Thursday, July 3, 2014

Chops - a little more character poetry

This guy was blowing his sax at a tree in Indian River State Park. The tree didn't seem to care. The guy had come south to escape the cold and the mean streets that inspired his improvised jazz - venting  blues into spongy nature to no apparent purpose. I gathered that he would return to the city to reload, refuel, however he chooses to name it. Meanwhile I was glad for the concert and glad for the inspiration it provided for my own improvised venting.

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Tuesday, June 24, 2014

STREET CRED - a little poetry


Latin funk and hip hop
Shape your rhythm on the street,
Flow around your progress
Against the stream.

Two hundred dollar loafers
Heel clack and sole slap
In your wake like
Gloved fists in soft flesh.

Bright boy shines in the store windows,
Looking good too,
Against the bumper-to-bumper
Fish in a tank looking back.

Fresh baked bread loads the air.
Carmine in a white paper hat
Scowls at the back side
Of your reflection,

But he doesn't have this
One thing to do before tonight
When the girls come out
In their little dresses and big shoes.

Turn the corner
Keeping the beat.
There he is, Manny,
frozen in your high beams.

A bug-eyed frog
Fat and ripe for gigging.
He knows his fortune.
And yours too.

You grab his arm,
Steer him into a doorway arch,
Push him against the wrought iron gate,
And smile your thanks for an easy day.

Latin funk and hip hop
Shape the beat down beat.
Won't he be glad as you
To have this done?