Always first to rise
he usually sliped into daybreak
like a phantom – heading
(in jacket jeans white socks & loafers)
for Alemeda
the drowsy traffic
& buzzing electronics of Naval Air
But he plays a horn
& some mornings caught him
aching with jazz – reeling
in its chemistry & might:
Duke Bird Basie
riffs chords changes
softly grunted & mouthed
in his closet
in the hallway in
all the glory of the sunrise
Who knows what spirits
shimmer through the neurons
& accustics of his sleep
before these mornings:
black Beethoven
shunning his own deafness
for the sake of symphony
a Haitian drummer –
eyes shut in the moonlight –
mounted by divine horsemen
who flash through his hands
pretty Billy
eating gardenias with a needle
singing the blues away
Maybe urges older than oceans
startle him in the shower
or in the livingroom
on his way out the door
comple him to swipe moments
from time he doesn’t have
in to notes across
pitiless lined sheets
that have waited on the piano all night
for beat and harmony to marry
On these mornings
he met the man with ease
didn’t carry no heavy load
Car horns were trumpets
fog horns bassons
train whistles blushing saxophones
On these mornings
he jammed with angels
popped his fingers
to music in his head
filled his great lungs
with cool air.
George Barlow
As we sort thru those mornings
where we meet the men with heavy loads,
try to find the symphony in the car horns
the train whistles, the harmony
in the disharmony all around us.
On these mornings jam with the angels,
Hear Duke, Bird and Basie
Pop your fingers to the music
in your head.
Peace,
Tenthltr2u
