Erato’s Love Notes Part 7


Are destined to dwell

In the wake of love

Till death do us part

(so, we

would be best to save

all the bright wonders

of our words to heal

the worlds

of hurt we endure

through blunders of time

until it is dead —


by love).

Convergent Compulsions

To elevate (rather
Than escape) the shadow
Of Trane, Elvin played

Like a shaman of Shango
Delivering the thunder

“Like a tidal wave
That never quite breaks, that
Never stops breaking…”
[Quote from Geoff Dyer]

The Truth About Buddy Bolden

“Bolden went crazy,
Because he really blew his
Brains out through the trumpet.”


(According to Jelly Roll Morton, as quoted by Alan Lomax)

Reprise: “The Shadow of Your Smile”

[Urania’s Song] 

Why are my eyes roaming in the moonshadows
of her silhouetted smile as if it was a montage

of her soul being projected as a chromatic fantasy
upon the umbra of the universe
gravitating to everything under the sun?

Why are my thoughts drifting dreamily with all

the colors coming and going yet somewhat slipping away from day, as if they were
the empress of heaven’s old clothes (or lack thereof)

composing the coda of its coming to a close…
only to find it is the reprise of these eyes.

Angel of Harlem

Lady Day, the truth
Still lingers with every new
Earful of “Strange Fruit.”

Anatomy of a Moment 

Listened to as well as looked at
With only a split second depicted
The felt duration of a picture

Extends several seconds before
And after that frozen moment

From what just happened to what’s
‘Bout to happen
Dissolving in the trance of time.

Erato’s Love Notes Part 6

Through painting felt, yet 
unseen, except 

by heartstrings, love speaks
In melody
Always on the verge of ecstasy

With words falling 

Into place, simultaneously 

Upon every one 
Of my senses. 

Prayer to a Scream

“You cannot let race consume you. It will take over your poetry, and make it null and void.”
— as told to me by my college poetry professor, Laurence Lieberman

We lost
In the fire
Will find us
Through the ashes

By embers of memory
In the brilliant corners
Of our collective

Now, if only we could be post-racist
As a country. if only we could escape

The cage of condescending
Conformity with its pre-flawed
Laws of a politically polluted
Melting pot and its post-racial
Confearacy, feeling the light

That guides us through our darkest days
With faith in the fate of falling in love with the world
In spite of history; but, ’til the moment

When the rivers of hope and love converge
Flowing to the end of our spirits & the confluent
Ends of Earth, so all of the world can hear

Our waters, letting us know
That the mountain is no more
…we are only partially free.

RandomiX #5: Art Appreciation

21st Century Theory of Poetry

With words at the heart
And on the fringe
Of these excursions
Through the continuous lens
Of consciousness, the orbit
Of the moon around the sun
Is made a majesty of metaphor

With each passing day, and Poetry
An avant guardian
Of beauty spawned out
Of spontaneity, like
Electric music of the muses spoken

In the alchemy of prosody
Caressed by the auras
Of ubiquity, as though
Our bodies were meant to be read
Like Braille, and our thoughts
Refracted by the light
Of the world.