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IN CHORUS
Deep in a small forest,a murmuring brook reflectsthe shards of sun slidingthrough the crown of pines,its whispered wisdominfinitely more clearthan the babbling of menholding the reins firmlyin distant cities of power. The birds know this well,sing of it in chorus, nature’smusic, jazz scatting thatthe graying clouds absorb,an always willing audience,and the wind rushing bycries through…
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MELODY
The melody arose from the most unexpected place.They heard it deep within the woodsand even the birds fell silentpeering around, searchingfor its unrevealed source.It carried on for several versesand then, as quickly as it cameit was gone, the final notecarried off by a spring wind.No one entered, no one leftthe woods that dayand though many…
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STARING
He liked nothing betterthen to sit outsidehis small cottageand stare into the pondonce the blaze on the waterset by the sun was consumedas fire must always be by water.As night deepened, he staredinto the sky, seeing the moonslowly rise, chasing alongthe sun’s now deserted path.He knew the myriad of starsshared his interest, staringbut he abandoned…
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JE SAIS QUOI
I admit I am an odd duck, odder for not being a duck at all. But the expression has a certain je ne sais quoi to it, as does that expression and I am all about language. All that is a long round about way of acknowledging that I have always wanted to use the…
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PERCUSSION
After years of going to live jazzI’ve honed my skills to a fine level.I still know next to nothingabout the intricacies of the music,five years of classical piano andI barely understand Bach and Mozart. But I know where to look, whobears watching in the combo,and it isn’t the trumpeter, hewith his ballooning cheeks, someclownish bellows,…
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MELODY
I sing a shattered songof someone else’s youththe melody forgottenthe words faded into oddsyllables heard in my dreams.The coyote stands at the edgeof a gully staring at meand wondering why I slipfrom the hogan throughthe hole punchedin the back wallslinking awayin the encroaching dark.The priest, his saffron robespulled tight around his legsin the morning chill,stares…
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SONGWRITER
Bob Dylan is, to the best of my knowledge,the only songwriter to successfully rhymeoutrageous and contagious, which doesn’texplain why I knew I could never bea successful songwriter in this life. The explanation is far simpler, it was whenLeonard Cohen served me tea and apricots,said he hated the river even living in Montrealand said I should…
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NOTING WEATHER
The weather, he announced to no one in particular,ought to be musical or at leastincorporate some jazz. Spring is bebop, Trane and Parker,the sudden clash of Blakeythe downpours of Dizzy and the hint of what’s to comeon the fingers of Monk, andKenny and Milt. Summer brings the slow easingas early Miles slides in, and wesink…
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A SIMPLE SONG
It’s simple enough to write a song,that’s what I heard him say,and though I doubted that whollyhe say try, just give it a day. I promised I would try to writebut I knew that I’d fail in timefor even Leonard Cohen nowand then used a subtle rhyme and that is not something for whichI was…
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NOT SLEEPING NOW
The kid is late again today, but thatis sadly not unusual, the old man said.I ought to get rid of him, but I knowhe needs the job to feed his family. In the meanwhile, I’ll now haveto hobble down to the meadowand hope my collie, who’s as old as I,is up to the job of…
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an old writer and his words 