Uncle Walt: a civic restoration

reprise:revolution

2009-10-05T01:47:00.008-05:00

dig we true this new

revolution

(ill at ease)

yes

but pleased,

polyphonic,

& harmonious,

down on its knees, no longer

forsaking any

anymore these

least of we, but spotlight

front & center, full-choir

bedecked&backing

we up

swells o purple waves o

america.

so many places also

are the end of the world, but today

this day stays

the nearest we've come.

so far, yet so far & yet

beats still

this broken,

democratic,

dilapidation

(equal disopportunity for

all/scratchmethat's/you)

been beggin'

braggin'

driftin'

like a

smoke signal,

soot-soldiers,

the brave of the land &

the poor got more smoke

in their clothes than fire in empty

bellies,up

&coming,

arisen

in quiet

fire-risin'

eyes.

(say why? & say soon

on that third day, why, say

now why weren't one

of the closest there, awaitin'? not one

song, not one sandwich packed, not one balloon?

who will watch with me, eyes closed

ear to the ground

the better for

listening&feeling

the jazz of

angel-boots

& thunder-rumble.......)

& so,

reprise:revolution

time

& betimes

past &

past time the

gig's up &

this the deal: See the sky?

can't put that away now

not now it's sung:

sings!>>>we!>>>the sun!

after storm,

(nothin' but a riot of rain&sun:

rainbows is)

earth's bendin' of

light&cloud

prismatic promise

will bend a road out from this

moment,

unfurled by daylight

awhirl

in all the colors

o the dawn.

jazz/roun'midnight

2009-10-04T23:26:00.006-05:00

the music ever round me,

unceasing ocean,

unctuous,

unbeginning but begun,

long untaught i could not

hear

nor swum to dive your deeps

beneath the drift down deeps that bury sound

in blindly bubbles deafly deep:

slow-drag

slick seabed

blue-down-dwell

drag slow to a

stop; then...

(beat)

foot feel first

push off foot and

reach

(a beat)

and reach up with

weightless rise and kick

up toward shimmer

(breath-held-beat)

and

buoyantly

up and through

splash and breathe and free and heat

where surf sounds sing then sizzle the face

with a blast of voice, like sun,

translucent, strong ascending

a rainbow spray that rides the shine;

now a twisting moan unveiled in sweet air

above rowdy skips and flips and kicks

a saxophone sailing

snaps at arching intervals on tops of purpure waves,

bone-vibrant bass shudders lusciously under and through

the splash-down of all their sound and one

triumphant trumpet

spins brass-glad notes that break, i hear

and of all these i

float full myself

jazz@sunset

2009-10-04T23:10:00.004-05:00

splendour of ended day,

floating and filling,

hour prophetic, roiling hour

resuming the past, inflating

my heart with divinest things,

you --o earth and life and all--

till last ray gleams,

i sing.

open song

of my soul rides

gladness, eyes of my soul

bestow perfection, natural

spirit's faithful praisings, testify,

celebrate forever this triumph

of wings.

inaugural: for Uncle Walt

2009-10-04T23:00:00.006-05:00

The soft voluptuous opiate shades

the sun done gone, its eager light dispell'd (i too will soon be

shoo'd, dispell'd)

in the haze

--of rest and night and of--

oblivion.

Splendour of ended day

floating and filling me at last,

o hour prophetic, that dream-hour reprising past,

inflaming soul with divinest things:

jazz-lush-crush-of-life till sweet-last linger gleams,

sing.....

This is thy hour, o worn soul, for free flight

into that vast and wordless far---

---books closed,

the lesson done,

the day erased,

time and its day at rest

night fully forth

engulfing,

silent,

gazing,

pondering themes loved most best

of life

and sleep

and blessed hope the child of stars.....

votive

2009-10-04T19:12:00.016-05:00

tapering flame

my vow

ignited

now flickers dimly true

thin frankincense

wisp,

though --night being what it is--

never truly dim but

attenuated, the fine rarity

we tend.

(selah)

isn't that the watchman's

privilege? our bold

sanctuary, the silent

delight, intimate, this

love-work?

through night,

being what it isn't, who could

hardly see but by this

gloaming:

the bluer shadow

aglow a gray wave,

dream-murmur

from a fevered sea,

where the mad tempest traces

darker lines against darkness

(a ghost!

walking

more flesh than fog...)

strain and hard tossed

rope and oar and

sheets of rain and wave awash

blotting shore and sky and all

blind but for that

glimmer,

those calloused fishermen

bundled in their boat:

Fear not.

Hushed...

(i have seen

what begins as a flash

must yet be trimmed

still;

if not hope,

then its ghost

walking upon the sea....