By Jayne Cortez
ornette ornette
Go listen to Ornette
Rambling Blessings
with Cherry Higgins Haden
O. D. C. B. holding church…
Go listen to Ornette
Rambling Blessings
with Cherry Higgins Haden
O. D. C. B. holding church…
Explore Poems: Music
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- By Jayne CortezTell me about the good things
you clappin & laughin
Will you remember
or will you forget
Forget about… - By George KalamarasEven the earth dies sometimes
when it is most alive.
Walter Bishop Jr. slaying the keys,
Harold Vick… - By Cornelius EadySome folks will tell you the blues is a woman,
Some type of supernatural creature.
My mother would tell… - By Pat MoraBuenos dias and hasta lue$o in boardrooms and strategy sessions, Where are your grateful holiday smiles bilinguals? I've given you a voice, let you in
to hear old friends tell old jokes,
Stop flinching, Drink eggnog, Hum alon,
Not carols we hear
whimpering
children too... - By Bruce SniderShe lip-syncs “Hello God,” then “9 to 5.”
She struts. Or does she fly? Like the soul,
a rhinestone, she tells us, will never die.
She’s a blush-pink Bible. Patched together,
she’s a cosmic doll. Mirror of a mirror,
she winks, her face the only... - By Frank Marshall DavisWho named him Yard Bird?
He was a homing pigeon
With no home to fly to
Sky unlimited
Route uncharted
Eagle strong
He scorched his wings
Haunting the heavens
Buzzing the sun
As the feebler fowl
Looked up in awe
But played it safe
In the rambling sky
He lived!
Here he rendezvoused
With freedom
Flashing... - By Frank Marshall DavisHer rum-brown rope of a voice
Fastens flannel strands
Around soft sides of staid notes
Sitting properly
On their oh so proper scale
She pulls
And the notes fall
Into her molten mold
Of flaming sound - By Bruce BondI played a folk song once
so long into the night
it came apart.
... - By Patti Smithnotebook
divine love is so.
invisible.
notebook
november 1. all souls day. rimbaud-o. go
to hell. picasso knows. how he really fucking
knew knows. where can he go now.
notebook
picasso hoax: don’t nobody tell when he dies.
continue let time continue and move like myth.
till suddenly somebody rings... - By Angela JacksonThe night ZZ Hill sang at the Club Tupelo
on the Westside of Chicago
he was built like a heavyweight boxer in a tailored suit
bathed in a soft blue
light like the only thing
to see in that darkened
space where bluespeople came
to turn... - By Nikki GiovanniMommy always wanted
To be famous
She would have us (my sister and me)
Sing
In all the talent shows
But I could not carry the harmony
Then she had me
Sing
Alone
Though The Isley Brothers
Always won
Ronald’s sweet voice and Vernon
Doing “the Itch”
Sort of like Michael Jackson
Doing “the... - By Juan Felipe Herrerain the darkness
in the exile—there is a sigh, a number 9
there is a son borne of the street song, the injured timpani red drum
there is a town, Jihlava, a make-shift theatre &
rough-cut street dancers, there is a sky that welcomes... - By Sean MahoneyI may take offense, may still your tongue
And your fickle ax willowing spastically
During unpredictable weather events.
As sure as the influence of big Cat.4’s
Can be felt in hair, almost like a weighted
Scent sinks itself deep into your lungs.
I believe your brain... - By Noa Micaela FieldsIn other sounds
E wants a mother
[unclear] I hear
bad. Trachea,
trace—translate
[hiss] chase
meaning’s
severed half-
lives for cantos.
Mine pine
after dorsal
fins. Drafts
drown in
throat. I’m
pssst tense
subjunctive
unfolding
spine, needling
form’s tomb
marrow sonata.
Tingly
E taunts bow
fingers dawn
lightly butchers
an author
botches cadence
mutters in violet. - By Robin BeckerThink of the fox skins belted to the backs of the dancers
at Santo Domingo Pueblo, a thousand fox skins leaping.
The first year I heard the bells around their waists.
The second year I heard the drum inside my belly.
The third year... - By Chera HammonsApart, we are two quiet things:
a person and an instrument.
I in my body,
the clarinet in its case.
We are like good friends.
The clarinet takes nothing away from me.
It lets me borrow its notes.
If I loan it my breath,
I can speak with... - By Quincy Troupeyou begin with a sound wrapped around a syllable, or syllables,
a word (or words) like razzmatazz, or ratamacue, then you listen to
a red-boned black man playing a horn like a clue,
like a train or john coltrane or bird, then you... - By Quincy Troupe1.
a carrier of incandescent dreams this
blade-thin shadowman stabbed by lightning
crystal silhouette
crawling over blues-stained pavements his life
lean he drapes himself his music across edges
his blood held tight within
staccato flights
clean as darkness & bright as lightning
reversed moments where the sound is two... - By Rodney Terich LeonardFacing the blackboard,
the teacher whistles
a melody of marbled tenderness.
Entanglement,
intrigue or spook?
Perhaps,
in retrospect,
Monday thoughts
of cared-for cashmere
or the end bite
of Sunday's sweet potato.
It simmers & simmers,
the music that learns us;
The Mamas & the Papas
Queen Latifah singing
"California Dreamin'."
The ear is nobody's fool.