Homespun Jazz Thread

[Tathagata]

how do we manage to fool ourselves everyday/
you know when you feel your core
the truth
of what you are and what you want?
and yet we put on the blinders
the masks and padded suits

and at night when we don't sleep
and we tell ourselves " be happy with what you have"
we cough up that black bile of self delusion
and try and wash it off in the shower the next day
dreams and reality
down the drain

 

[eagleyez]

that's a photo of you, right?

I have a lobster under my hat.

 

[Tathagata]

theres a rhythm to things
like a heart beat
bump ba dump ba dump
like tghe bass line
on " Isrealites"
and if you tune in
turn in
mmmmm
yes
you feel it there
and you move
like a zombie
over taken with that beat
so familiar
uh huh uh huh uh huh
hips snap like whips
arms direct a symphony in your head
fingers call the harmony in
like waving in a cool breeze
inhale baby
take that
feeel it inside
feet tap
and we reestablish that link
that beat
with the rest of humanity
music
beat
is understanding of the basic beings
we are

 

[Angeline]

I have a lobster under my hat.

Now you tell me. It would have gone well with the pasta.

 

[Tathagata]

there is delta in my knees
that makes it respond
and tap
and move
like a water pump
brining out that rhythm
that you know can heal
can bind
can call back the ghosts of congo square
shuck and jive
call your gods
and the non believers
crowd around
to witness
blashphemy
with soul
god's music
intrigues us
and we want more.....



but god cant be black
and god cant have soul and swivel hips
and we just don't know what to do
except curse the sacred
and deny
the holy

 

[Guest]

Harry

Sometimes he fills my soul
and it spills out in tears
He makes me stop mid-sentence
to swallow his sound
I wonder how he sings like that
through his sax
It melts me like vanilla on a hot day
like butter on toasted crumpets
like hot ice
sharp and sweet
hot and sour
He ain't nuthin' to look at
but - oh - he feels his notes
and shares them
unselfishly.

 

[Angeline]

there is delta in my knees
that makes it respond
and tap
and move
like a water pump
brining out that rhythm
that you know can heal
can bind
can call back the ghosts of congo square
shuck and jive
call your gods
and the non believers
crowd around
to witness
blashphemy
with soul
god's music
intrigues us
and we want more.....



but god cant be black
and god cant have soul and swivel hips
and we just don't know what to do
except curse the sacred
and deny
the holy

What if God is not
an imperative king
extemporizing validating
justifying anything,
but just the way you feel
when you hear the blues,
know that anyone is born
to win or lose
their human bondage
or ask why the moon
looks lonesome
shinin through the trees.

anybody got left
standin by the back door
cryin, anybody feels
connected to the dirt down
roots of not no more,
not a concept but an
ocean of omniscience
settled in all bones,
lost in every eye.

 

[Tathagata]

in your dreams
i will spin you
in heels and gossemer gowns
eyes locked and wet
pond stones in a zen garden


no yesterday
no tomorrow
just now babe
and now sucks


but when you lay your head down
i will come to you and
free you
and we will dance and laugh
and kiss
I promise as long as i live
you will never have
motionless dreams

 

[Tathagata]

What if God is not
an imperative king
extemporizing validating
justifying anything,
but just the way you feel
when you hear the blues,
know that anyone is born
to win or lose
their human bondage
or ask why the moon
looks lonesome
shinin through the trees.

anybody got left
standin by the back door
cryin, anybody feels
connected to the dirt down
roots of not no more,
not a concept but an
ocean of omniscience
settled in all bones,
lost in every eye.

almost all my gods
are black or brown
silly irish boy


but they speak in tongues I understand
I make the holy moves
through instinct
like a japanese bow
it happens

speak to me Wolf
Muddy
Marley
Berry
Diddley
oh the list goes
on and on

No saints
I get my redemption through
flogged blood and sharecroppers eyes

and i mimic those words and chords and
heartache
and my soul
sighs
with contentment i cant explain to just
anyone

 

[Tathagata]

Molasses mornin
rollin down slow ,thick
with sunday church bells
and muffled car doors

thunderclouds of cream and sugar
watching leaves blow down
forsaken streets
skipping
helpless


scratch of needle on vynal
delta swamp blues
mirrors raw new england skies
if i had a followed my first mind....


past and present converge
and gold leaves spin
like wisemen entranced
playing out my life on unforgiving
sidewalks

 

[eagleyez]

Hes an Irish lad
But chose the French Horn
Over the tin whistle and
Stands with the brothers,
Feels minor and thankfully invisible
And predicts
The Bricks
Underfoot
Out into
His town,
Sad red roofs
On New England's asbestos layer
As the leaf tourists
Head for Logan
While woodfires
Signal childish rememberances
and a slow pervasive blues.

 

[eagleyez]

button my lip-
crank cans and
the apple collector
on chop sticks
and hot mustard
while beat floors
dispose of sustain pedals, quarts of
foot drop soup
dipped in dissonant
asian chords
button my lip
"till Im old enough
till Im smart enough"

she kisses me
and shivers a bit
coots and seagulls
pound the air
22 longs hit the high note
in rocky dumps

tenor richocets
any minute
off of granite understandings and
the glockenspiel
mallet is a
feather

glistening
like the galvanized handle
on the storm door.

my bomb shelter-
no cover
come as you are.

 

[DeepAsleep]

I was drinking cheap gin
and playing rummy with rascals
night after night with no courage
coming in through the open door.
I'd have liked to smile,
but I was grinning so my teeth could shine.
No courage came in and sat at my table,
just rascals and rummy, a grin
and me, drinking gin.

Always gin when we played rummy,
always rascals when we drank gin.
It was a joke to turn a card game and
drinks into a play on words
and the pine taste of cheap liqour
haunted all the next day,
while we lay around wearing sunglasses
and complaining about our headaches.

We would talk all night,
dropping the rummy for the gin
while I thought about a girl that got away
and the reasons that I let her,
around the time the world hugged 2 o'clock
(ante meridian, bay-bee)
"I am somewhat lacking in moral fiber,"
I did say (I did.)
"I am somewhat lacking in the strength of
my convictions."

These card sharks and sharps, that I called friends
they said to me,
"You're also lacking in gin. give us, this day, that empty glass."
And I did say (I did, I swear),
"That's exactly what I mean."

 

[Cerriwiden]

He said stay out
of that room
where the sharpies play.
No good can come of you
in that room.

This was allure.

The Robert Treat Hotel,
a ballroom full of Brylcream men,
shiny and curled in smoke,
talk and gestures thick
with street life, urbane
and crude, Ray-Bans,
Italian silk, and leather
attaches. Men behind
glass cases, bored
with their impatience,
arranging gold pieces,
coins set in envelopes
of plastic and cardboard.

You can't buy a 1909-s VDB
for five dollars, just a dirty
Indian Head penny,
sold by a man
with too-white teeth and a manicure
to a little girl all eyes and awe,
who should have
stayed out of that room.