Concrete Box

Tags

blues, dreams, entertainment, fantasy, free, imagination, longing, love, music, mystery, universe

 

I work in a corporate, concrete box;
no windows, only a computer terminal
to link me to the outside world.
Only second-hand accounts
of weather, traffic,
whether it is day or night.

I sometimes go to work in darkness,
return in darkness.
I don’t know if the sun
remembered to rise at all.
Like the light in a refrigerator.
Does it really turn off
when I close the door?

At a keyboard, my fingers type numbers,
millions of numbers.
My mind wanders woodland paths.
I watch birds flitting from limb to limb,
chipmunks scurrying, stopping,
looking around, then scurrying again.

My mind plays tricks on me.
I imagine that just 26 floors down
I could exit on Beale or Bourbon Street.
Hear sounds of the South,
guitars, saxophones and raspy voices
that rule the rhythm of my body and soul.

Take me on a blues ride.
Let me wander with the lyrics
down Highway 61, “The Blues Highway”.
Let me smell the sweat and the booze,
the jostling at the bar,
the waitress who will smile for a tip.

Let me smell magnolia, bougainvillea,
where Spanish moss hangs below the branches,
see the darkest eyes and brightest smile,
hear that special whisper, “Come with me.”
We’ll walk for miles, be holding hands,
and never want for any more
than our window to a dream.

…

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Concrete Box

Tags

blues, dreams, entertainment, fantasy, free, imagination, longing, love, music, mystery, universe

 

I work in a corporate, concrete box;
no windows, only a computer terminal
to link me to the outside world.
Only second-hand accounts
of weather, traffic,
whether it is day or night.

I sometimes go to work in darkness,
return in darkness.
I don’t know if the sun
remembered to rise at all.
Like the light in a refrigerator.
Does it really turn off
when I close the door?

At a keyboard, my fingers type numbers,
millions of numbers.
My mind wanders woodland paths.
I watch birds flitting from limb to limb,
chipmunks scurrying, stopping,
looking around, then scurrying again.

My mind plays tricks on me.
I imagine that just 26 floors down
I could exit on Beale or Bourbon Street.
Hear sounds of the South,
guitars, saxophones and raspy voices
that rule the rhythm of my body and soul.

Take me on a blues ride.
Let me wander with the lyrics
down Highway 61, “The Blues Highway”.
Let me smell the sweat and the booze,
the jostling at the bar,
the waitress who will smile for a tip.

Let me smell magnolia, bougainvillea,
where Spanish moss hangs below the branches,
see the darkest eyes and brightest smile,
hear that special whisper, “Come with me.”
We’ll walk for miles, be holding hands,
and never want for any more
than our window to a dream.

…

Sample  my books for free — proceeds feed the homeless:
Gotta Find a Home: Conversations with Street People
http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS
http://buff.ly/1YlMlPX
http://buff.ly/2rmNL5G
https://buff.ly/2FwfHsb FREE Download
Podcasts: http://buff.ly/1Pxlf9p
http://www.blunttalk.libsyn.com/
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Image: http://www.neworleans.com/nightlife/bourbon-heat/

Robert

Tags

alcoholism, blues, death, despair, dreams, guitar, loneliness, longing, lost love, music

 
An itinerant
entertainer
guitar on his back
ramblin’
from town to town
the devil by his side.
Performing
on street corners
in juke joints
roadhouses
lastly,
on August 13,1938,
at Shaples General Store,
Three Forks,
Mississippi.

Loner
philanderer
loved by the ladies
Robert was poisoned
with strychnine-laced whiskey
by a jealous husband
on the outskirts
of Baptist Town,
Greenwood,
Mississippi.

Buried in an
disputed grave
but, as Robert sang:
Baby, I don’t care
where you bury my body
when I’m dead and gone
You may bury my body, whoooo
Down by the highway side
So my old evil spirit
Can get a Greyhound bus
and ride.

Where
he is buried
isn’t important;
what is important
is the influence he’s had
on musicians
the world over.
Eric Clapton
claims, “he is
the most important blues singer
that ever lived.”
May he forever
rest in peace.

…

Sample  my books for free — proceeds feed the homeless:
Gotta Find a Home: Conversations with Street People
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http://buff.ly/1YlMlPX
http://buff.ly/2rmNL5G
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Shadrak

Tags

attraction, dance, drunk, inspiration, insults, knife, lust, murder, music, stabbing, violence

Saturday found me at the Shadrak,
a downstairs club that had it all.
A woman took the floor in glad rags.
I felt I was in for a fall.

She spied me lounging in the corner.
My eyes caressed her every move.
She beckoned me over to the dance floor,
sleazy blues had us in the groove.

She was a tall sleek woman with a class act,
slumming and feeling so high.
Knew this was wrong — her legs were so long,
dress was cut up to her thigh.
She had to be a wife or a girlfriend,
no man would let this woman slip by.

Soft fingers stole away my reason,
for her I’d do right or wrong.
Flash of a thigh, wink of an eye,
she played that dress just like a song.
Maybe her lips, or the sway of her hips,
she had my number all along.

The scene couldn’t have been sweeter,
‘till Johnny sauntered through that door.
Cursed us a while, said we were vile,
reputations trampled on the floor.
Should have walked away, that isn’t my way,
his accusations cut to my core.

No backing down for right or for wrong,
for her I had to settle the score.
Glint of a knife, the end of a life,
Johnny lay dying on the floor.

Built to tantalize, she knew she was a prize;
she was a tall sleek woman with a class act,
slumming and feeling so high.
Knew this was wrong — her legs were so long,
I couldn’t let this woman slip by.
I wouldn’t let this woman slip by.

…

Sample  my books for free — proceeds feed the homeless:
Gotta Find a Home: Conversations with Street People
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The Hollies:  Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress

Lyrics:   http://ow.ly/TwlRS

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rain soaked blues

Tags

aimless, alcoholic, desperate, despondent, homeless, life, lonesome, lost, meditation, music, poverty

i walk these empty, rain soaked streets.
footsteps echo against brick walls
formidable as a prison.
there’s no escape from loneliness
devouring my soul from within —
an endless cinema of despair.

locked within this kaleidoscope,
distorted images from my past
haunt daydreams, nightmares;
there’s no room for reality.
players in my mind pull the strings;
dance this mournful marionette.

i follow the cooling evening breeze
with no purpose or destination.
feet lead me in a trance.
mindfulness blocks my thoughts,
(destroyers of my self-esteem)
momentarily, held at bay.

life, a never-ending battle,
one foot in front of the other,
seconds follow tedious seconds,
breaths counted entering and leaving,
heart beats it’s pounding rhythm
down and out, rain soaked, blues.

…

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Sweet Little Angel

Tags

angel, blues, death, devil, emotion, free, in memoriam, love, lust, music

A tribute to B. B. (Blues Boy) King
Guitarist, Songwriter, Singer (1925–2015)
“King of the Blues”

 

 

Sweet little angel
your devil horns are showing through.
Sweet little angel
your devil horns are showing through.
I love you sweet baby,
all I ever want is you.

Sweet little angel
tell me your love is just for me
Sweet little angel
tell me your love is just for me
you know I need your lovin’
without it where’d I be?

Sweet little angel
spread your honeyed wings for me.
Sweet little angel
spread your honeyed wings for me.
You squeeze me tight baby
you’re the one to set me free

Sweet little angel
your devil horns are showing through.
Sweet little angel
your devil horns are showing through.
I love you sweet baby
don’t you ever leave me blue.

 

…

Buy my books — proceeds feed the homeless:
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Careful With That Axe, Eugene

Tags

Buddhism, Christianity, compassion, despair, desperation, emotion, empathy, loving kindness, mental health, music, mystery

 

Eugene had a mind of his own,
not, as some would say, a sound mind,
but his own mind, nevertheless.

“It’s awfully considerate of you
to think of me here.
And I’m most obliged to you
for making it clear
that I’m not here.”

Eugene was a great musician,
taking music to the limit;
his songs will always survive.
Eugene took drugs to the limit;
he’s now in Interstellar Overdrive.

When we observed him with an axe,
you may understand our concern.
Was he in danger, or were we?

Eugene had already left us in spirit,
but he wandered away that day
and was lost to us forever.

 

 

This poem is dedicated to the memory of “Syd Barrett (born Roger Keith Barrett; 6 January 1946 – 7 July 2006) who was an English singer, songwriter, guitarist and artist. He is most remembered as a founding member of  band Pink Floyd, providing major musical and stylistic direction in their early work, although he left the group in 1968 amidst speculations of mental illness exacerbated by heavy drug use.”

Axe is also British slang for guitar. Pink Floyd’s use of the title Careful With That Axe, Eugene may refer to “Barrett’s behaviour (which) became increasingly unpredictable, partly as a consequence of frequent experimentation with psychedelic drugs such as LSD. Many report having seen him on stage with the group, strumming on one chord through the entire concert, or not playing at all. At a show at The Fillmore West in San Francisco, during a performance of “Interstellar Overdrive”, Barrett slowly detuned his guitar. The audience seemed to enjoy such antics, unaware of the rest of the band’s consternation.” (Source: Wikipedia)

 

Buy my book for $0.99 — proceeds feed the homeless:
Gotta Find a Home; Conversations with Street People
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Concrete Box

Tags

blues, dreams, entertainment, fantasy, free, imagination, longing, love, music, mystery, universe

 

I work in a corporate, concrete box;
no windows, only a computer terminal
to link me to the outside world.
Only second-hand accounts
of weather, traffic,
whether it is day or night.

I sometimes go to work in darkness,
return in darkness.
I don’t know if the sun
remembered to rise at all.
Like the light in a refrigerator.
Does it really turn off
when I close the door?

At a keyboard, my fingers type numbers,
millions of numbers.
My mind wanders woodland paths.
I watch birds flitting from limb to limb,
chipmunks scurrying, stopping,
looking around, then scurrying again.

My mind plays tricks on me.
I imagine that just 26 floors down
I could exit on Beale or Bourbon Street.
Hear sounds of the South,
guitars, saxophones and raspy voices
that rule the rhythm of my body and soul.

Take me on a blues ride.
Let me wander with the lyrics
down Highway 61, “The Blues Highway”.
Let me smell the sweat and the booze,
the jostling at the bar,
the waitress who will smile for a tip.

Let me smell magnolia, bougainvillea,
where Spanish moss hangs below the branches,
see the darkest eyes and brightest smile,
hear that special whisper, “Come with me.”
We’ll walk for miles, be holding hands,
and never want for any more
than our window to a dream.

 
 
 
Image: http://www.neworleans.com/nightlife/bourbon-heat/

Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS

 

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Careful With That Axe, Eugene

Tags

compassion, emotion, empathy, imagination, lyricist, music, philosophy, Pink Floyd, psychology, singer, songwriter

 

Eugene had a mind of his own,
not, as some would say, a sound mind,
but his own mind, nevertheless.

“It’s awfully considerate of you
to think of me here.
And I’m most obliged to you
for making it clear
that I’m not here.”

Eugene was a great musician,
taking music to the limit;
his songs will always survive.
Eugene took drugs to the limit;
he’s now in Interstellar Overdrive.

When we observed him with an axe,
you may understand our concern.
Was he in danger, or were we?

Eugene had already left us in spirit,
but he wandered away that day
and was lost to us forever.

 

This poem is dedicated to the memory of “Syd Barrett (born Roger Keith Barrett;
6 January 1946 – 7 July 2006) who was an English singer, songwriter, guitarist and artist. He is most remembered as a founding member of  band Pink Floyd, providing major musical and stylistic direction in their early work, although he left the group in 1968 amidst speculations of mental illness exacerbated by heavy drug use.”

Axe is also British slang for guitar. Pink Floyd’s use of the title Careful With That Axe, Eugene may refer to “Barrett’s behaviour (which) became increasingly unpredictable, partly as a consequence of frequent experimentation with psychedelic drugs such as LSD. Many report having seen him on stage with the group, strumming on one chord through the entire concert, or not playing at all. At a show at The Fillmore West in San Francisco, during a performance of “Interstellar Overdrive”, Barrett slowly detuned his guitar. The audience seemed to enjoy such antics, unaware of the rest of the band’s consternation.” (Source: Wikipedia)

.

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Sweet Little Angel

Tags

blues, death, in mrmoriam, king of the blues, longing, love, music, romance, sighs, spiritual

A tribute to B. B. (Blues Boy) King
Guitarist, Songwriter, Singer (1925–2015)
“King of the Blues”

 

 

Sweet little angel
your devil horns are showing through.
Sweet little angel
your devil horns are showing through.
I love you sweet baby,
all I ever want is you.

Sweet little angel
tell me your love is just for me
Sweet little angel
tell me your love is just for me
you know I need your lovin’
without it where’d I be?

Sweet little angel
spread your honeyed wings for me.
Sweet little angel
spread your honeyed wings for me.
You hold me tight baby
you’re the one to set me free

Sweet little angel
your devil horns are showing through.
Sweet little angel
your devil horns are showing through.
I love you sweet baby
don’t you ever leave me blue.

 
 
Read about my friends here  http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS

.

 

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Manhattan Dance Bar, Saturday Night

Tags

1950's, back seat, bar, dance, fighting, music, romance, Saturday, sighs

Notes: These are song lyrics to accompany music similar to that of the Ricky Lee Jones song “Danny’s All-Star Joint”. Events are true, names have been retained to reflect the guilty.

.

.

.

It’s great to be young, so long as you get older.
Don’t lay it all on just one bet.
You’ve got to go easy, if you go to the Manhattan.
If you want to see Sunday, better watch your step.

Jake the Snake is sneaking in the alley.
He’s got dobermans’ to keep him safe.
He’s also got Roberta, struttin’ on the dance floor.
Mess with his, Jake will mess your face.

Shakes and Weasel looking for some yokels,
gonna break heads, gonna cut someone.
Stay in the light, stay out of corners,
gotta be nice, or you won’t see the sun.

Me, I’m loose and I might get lucky.
Got my arms around a woman and she’s holding tight.
Out to the car, passion in the back seat,
sleazy and sweaty on Saturday night.

It’s great to be young, so long as you get older.
Don’t lay it all on just one bet.
You gotta go easy, if you go to the Manhattan,
sleazy and sweaty with no regret.

.

Careful With That Axe, Eugene

Tags

compassion, delusion, despair, desperation, emotion, empathy, fantasy, free, mental illness, music, psychedelic rock, schizophrenia

.

.

.

Eugene had a mind of his own,
not, as some would say, a sound mind,
but his own mind, nevertheless.

“It’s awfully considerate of you
to think of me here.
And I’m most obliged to you
for making it clear
that I’m not here.”

Eugene was a great musician,
taking music to the limit;
his songs will always survive.
Eugene took drugs to the limit;
he’s now in Interstellar Overdrive.

When we observed him with an axe,
you may understand our concern.
Was he in danger, or were we?

Eugene had already left us in spirit,
but he wandered away that day
and was lost to us forever.

.

.

This poem is dedicated to the memory of “Syd Barrett (born Roger Keith Barrett; 6 January 1946 – 7 July 2006) who was an English singer, songwriter, guitarist and artist. He is most remembered as a founding member of  band Pink Floyd, providing major musical and stylistic direction in their early work, although he left the group in 1968 amidst speculations of mental illness exacerbated by heavy drug use.”

Axe is also British slang for guitar. Pink Floyd’s use of the title Careful With That Axe, Eugene may refer to “Barrett’s behaviour (which) became increasingly unpredictable, partly as a consequence of frequent experimentation with psychedelic drugs such as LSD. Many report having seen him on stage with the group, strumming on one chord through the entire concert, or not playing at all. At a show at The Fillmore West in San Francisco, during a performance of “Interstellar Overdrive”, Barrett slowly detuned his guitar. The audience seemed to enjoy such antics, unaware of the rest of the band’s consternation.” (Source: Wikipedia)

.