the saxophone –

we might listen while the jazz plays our song.

Every Night

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the satchel lays under the bed,

packed for size,

just the essentials that later define a life,

right now,

well, just a bag with some assorted goods.

Put me on a freight heading west and it suddenly,

like the click-clack of the tracks,

becomes everything we own in the world,

leaving the rest behind.

~

I think if I could live my life that way,

I might be less afraid of what I know today,

more intrigued by that which lies ahead,

those moments,

the brush of a shoulder,

a stranger’s smile on a sunny morning,

whenever any thoughts before that smile,

became surrounded by worry,

concern, defeatist theory, the everyday

glass half-empty man.

~

I occasionally look at the bag underneath my bed,

and see it sort of smiling knowing I will never lead.

Tournament Games

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IMG_2659

In the corner played jazz tonight,

spending the afternoon

celebrating history,

they’ll recall the time they danced,

twenty years from now they’ll see the game,

almost picture where they were sitting,

imagine how it felt,

who they saw,

what mattered, and the throwaways,

like a half court toss to the lane

that trickles out of bounds,

it might have been that one,

or the layup just hitting the glass

like a brick,

no one wants to be that moment,

and the band played festive in the background,

fast break to the lane and a monster,

a big …

that nemesis I’ve always known,

ran me over with pleasure.

I stood at the line, and my first brick rang

standing on the line at State,

my second one, that dropped in smooth,

I scored a point in my first State game,

that single moment told me there

could

be more ahead …

In the background, the band played on.

Souls in Grace – Sparkling Stars # 19 – Haiku

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© Donna J Thomas
© Donna J Thomas

In here I am speaking of a world I do not personally know, yet only can imagine. In time, though we, with knowledge of what is real may slowly strive to then appreciate change, and center our world with ‘love’

~

We did know her pain

witnesses of vacancy

in the Man that spoke

~

watch and learn and cry

for no other reason why

except to accept

~

time is a rule now

learned with years of sacrifice

these blues so sweet sing

~

when last we spoke you

suggested lies forgiven

yet still your eyes play

~

Society breathe

spark imagination wake

our proclivity

~

listen to passions

jazzy instrumental speak

loud cry on this love!

carpe diem