By Robert Rouda
Notes calling from deep,
silence fills empty spaces.
Flawless grooves carress.
Just when notes touched deep,
new places flow easily.
Fluid soul of Miles.
There was the sound of many things. Small child
leaping at butterflies, wet shoes, smiling, dirty
face. Leaping with toads amid flowers in fields.
Laughter. The city beyond. Bitter/sweet dancing with
sweaty, black faces. Red lights to run, red lights
to fun. Agony flowing from sweet, horny sound.
Melting into dance. Dancing in fields of clover. Boy
in shorts. He and she skipped home. Even sneaked a
kiss behind the tree. There's a man in the house
searching for another: Welfare Blues. On the street,
no matter. Shining gray silk skin, slim legs.
Tonight's the night to BALL y'all! While dreams
passed through his small sleeping head of great
home-runs and fifty-yard dashes. Ups and downs,
bitter/sweet horn music. Young and old honey/pepper
alto. Intent fingers running, releasing deep tales
of the centuries within Ornette.
Bebop my baby, song of life learnt.
Dance now, that's how:
Bird's in town.
Bye Bye Blackbird
Bent over in your profile,
Always taking us on some wonderful journey
Somewhere in your fantastic groove,
No one doubts you're miles ahead.
You always will be poetry. Nuff said.
Like a song from the first bird
Singing bright songs through ages
Clear, shrill calls
Flying from the heart-nest of Eric.
The sound that penetrates
deeper than opened vessels.
Your name lingers with eternal possibilities.
I still listen.
LOVE, GRATITUDE, COGNITION
Play on Mr. Trane.