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Poetry in Motian
by William DeLancey Adamson
Shimmering behind Bill's subtle reharmonies of the Gershwin tune LaFaro's pungent doublestops and even that asshole girl's phony laugh at the climax is your intelligence I've never heard nor ever will hear the like it's only Sunday night at the Village Vanguard but I feel it's the garden of Eden ...
Black Sage (for Henry Grimes)
by Gordon Marshall
I have seen the stage lights playthe sly sagacity of Henry's smile:the lightning on his lips, decadesdark with spattered starlight coming back to his eyes.To win words from that smilethat opens like a jackknifedrawing blood from parchment spurting ...
Trumpet
by Gordon Marshall
for Forbes GrahamArc shoots to treble tongue tripfingertip tapping valve topstraps the sinuous sound round the quartet's quartal vibe, tribeof truth, sooth of soothingtunes turned back on themselves lost in vertical vertigo. Thenthe trumpet picks them up,
Rites of Spring
by Wayne Wolfson
Spring was the sweat running down the back of her legs. It is the pack of young dogs running down the street in their best clothes, new haircuts and fresh packs of smokes always kept in the left pocket of their sports coats. Ready to offer one up to a beautiful or willing lady, unwrapping the ...
Brilliant Corners
by Wayne Wolfson
The last words of his hero still echoed in his ear but they brought no inspiration as there was a fear he had misinterpreted them. I met myself ten years from now on the Rue Grand Augustin. He did not have the patience to answer questions that he thought unimportant. Rolling his eyes at ...
Cage
by Gordon Marshall
I play the folk song twice once to ring out the singed changes, again in order that nothing comes between you and me, however the notes pound for release from a cage... A piece by Cage, you know the one, the 4' 33" of silence
Corona King
by Gordon Marshall
for Louis Armstrong I saw the Satchmo's shack of brick needle stopped on record warped humble as a corona with a cognac fixtures plated gold reflecting me, directing me to the “s'all" in early fall stilling solos beat out on the balcony, to the ...
Three Jazz Poems
by Gordon Marshall
Dolphy What I hear is gone, playpens clattering with rattles like drums, hum of heater on the floor-- I remember this as I tap the tones out of the bass clarinet bell. I yell, Hell! I can tell ...
Cords
by Wayne Wolfson
Every person, friend, family, enemy and lover is a string, one end attached to you. Tethered to life. We go through our lives getting all tangled up. When someone dies the cord is cut. Gazing down, your hold the severed line in your hand and wonder about the cut. Even with the courage to ...
