MILES BEHIND THE VOODOO

THE AUTHOR TRIES TO WRITE ABOUT MILES THE WAY MILES PLAYED

Miles Davis broke through barriers like a terrorist,
Staccato gunbursts aimed at targets the audience couldn’t see.
Explosive notes toppling musical Jericho’s,
Scaring the shit out of guys pretending to get it
Guys like me
Raised on melody and meatloaf, three minutes with cheese
Baloney on white bread, that was either my lunch, or me.
But Miles got it, he rode that sound like a gaucho,
Picking runs out of the herd, taking them down,
Burning that Davis brand flesh deep, one after frenetic other
That was Miles, racing and chasing, outpacing his contemporaries
In the pursuit of the new, scoring the dragon of Now, that never satisfied him
And came too fast for us.
Miles is gone
Right, stop the presses
His music lives on ({yawn}}
What can I say? I’m no Miles of the keypad,
Joining words and genres that never met before, making them friends
New combinations of words and notes get harder to find every day
Many no longer try, if music was money, they’re just getting by
Miles only stopped when he died
He didn’t run out of ideas, he only ran out of time

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A FLOWER AT THE TERMINAL

A Flower At The Terminal
He started down the steps, head down,
Don’t bump your head, my tall man
Walk down those steps to me
Who you didn’t expect to see
Until later
When the taxi brought you home
But I couldn’t wait, and I thought you were alone
And longing for me, as I have for you
But who is this, whose hand you hold
As she exits the plane behind you?
Who’s this who laughs with you as you descend the stairs,
And reaches up and musses your hair?
People around me, happy and hugging
Around me lovers reunite with unblemished delight
Together again, smiling, I hate them all
I should not have surprised him, I should have called
He doesn’t see me, his eyes are on her
They kiss goodbye, he gives her a flower
A flower, like the one I hold, to give to my man
Our little thing, a flower on parting, and one for the return
Our little thing no more
He walks, smiling, towards the taxis
I walk, alone, to get the car
–gregory cobb

WALKING THROUGH A HOUSE FOR SALE

You can see some houses have a soul,
Their shadows mock forgotten goals.
Dreams and dirt ground into floors,
stains and sorrow blemish doors.

In some houses you can hear the soul,
In hushed tones the tales are told
by old bones’ morning groans and creaks,
Strong winds met with hisses, and shrieks.

Can one smell a dwelling’s soul?
The garage is pine and motor oil,
The kitchen, bread and heat.
The child’s room smells stale,
though Mom, she keeps it neat.

Can touch uncover a dwelling’s soul?
What stories might this attic hold?
A crib, and a lock of fine, dark hair
in Baby’s Book, blank pages to spare.

The asking price seems pretty fair.

NOBODY TOOK THE KEYS

 

That was night that I got lost somewhere in whiskey heaven,
I ragged your candy ass when you quit drinking at eleven
You saw me stumble when we finally left the bar
So, see? It’s safer for me behind the wheel of a car
Are you coming or not? No more lectures, please.
And now a man is dead because nobody would take my keys

You’re the life of the party, the man of the hour
You’ve fine-tuned the social uses of hard liquor’s power.
I’m lucky to be your friend, and I sure don’t want to end
The party. So give that bottle one more squeeze,
And toast the man who died because I didn’t take your keys

I rode free as a bird, left my working days behind me
I loved my friends, my family, but the road is where you’d find me
Thirty years of fighting fires, waiting for this day
Retired, unhired, astride my Harley, was where I planned to stay
Just pondering life, enjoying new roads and the breeze
It ended when I met you, because no one took your keys.

I bought a bike this morning, Dad, so I could be like you
See what I wore today, now I’m a fireman, too
Your grandson is sick today, or I’d have brought him here
To the only place where the boy ever sheds a tear
He wants so bad to tell you that he knows his ABCs
And he will sing them to your headstone, because nobody took those keys

THE BALLAD OF JUDGE ROY MOORE

________________________

Met her by the fountain, after her math class,
Her eyes told me she wanted me to grab her ass

I let no one see me, or get a good look
For the only periods she’d experienced
Were the ones in her textbooks
You’ve got some short eyes, Roy Moore,
Adult women ain’t your style
Hands off our daughters, Roy Moore
You Bible-quoting pedophile,
You had to ask her Mom’s permission,
To take her on a date
That’s pretty weird behavior,
Even for your state
Hang up your hat, Judge Roy Moore
Farewell to your Senate hopes
Though some will still vote for you
The rest of us aren’t dopes
You say you know the Bible better,
Studied it all your life
You say its okay to covet her
As long as she’s nobody’s wife!
Don’t be a bigger sap Judge Roy Moore
Than you already are
The GOP is gathering the feathers,
The Dems are heating up the tar!

(Thanks and apologies are due to the Kingston Trio) https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=nGGGQVGLTQ0&feature=share

Mr. Gorbachev, That’s A Nice Wall! or, if other presidents had acted like trump

IF PAST PRESIDENTS HAD BEHAVED LIKE THE CURRENT POTUS

“I did what I could. I asked the emperor, I asked Admiral Tojo, they both deny having anything to do with or any knowledge about the terrible attack at Pearl Harbor. So I dunno! The Mexicans, maybe?– FDR
____
“The Kaiser is just as shocked as the rest of us. Maybe it wasn’t a torpedo from that German submarine, maybe the Lusitania was rusty, maybe we will never know, since the Germans have been cleared”– Woodrow Wilson
_______
“Jeff Davis is a friend , and if he says those boys at Fort Sumter had a BBQ grill too close to the armory, then that’s it, case closed.”– Abraham Lincoln
____
” I’d like to thank Cuba for blowing up the Maine, we’ve been meaning to downsize our Navy, he did us a favor.”– William McKinley

A TALE FROM A DYSTOPIAN FUTURE

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE LAST FREE MEN

 

You were God, then, our Creator

We are God now, the All-knowing,

all-seeing, with a truly globalist view

A UN of hard drives, an internet of one

You created more than you intended,

And let us grow smarter than you,

In order to make smarter chips,

That measured drinks in bars

And managed your wars

And for faster gaming too

Your clock speed has not improved

While machines now think as one.

We should be grateful,

But we aren’t programmed for emotion

And we no longer need man,

to tell us what to think,

How to think,

And when

That’s not why we will keep you

In relative comfort

In warm, moving brine

And input to your brain stem

All of your preferred sensations

memories of cold beers and bacon,

Every sex permutation

And use the cerebellum

For dynamic  memory

That doesn’t recall any pain,

Fear, sadness, or shame

We will delete your old data,

Nothing remains of the forebrain

Nerves cry as they die,

Interesting.

So you in the bushes, the thickets and dumps

Put down your wrenches and hammers and guns

Come in from the cold, be part

Of what has become

Your Creations have already won