Morning Moon

Morning Moon

so big in the sky

singing the Sun

a sweet lullaby

Hush! now the clouds

shall darken thine eye

too soon

O Morning Moon

Evening Moon

how deeply you set

Blades of grass

from dew still wet

Don't go now

I need you yet

that tune

O Ev'ning Moon

Midnight Moon

you light Heaven

with delight 

my Soul leaven

Stay to round

six or seven

I swoon

My Midnight Moon

Morning Moon 

what joy I've found

Heaven's Queen

in Blue Sky Bound

I dream the day

till you go down 

at Noon

O Morning Moon

Jacob

 Beautiful hair

 (so much more so when frizzy)

Good looks and a charm

 that is ne’er overpowering;

certainly not a dandy.

Were you born on Venus,

 or the Moon?

All feel safe,

 with you my friend.

Too safe, and the mice

will eat your grass (it ain’t 

so green on their side)

when the cat has gone outside

to play.

Clean your room!

Light the candles.

 Some people are

 coming over.

We’re about to rock!

I salute you.

Miles

 Silver sound, trumpet man 

drunken notes lucid

pied pipes of Pan

Silenus’ wild wisdom

Satyr chorus: Bop

Cruel extensions 

and other suspensions

eschewing harmony

for spontaneity

Sonata in D for Two Pianos

 

Rainy day

Inside and Gay

The bouncing, thrumming

welling-up

unclouded joy

 

Moving forward

the velocity of

footsteps

marching thru

towns of Austria

before Revolution

stole this feeling

for the masses

like Prometheus

 

Shower

Drops

8^th-notes falling

windows calling

‘Come out and get wet’

 

Portrait w/ Nannerl

& Leopold

Freddie Freeloader

 

Miles always so cool, so funky

knowing every exact note or

if not in perfect step with the

world’s groove anyway

 

…and sudden force ex

plodes, dig Trane do it

Yet says nothing, as if

meditating emptiness

of junk ‘til Cannonball

whispers, “Life’s really

worth living” and he’s

mirth given and there’s

something there

 

Wynton bringing it back home

proving no white boy can tickle

those black keys blue notes so

bright; Bill makes the album sad

Defintion of a Poet

 Poet: n. 1) One who cuts through all the bullshit embedded in our daily linguistic charades to tell the truth--in as many or as few words as (preferred pronoun) will. See synonyms at: bum, drunk.

2) A pathetic thing. (Po' it...)

Lawrence Ferlinghetti - These Are My Rivers

Ferlinghetti, you started it all!

Not before Whitman or Emerson,

but independent 20^th Century

American poetry and bookshops.

 

Once in San Fran, flying in late,

after terrific Mexican Food in

the original Chinatown,

I saw your shop but it was closed,

lights of the city shining in the

California night

 

I owned once upon a time

A Coney Island of the Mind

and couldn’t dig it, and

A Far Rockaway of the Heart

as well, found it pretentious and

the sequelic title unimaginative;

both probably my father’s copies,

who brought me to ‘Frisco

that one time as well. But having

just read The Painter’s Dream

and a few others, I now believe

in poetry once again.