Band rehearsal /snapshot

we meet in the basement after work,
strategically placed between
blue lacquered measuring devices
& what‘s left of a helluva busy monday,

lights keep switching off
and there‘s a mix of tension &
excitement, dripping slowly from the floor,
floats neon tubes and lands in
gurgling heaps between the shelves,

tiny stress particles circle down
my spine & crotchets, quavers
riSE into the air, cascade and fall
towards a hammering rap on metal which
keeps sucking us into the song until

the lights switch off again i pause, inhale–
scent of song sheets, brass, deep breath,
tasting reed under my tongue–

we measure space with metronomes
in periods of light & dark cause time–
is running hard against us

.

just a snapshot of my day…we’re practicing for our company christmas party at the moment…decided last thursday on thirteen songs and the party is next friday…so we’re quite busy..smiles.. the pic is from my summer saxophone workshop in tuscany…sigh..

Alsace in F flat

.
the room smells of baguette
and bare feet tap the rhythm
of an F flat blues until we feel it
melt into our core and
spread across the place
like smoke,

we wait for fire
to consume us and
with moist & quivering lips,

i’m breathing life into you, fingers
glide alongside shining brass and
it is dark outside–

we’re bleeding tunes
from open wounds,
lose our life along the way
until we feel the chords
bent into us and blend
with what we got
to give,

there’s wooden floor
beneath my feet,
reed rough against my tongue,

stretched on patched patterns,
pulsing bare we slide
on the volcano’s mouth

with nothing in between but
lava sheets, torrid heat,
lunatic fear to
hit the ground

before the music splits our bowels
and fiercely
loves us back

.
thought i’d give you a glimpse into our jam session saturday night at my saxophone weekend in Alsace, France…and on the above pic you see my sax lying a bit exhausted on the music sheets…smiles…

and woo-hoo….it’s OpenLinkNight again at dVerse Poets pub and the inimitable hedgewitch will tend the bar for us tonight…let’s get poetic and have some fun together…mic is open from 3 pm EST

blown into silence

the grass could’ve had any color,
the people any shape and size,

i met them on the way & never met

There were trains
& cars
& bikes,

i didn’t see them, was immersed,
about to– disperse,
counting blue notes like they were

pure gold

& no one ever told me that the wind–
would pause
and tenderly enlaced
become a brother to my breath

Life could’ve had any color
but lost its saturation somewhere on the way,
so i am dipped in sound like i got never hurt
and never loved,

like i was never meaningful
or meaningless,

like no one ever choked me
into silence

I slowly walk the corn-growth road

with nothing on my mind but fragile tunes,
tumbling drunken from my headphones,
lean into the sun and–

take flight

spring sound & belgian chocolate

dancing colors into
brittleness of sound, i’m
pirouetting to the scent
of rainbows and wet soil;

parachuting clock seeds
tumble scattered on the lawn
and form to bluesy major sevens
beneath a cooing sky with just

the songs of now between
the night, the birds and
pollen on my lips,
wishing for nothing more

than lying in the grass,
bathing in morning magic

and on my tongue
some belgian chocolate
melting with the spring

..linking up with friday poetically over at one stop poetry..the challenge was to to write a poem, inspired by some day or night nature sound …really inspiring..you should give it a try..

>Tubular Bells

>

there was no music in the air,

not really,

just the sound of a sound

which made me mad 

‘cos i hoped i would find

not sure what but

kept scanning tunes and 

endless minutes nothing 

but highway, agression

and the sense of a drug i didn’t take

and don’t understand, dazing 

emissions fog, 

mingle with sun

and the smell makes me vomit

spring-bound winds 

sneakin’ onto my shoulders,

crawl up my arms and i

need it louder,

force gears, heat up, windows down

and stuck in the middle, 

clueless moves – from and to  

i don’t know and don’t care

when he spells – music, questions

with mellow voice, 

words and more words and

that’s where it starts, 

there it is,

magic, it plays, it is me – again

on the map, out on the street, 

close to the sound and

somehow, 

it made sense again

ok – this was me in the car last week when i drove back home from work, listening to Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells – and yes – i was in a strange mood..


linking up with One Shot Wednesday – and – woo-hoo -  yesterday in NYC we won the Shorty Award in Art.. thanks to all of you for your votes, your support and for being around and making One Stop Poetry what it is!

>burn

>

 

you’re counting in,
bright colors
flood in streams, run
through your hands,
brush licks

across my face,
you’re on – a beat
there’s no escape,
diving the caves,
filled with the mercy
of your waves,
played hard

and drag me on
vast space, knees
givin’ in, unregulated shake,
riding your lust,
forget the past, suck with
covetous lips,
there is

no handrail
on this bridge
you’ve choked my depths,
awash with tears,
sense fingers
moving fast,

riffs blast,
scorching the night
flame-swept,
just scaffolds left,
all flashpoints
crashed,

give in
to groove-strings,
lashed
with yearning,
to pacing drums and
brittle winds,
my clothes
already burning.

 

it’s OneShotWednesday again and i’m happy to host this week’s poetry party. come, write a poem and join this bunch of amazingly talented people over at One Stop. Sign up opens at 5 pm EST

>keep breakin’ free

>

steps, small steps, we
count petals and rats
it’s your breath
on my face
makes me sing,
slow, go, watch
giants grow and
fear cuts our wings
like we flee, is it
you, me? we see
keep & keep movin’
jump, tuning loves turn,
dry hearts burn
fierce on real zeal, we
gulp life, strife &
achin’ dreams means
keep breakin’
free

..so this was my take on today’s hip hop prompt at One Stop Poetry 
listen to the above music while reading the poem and then jump over to let brian miller tell you how hip hop was born..

>burglars – a ballad

>tscha - boom - ba - beat the rhythm, drum
where do we go from here?
rough songs, wild winged winds set us free
and fade, raid, disappear

into the dark, the night, the slum
illusion crash, severe
and through the blurry fog i see
the burglars coming near

tscha - boom - ba - beat heat, off we run
and shout out brave and clear
this driving pace is you and me
and music’s all we hear

Today’s teaching at One Stop Poetry form is on ballads – jump over to read more or why not write a ballad and join us..?

a ballad’s structure is
A-B-C-B
8 – 6 – 8 – 6 syllables, written in iambic meter

>bob mintzer live last saturday

>

(John Riley – Drums; Bob Mintzer – Sax; 
Ingmar Heller – Bass; Olaf Polziehn – Piano)

not more than a drum beat away
they live and breathe
                jazz, dripping,
splashing across the room,
froth against closed eyes

lost in their play like children before
growing up-beat – off-beat
down – my spine – heat

yesterday’s gone and tomorrow’s
just an empty date, they count –
strokes – a world in a wave
when we find wings again,
 
making love, fully clothed,
kissing steel strings in tender
moves, bent towards
ebony keys, caressing,
glissando – staccato – pearls and
strings of beads enticed out of
a black giant’s mouth

naked souls press hard against
shining brass and drumheads,
dragging us further – along
until we stop to breathe and
bleed, bleed rhythm and

music spills across
the room, soaking our souls
and every far-out corner and
we covet, we crave and beg

it to fuck us – hard and
tender and full, licked by a
groove-oozing madness
jammed against the wall – flying, flying
- until we’re empty.

this was my saturday evening – listening to those top notch musicians which were playing just next town to where i live…
and i link up with – woo-hoo - One Stop Poetry – write a poem, join us and meet some fantastic people over there. Sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

Due to some travelling I may be a bit delayed with commenting back…just to let you know..

>STREET BEAT – a Villanelle

>my heart falls silent with a heavy beat
a set of rhythms, closed in by the night
it’s street I think, and street I know I need

solidified and burnt by crimson heat
exploding fractions, fading out of light
my heart falls silent with a heavy beat

I hit dark ground, a used & down-played reed
a trumpet blow with heavy, forceful might
it’s street I think, and street I know I need

rush, rush, time drifts away with racecar speed
I’m loosing it, with rescue out of sight
my heart falls silent with a heavy beat

through shouted tunes with bass drum pace you seep
catchin’ my fall, you blow away the night
it’s street I think, and street I know I need

weird words of weakness rapped from empty sheets
I suffocate and long to end this fight
my heart falls silent with a heavy beat
it’s street I think, and street I know I need

We have a new Poetry Form Class running over at One Stop Poetry.

This and next Monday we have a close look at the Villanelle – some history – some technical information – some writing tips. Jump over there to read and join us..

Villanelle Structure

A1-b-A2

a-b-A1

a-b-A2

a-b-A1

a-b-A2

a-b-A1-A2