Wrong

Wrong

Wrong.

what a strange word, for what does it

mean? wrong as in the opposite - of - right?

Wrong. 

what a peculiar word. one syllable; it spits out of 

your lips, w-r-o-n-g.

Wrong. 

what a connotation. shivers down my spine and

red flushes across my face - even the sound of it

scares me to death.

Wrong. 

what a strange word, for what does it 

mean? for being wrong only leads to what is

right.

My sketch of Thelonious Monk

 I will be adding a 'sketch of the day' to my poems as often as I can. Stay tuned for more jazz inspired pieces!

My sketch of a jazz club

Explanations

Explanations

To explain is
to write a novel,
a symphony,
a rhapsody,
an epic

long, vast,
contrasting.

Crossing

Crossing

C

 r

  o

   s

    s

     i

      n

       g 

back and forth

back and forth and 

c

 r

  o

   s

    s

     i

      n

       g 

up 

and d

       o

       w

       n

d

o 

w

n 

and 

      up

and s                 g

        p             n

           i         i

             r     l

                a

around.

Change

Change

They told me

Change
is
good

that sometimes you have to
see new things meet new
people learn new subjects in
order to come back around

They told me

Do
not
fear

that sometimes you have to
lose old things let go of old
memories forget the past in
order to come back around

They told me

Change
is like
jazz

that each chord shapes the
melody and each emotion shapes
the line and each breath fills the
sound and each line creates an arc

And I told myself

to keep on soloing.

What time is it?

What time is it?

What time is it?

It's got to be four in the afternoon somewhere.
It's got to be raining somewhere.
It's got to be hot somewhere.

Someone's got to be thinking this somewhere.

Museum

Museum

It's been a long time since I've

seen the stars the clouds the dinosaurs since

I've noticed yarn and all its threads and admired

the beauty of history. 

If only

If only

If only a poem could do something
useful or needed
like cure cancer or solve starvation
then maybe it would be a noble feat.

If only a poem could do something
helpful or valuable
like change a country or mend lost relationships
then maybe it would be worth the strain.

If only a poem could just do something
that alters everything and
flips the world upside down
then maybe the grass would be a little greener.

If only a poem could do something.
If only I could use it for something.
If only lack of purpose brought depth of meaning.

If only real life could make me feel
ecstatic and purposeful
like a poem, a well crafted poem -
then maybe I would find purity in this life.

Flipped

Flipped

At a loss for new music

a new kind of sound

I went and I flipped

my sheet music upside down.

Translations

Translations

Scoo-ba-dee-op
I have gotten into the habit of speaking other languages. 
Za-zoo-ped-ee-wow
I suppose I made my own one up
Da-dop-a-da-ee-op
But how elated I feel to know -
Doo-waa
Only I can translate.

Listen

Listen

The funny thing about
jazz
is that you have to
hear it
to know what it is.

Lost

Lost

So I got out my saxophone;
shiny and coarse and heavy and new

to me at least

it seemed like an old friend,
one passing down the road
one with memories, you know
the kind that last and reappear in dreams

you can't escape them

so I look at this friend
scared half to death
disheveled am I, lonesome
and scared of interaction for

an old friend is just that -
an old friend -
out of contact
out of sight

and as I gaze into the hollowness of it all
I realize old friends aren't really friends

they're just memories...

a few jazzy notes later
there's a splashing spark, and I'm
found.

What is improvisation?

What is improvisation?

What really is
improvisation?

Sure it's the art -
art of making it all up
art of being on the spot
art of creating in the moment

It's an art -
a sort of painting still wet
a dance choreographed with a trip
something unexpected

It's an art, right?
Or is it?
a sort of poem made in dialogue
a sort of cake with no recipe
something unplanned

But if it's an art -
because we call it an art -
doesn't that mean everything
we do is art?

We walk with a saunter
we talk with a rasp
we laugh with a cackle
we gaze with a sparkle -

and we don't plan that
we don't really plan anything

we can try and try and try and try
to micromanage to schedule,
but in the end

What really is improvisation? -
Is there any opposite?

Maps

Maps

I got into the business of
collecting maps for
I always seem to get lost

ratty, torn, tea stained,
ripped up, splattered,
chewed open - they can't
even take me anywhere, they're

pointless, trivial, ornamental;
they lay on my bureau, some
hung up, taped, posted across
the plastered, bumpy walls
sparkled like stars - tens
and tens of these, maps

to Jordan, China, England,
Croatia, Poland - anywhere
in the world, torn, tidbits,
chopped, cut up: just thrown
any old place

dysfunctional at best, they're
ragged and worn - thrift shop
finds, scattered, musty: just thrown
any old place

hoping to take me
any old place.

Seasons

Seasons

Waking up in the middle of the summer
to a chill consuming cold

Waking up in the winter
to a heat stroke.

Down

Down

Towering tall
wavering thin
boom crash following
down.

Keys

Keys

Click clack
clickety clackety
yakety clackety
click clack coo

Solitude

Solitude 

I think
the
mark
of

maturity

comes with the
acceptance
of the
idea
of

solitude

being alone

even wanting
to be alone

and dealing with
the feelings associated with
this jolt of cold water

purity
         - harsh
                    - simple

it's you and you alone and
no one else really knows your own

solitude.

Opposites

Opposites

With want comes...
un-want? -

sweeping

compelling as fear
repulsive as need -

When all you want is risk
and all you dread is
a result.

Everyday

Everyday

Everyday
feels like a
tornado
sweeping swooping swiping
up
up
up
and away.

Folded

Folded

Folded neatly are the sounds of my tune
brief and concise

it plays all right

skipping a beat every once in a while
making up for silence with intensity.

Limitations

Limitations

I wanted to be a 

dancer

but I couldn't

dance

I wanted to be a 

painter

but I couldn't 

paint

I wanted to be an

actor

but I couldn't

act

I wanted to be a 

poet

but I couldn't 

write

I wanted to be 

myself

but I couldn't

One

One

O
N
E.
One. Two e and a. Three e and a. Four and.
O
N
E.

Gliding

Gliding

Gliding
Sailing
Moving
             Swiftly
                         Across
                                     The
                                            Sky
                                                  Until
                                                           You
                                                                  Land
                                                                           With
                                                                                    A
                                                                                        Plunk. 

Clap

Clap

clap
      bam
             wow
              clap
      bam
wow

Rhyme

Rhyme

Blazing
Crazing

Maze
Phase

Want
Taunt.

Definition

Definition

Jazz is a word.

Music is a word.

Sound is a word.

But to define...
that's to listen.

Singing

Singing

To sing
to really sing
to sing out loud
to sing from the roof top
to sing yes to sing
to sing as if you mean it
every single word shaping your
mouth contorting and moving
and dancing through the syllables
and vowels and consonants as if
you are crunching through the
words an apple, tart.

To sing is to find your
self on the top of a building
falling into the harsh wind
flowing to and from with the idea
of hearing silence in the wake of
sound.

Moving

Moving

The
 F
  U
   N
    D
      A
       M
         E
          N
            T
              A
                L
rule of it all is that
P
E
O
P
L
E
move
        on
and the slate gray R O C K
crumbles to S A N D
forming a new kind of C E M E N T

Snow

Snow

A fresh sort of 

b

l

a

n

k

e

t

woven

thick 

wool

itchy heavy large

knitting needles

click

        and 

clack

        and

click

        and

tap tap tapping of 

fingers against a table

worn

tired

s

a

d

human

ruffling of pages and pages

flip

     flap

flip 

     flap

flipping the pages and pages

hooting and howling

and breathing in and out

in 

    out

in 

    out

in to the nose

and out with a fog of 

icy cold wind and

sprinkles of evaporation

and a hiss hiss hiss

h

i

s

s

of the tea kettle 

and the drop 

pang

      ping

pang 

      ping 

of a sugar cube stirred

metal spoon clacking

and clinking and clooking

and clawing to 

a warm sauna

a bath a meltdown a blizzard

of white noise. 

Classical

Classical

With a subtle stare
comes a movie screen
of senses and the pop
pop popping of popcorn
for the listener.