The Analog Soul Set [revised]

The Truth Is Now

On this, the quiet side of tomorrow
A masterpiece beyond midnight
Emerging from its veil
Of pale moonlight
As past in present in future, awaits
The mourning light
Starring as the choir of Now
Springing unending understanding
Of the truth spoken here
In spontaneous combustion
Of space & time becoming
One. when the song is ended & segued
Into the air, I shall hear their voices
as I did the first time many
Beautiful moons ago, alive
In the distance
In the rain of analog soul mutating with the sound.


Analog Soul: Saturday Nite in the Kosmos

(…& i hope that God never turns off the stars)
for Bill Evans & Irving Berlin

out of the cool, in maiden voyages
of freedom–new orbits of soul, we
flew beyond the blue horizon

high above the canopy of a constellated caravan
movin’ towards the sun into “nothin’ but blue skies

…do i see,” where even the sounds
shine upon our bodies electric, dwellin’
in the invisible flames of our own sacred fire.

we marveled as blue skies became the night
of a thousand eyes, illuminated by the sum of its stars

in a fusion of ubiquitous streams
& sanctified dreams. we marveled
as the lights fell in love with the jazz:

free & liberated since the moment it was consummated, born
within a rimshot of a riff stirred by echoes of the hawk navigatin’
’bout nocturnes that seek to speak of thunder
(that has overcome the s i l e n c e).

we marveled as the lights fell into a frenzy of jazz
for the sake of hands clapping, feet
stomping, hearts beating, tongues speaking

(enclaved in the pulse of prosody
awakened within us). we marveled

at the sweet serendipity accompanied
by the swing of the pendulum, where emotion
is a metronome summoned by rites

of rhythm more felt than heard
as though the drummer were the last word.

& i hope that God never turns off the stars
for that would mean the end of moonbeams
trippin’ the life fantastic in the crisol of creation.


Analog Soul: Live from the Chronograph

for (& inspired by) Sonia Sanchez and Thulani Davis

all the poets & the part-time singers always hang inside
along with the microphone fiends
& spoken wordsmiths
who usually congregate on the corner of the neworld cypher
but on this saturday nite
are transmitting live
from the Chronograph, Uptown, where overground meets
underground. & the deejays play till dawn,
airing their motto:

Time Marches On–

to a sanctuary of bassheads & beatfreaks who interface
with the bass of soul vibrations
happening everywhere,
even down here on the ground where wonders & signs
speak like a child. where consciousness
is its own revival
& “the only preacher is a poet,” conversing with the collective
conscience of the universe with words
born to speak rivers

As Sonia would say…

Remembering what we have learned from history
& all that the world has since forgot
so as not to repeat it, but
instead be it as we evolve into an everlasting song
colored by the indigenous magic
of our own thoughts
& reflections. never forgetting that our greatest
weapons will always be our words
but actions always speak louder.


Analog Soul: Ode to the Ark of History

“History is never silent, it reminds us again and again and again, that we live its presence in every part of our life every day.”
–Paul D. Miller (aka DJ Spooky)

#1) In the Fountain of Now

in the beginning
of the end, in the fountain
of now, where youth
is the eternal exuberance
of expression
to the sound
of breaks
extended on
I once telegraphed rhythms
cutting in, out—
between scenes
of sound
& silence,
& ambivalence…
the psalms
of drums
in the cadence of heartbeats
with rhythmic instinctions
transcending the trek
of life. it’s all a mystic brew
of rhythms spun from
constant conjures cooking
in the cauldron
of old record
creating concertos
of the crossfader
with coaxing
…& crescendo, making
music from noise wandering
amidst the voices
in the margins, lingering
& loitering
like echoes, refined
by time.

#2) In the Tongues of Talking Drums

Everyday is the big playback: listening
to ex libris
excerpts & excursions in aural alchemy enjambed

& juxtaposed within the soul vibrations
of lingua franca
conjured in incantations of rhythm, connecting

us to the continuum of lost & found moments
spliced by
the metronome of memory into the digitized

diary of the mind where our analog souls
into the ark of history, rehearsing
& conversing

In tongues of talking drums
versed in
hieroglyphics & a tapestry of folktales.