Lewis Jordan 1978 | Photo: Mark Weber
FEAR OF LOSS
The taste of whiskey fills
my breath from you;
long passions run deep.
Gently my fingers walk over your face
creating warmth.a
The lavender of your eyes
marks the death in me.
My words stumble, drunken with lust;
foolish in the war of losing you.a
Mockingbirds pierce me with swords
of song.
Mornings struggle to open.
In my room I play the jazz;
I am dark, a shadow,
failed to be seen.
Blue Mitchell 1977 | Photo: Mark Weber
INSIDE THE HORN
He begged the horn
to breathe strong
for him,
to tell a story
of pain in love,
and love with pain
a
His fingers danced
on flat pearl keys
spinning jazzy notes
like the earth
rolling through space.
a
Pure gold sounds
flowed richly
as he taught
the notes to fly
into welcome air.
a
His pouting lips
sighed then relaxed,
overwhelmed
with years of songs
rarefied and clean
from inside the horn.
Bobby Bradford & John Carter 1978 | Photo: Mark Weber