Jazz: Rhapsody in You [final revision]

Prelude

In the quiet of my mind
I can hear a big band play
“stella by starlight” in sync
with the night of a thousand
eyes a zillion light years away.

Pt. 1

I
dream
ad-libbed
verses of
the look of love &
your song will be immortalized
within the musings of my own syncopated sighs.

Pt. 2

So deeply
enraptured
by the rhapsody of you am I
wanting
to be where you are
in the chronography of life.
with hope
I walk in faith
that you will see me as I
see you, dream
you, as though we were
that sanctuary
I’ve been longing to discover.

Pt. 3

In
search
of rare
beauty, I
dig of you in grooves
that go bang! zoom, “how high the moon”

in
a
portrait
of blue notes
& drum strokes painted
in the solos of tone poets

on
a
canvas
of stardust
& midnight silence
autographed by nocturnal eyes.

Pt. 4 — Noises, Sounds & Sweet Airs

There
is
an art
to noises,
mere music of
the mind with only
the clock of my heart to pilot
through the labyrinths of life & labors of sweet love

with
its
own sounds
& sweet airs
intrinsically caught
just between something & nothing
calling me to your heartbeat forever fused with time

in
the
sanctum
of embrace
when mine eyes meet thine.

Pt. 5 — ‘Til 2morrow

& ’til 2morrow comes (though not promised)
singin hello, haven’t I seen you
before? with poetry as its
instrument, whistlin away
the dark with the sunrise
right out of nowhere
right through them there
quiet eyes
I’ll still
dream

of walkin through the open door of your
heart, so glad to hear the jazz in you,
elated by syncopated
time signatures that sing your
body electric. you
are music that speaks
when words can’t reach
me, so much
more than
friends.

Pt. 6 — Where Heaven Meets The Earth

As
I
chase fate
down pavements
framed in golden rays

the
sun
strums strings
of tattered
clouds walking on air

in
tune
to skies
reflecting
onto seas that deem:

the horizon is a masterpiece.

Pt. 7 — Love in Pursuit of Happiness

Love is happiness
as Al Green sings, “glad you’re mine”
whether I’m with you

or not. it is a right now
spawn-taneous from here

on out kinda thing.
because sooner than love ends
another begins.

& once again, poetry
is the mistress of my heart.

love asks for nothing
in pursuit of happiness
till I have found you.

 

Pt. 8 — Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark

Heading east of the full moon
night catches us
like a dreamcatcher, in a loom
of silken spontaneity
basking
in the cosmic river’s invitation
to temptation
amidst its
voyeurs
for night has a thousand eyes
studying the steps
of shadowdancers
whose amalgamation of movements
is a prosaic mosaic orchestration of maneuvers
so seductively conducted
by the dark.

 

Pt. 9 — The Shape of My Heart

The
shape
of my
heart is contoured
to the secret geometry of stars

as Earth tunes her timbre to the black gold
of Sol (& the
cow still jumps
over
the

moon).
meanwhile
electric
music of the
muses stirs the champagne supernova

in
the sky
breathing dreams
that rather than
die, swim back to the sea of forever.

just listen as they mimic the hands of time
in sync with God
the cosmos
& my
soul.

 

Pt. 10 — Lifeblood

They
say
1st love
is such sweet
despair, like these words
penned in delicious agony

of
the
very
ecstasy
crisscrossing currents
between my body & soul. more
than just a metaphor, you dwell from my first to last

verse
(&
I heed
the basic
instructions before
leaving Earth), as though poetry

were
the
lifeblood
chanting down
walls of Babylon
with words as guardians of love.

&
it
is you
who will be
fulfillingness’
first & last finale, flying

high
like
a bird
of beauty
inescapable
of the air we breathe, immortal
as the clockwork of spirits transcending life & death.

 

Pt. 11 — One Love

How
my heart
sings the blues
of yesterday,
how my heart sings in its own sweet way:

a forgotten tune of liberation–
let freedom ring
like a bell
that calls
truth

home
to be
heard, for once,
in the voice of
the voiceless in rage against the machine,

as the hypocrites make my blood just race
& my heart screech.
& my mind
just screams
stop!!!!

like
movement
in traffic
during rush hour,
our appetite for destruction must cease!!!

in the name of love!! how my heart sings!
in spite of hate
we are one
world, not
three.

 

Pt. 12 — Bojangles Tapping On My Brain

& I
vow to let loose
the music of my mind
as measure upon measure comes
to life

tapping
like Bojangles
on the staircase dancing
never stumbling over my words
ever.

 

Pt. 13 — Words & Sounds (music to the ear)

Words
prosaic, mosaic
speak, tell, show
poetry, expression, rhythm, jazz
jam, ad lib, solo
extemperaneous, soulful
Sounds.

 

Pt. 14 — Amor E Saudade

(for LAHSH)

No
doubt
time has
changed your name.
but, amor e saudade
are one in the same sweetest pain.

more
than
a thought
or feeling,
I see my words
& the ocean of emotion
wailing within the agony of my melody

fell
short
of your
cheating heart’s
great expectations…
hope your grass grows green with envy
that your face no longer frames my sweetest ecstasy.

the
time
has come
to long no further
for she who was not meant 2B.

 

Pt. 15 — This Art Starts With Rhythm

This art starts with rhythm

ain’t nothin’
occult about it
for me.
it is what it is
which is

prosody
walkin’ in rhythm
in spite
of ebb tide’s return
to sea.

 

Pt. 16 — As If

(inspired by Langston Hughes’ “Desire”)

In
the
dancing
dark, no doubt
painted in shadows
of our mingling limbs intertwined,
as if we were grapes on a vine waiting to be picked

we
are
embers
of embrace
igniting the black
chill of night with molten kisses
that travel the trek of our trunks until sound colors

the
walls
of this
naked room
with beautiful moans
that roam and linger there, as if
to unrecite the silent whispers of the stale air.

 

Pt. 17 — I’ve Grown Accustomed to Your Face

Where
Heaven
meets Mother Earth, I am witness
to the cosmology
of her countenance

cohabiting wrinkles
of sun on the horizon. as though
for the first time with every glimpse
she pours emotion into measures
of life distilled

in her to be continued
euphony of song that invites
the world & I to inhale the chorus
of singing winds
& crying beasts

in probably
the closest thing
to a formal introduction
of vers libre
we shall see

…&

at your altar, as ars
poetica muses
the melange of your
flowering amor
preening & careening
through the muted
shadows of a melancholy
sun, I revisit vistas
of ventures into the river
of remembrance
where love will hopefully
find me again
living on limbs of the poet tree
reflecting its roots
even in its leaves’ absence

…&
though
mama
always said
not to look into
the eyes of the sun, I can’t help

but
stand
staring
at nuances
of your face contoured
to the shadows of sunshowers

that
fill
your blue
enamelled
bowl of sky molded
by the ray/sings of life aglow
commingled with the summer breeze blowing over me.

 

Pt. 18, the finale — Autumn Leaves (& impossible dreams)

[inspired by Emily, Dickinson, James Baldwin & Public Enemy]

“The fall of a leaf is a whisper to the living.”
–Russian Proverb

As
I
dwell in
the realm of
possibility,
inhaling dreams that my heart sings–
sweet airs of prayers
pulling back
the net
of
fall

bred
by
golden
spring sunbeams that bathe
in a stream burgundy like wine
after indian summer, reverb whispered wails

of
lives
that sing,
sing, sing! though
muted by h i s t o r y

on
this
journey
since freedom
liberating words
chosen by our silences,
because “freedom of speech is freedom or death.” & if

we
must
perish
let it be
by the sword of our
own tongues. this is our time to shine
like sons & daughters of the light, rather than hide or
wane beneath a veil of silence

dwindling
Like autumn leaves…

“the impossible
is the least”
we can
hope
for.

 

Coda

 

Dream…

&
dream
again.
dream like rain
till sun reappears
to unmask the maze of morrow.

 

 

 

 

 

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