Mystery Bop

Some of my poems read more like lyrics. So for this one, you might imagine a bass playing "Rhythm Changes" behind it....

Mystery Bop

Rls 11/02

You do too much is what she said to me

Gotta pare down your phil-os-oph-y

Isn’t about how much we can say we do

It’s all about staying pure and (being) true

But what if I like it when it’s mes-sy and rough?

It’s still kind-a rare..

It’s still kind-a tough.

What if I like to wait before I simp-li-fy?

I’ll just never know unless I try

You tend to over-do is what she said to me

Gotta pare down  on your ac-ces-sor-ies

Isn’t about what we adorn ourselves with

It’s all about the real you and not the myth

But what if I like it when it’s over the top

It’s over-dram-at-ic

It’s mystery bop

What if I like to wait before I simp-li-fy

I just want to try and reach that pie in the sky!

For Annie

For Annie

Rhonda Laurie 2011

They were grey-blue, her eyes

Unlike mine

She lived alone, died alone

And she was kind

I will never know her

But I now can hear about her

See images of a time gone by

Standing less than five feet tall,

She had no choice

Too small to be heard

She had no voice

She went away, you know

As if nothing ever happened

And no one even asked

No one.

R.I.P. Dave Brubeck (1920-2012)

Reflections On A Blue Note a la Turk

One two one two one two three

Brubeck counted differently

Long straight fingers hit the keys

 Thelonious Monk, so playfully!

Classy Duke, composed and played

Sometimes swing or serenade

Louis Armstrong on the horn

Dizzy, Miles, be-bopped til morn…

Soulful singing swing with scat

Armstrong, Ella, Mel all sang like that

Improvising melody or chords

Coltrane, Parker, saxophone lords

Hip hop, rock. and R&B

Influenced by  jazz, you see

One two one two one two three

Let’s take five

Jazz sets us free

 rhonda laurie

Strains Of Duluth

I wrote this in the car one time on the way up to the north shore:

Strains Of Duluth

9/14/02

Gazing at the pink horizon

I hear the saxophone

Strains of blue creeping in

I hear brushes on the snare

Green trees, grey road melt together

I hear the intervals

Go up and down the keys

And the bass sputters and sighs.

Looking Back, With Regrets

I know a wonderful jazz poet and teaching artist, among other things.   Earlier this century, at an artist retreat of sorts, J. Otis inspired me to let out my inner poet.  Of course, his name is not a far leap from the great Cole Porter Song, so I took the liberty to write this poem at this retreat in June of 2000:

J. Otis Regrets   

RLS 6/00

It’s simultaneous

All over the map

Perhaps

Oh yeah-show me the money

Dreams are for never-neverland

Vernacular tidbits

Drumming to the beat of the

Less traveled road

Attempting an identity reunion

Me-meet – me (mi mi mi mi mi)

Kaleidoscope scaffolding

Keep it up up and away

Don’t bust my beautiful balloon

R.I.P.  J. Otis

Collector of Songs

I have been writing lyrics and poetry for many years now and they pretty much spew forth in the moment, and then lay fallow in some sort of notebook or on sheets of paper that were available at the time.  It has been a way of speaking my truth in a concise way.  It is always accompanied by a feeling of release.  I have decided it is time to give the poems and lyrics some light and air and digital energy...

This came to me the other day, so I thought it would be a good place to start.  I was thinking about a topic for a Twin Cities Cabaret podcast, and I thought I could speak to something that I have been doing for many many years: song collecting.  Oh sure, I have collected sheet music, and albums, etc, but this is more about the discreet selection of songs for my professional use and enjoyment.  Like any other skill, it has been honed over the years with many interesting contributing factors.  That process will have to be the subject of another blog or podcast.  But here is my poem:

Collector Of Songs

rls 12/12/12

I am a collector

A collector of songs

I listen, listen, listen for the right one to come along

I know it has to "hit me";

A tingle, a tear, a smile,

A song I can't stop thinking about for awhile.

Sometimes I go out in pursuit

Combing through the music bins

Or else, it's just mere circumstance that wins

But I had many mentors who helped hone my selection

And some songs just don't fit you well,

While some are sheer perfection

That's me-I'm a collector

A collector of songs

But I always know when the right one comes along