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Max Roach
A story that can't be told Your story there will never be a way the world can explain the man, the imagination, the music Genius was your playground We all have our versions You kept me going for years with a nod a laugh a lunch in the kitchen "Put words to this music," you'd say My brother and I would come back with words. it was serious it was critical and you would be delighted as we wrote our songs on your strength. From the swamp land of North Carolina to the symphony of the Brooklyn street. Carnegie Hall joined the applause from around the globe. You showed us the grace of art So many people so many stories So many versions and each version telling of a world built stronger by the man Max Roach A Letter To Be Sent
When the first few leaves had fallen and we took our time about things everyday was a new season and we had a wedding in the woods and told a lie that would last forever. Remember the purple dress we bought? I still have it, saved for our little girl that never happened. The vines have covered my windows and our doll house has turned into a tomb. But I want you to know I've solved one problem now when people ask me, "What do you do?" I smile and tell them I think of you Vision of a Catatonic
I've been leaving here for a long time with a pill with a goodbye when anger was the only feeling and seeing that we turned old and sad sometimes the jazz was too loud and we were too happy warm with whiskey and your face that turned many colors words were silly things we forgot about and magic was a thing that made us all children. Now people think I've wasted my life and that I've nothing to say but turning away, I'm sorry I was only trying to get back to the place I've never been before Making You Wait
I could just shoot you watch you stagger across the room My favorite actor even in dying posing, dropping to the ground gasping, bewildered, unable to enjoy your final moments my gift to you, your death somehow it would turn into a misunderstanding so instead I'll continue to call in the night and read you my poems I Overheard My Mother's Death
I overheard my mother's death Her side of the story finally told Defiant face slapping monsters coming at her and she holding her ground not one to compromise not now not ever really But always generous Even now letting me listen in to hear the end of her life And the beginning of so many memories together Billie Holiday
(a lullaby) Sometimes when nature is quiet and the moon shines just where you are I can hear you singing the spirit world to rest I remember as a child your voice would wrap me in cotton as you felt the blows for all of us Born into a country that tried to make your voice illegal poise and elegance was your response And tonight like so many nights as I wait for morning I know I can count on the voice of Billie Holiday Razors
They sewed it up again little needles coming in and out of my arm. It is no longer rage but a shy fear of myself Looking at the product I see fading colors Rubbing my hand against it, there are still signs of death. How can I calm your trembling lips the blood felt so warm running down my limb. |
No Cure
It's true I do like my gin but not sloppy slow and easy the way the body goes the way the mind makes things funny or sad depending on the night before depending on what you've said thinking of leaves all brown now the rain making no noise holding the bottle to my ear I think of the good times Only the good times Still Mourning
There has been no contact I can feel each pore open and close with the little time they get Faces come back at me Vague loathing at what I have become Did you know what happened? That you are gone And we have become very quiet Very numb and ashamed I wonder what Fred Hampton was dreaming about? Coma Rising (for Art Pepper)
Anger in motion in public places in mid-air posing with sick habits fighting like a disease twisting shaking desire in every note An alto saxophone faster than any words any thoughts except Art Peppers A knife thrower with a face full of glee For John Beecher
"Woke up this morning with my mind set on freedom" I woke this morning Mind fused with technology heart whimpering for something else left out Sick in this very heart Winked at, tricked by passing traitors Men of distinction Their differences only that evil does not imitate I woke, odorless, speechless, eyelids held back in fear, On this morning Dissolving without color loveless senile without thought of music Only with these fingers these feet this blood that thumps these four strong limbs I embrace this wretched day Dancing Around The Fire
It is wet outside Even here I can tell that much There are other bodies Sitting, crying, smoking mostly women No one talks A form with a face moves toward me "Back again? You can have a cigarette now First take these They will help you relax Don't be afraid." Afraid? Afraid is something that died with my mother Taste the pills and wait for morning Faces that are mine mill in the hall The Arab with the sheet The old woman rocking and singing my thoughts They move us into a large room with many lights We are in a circle They are throwing a colorfull ball to each other When someone catches it they shout their name The ball hits me a chance to be heard They will listen to my story I will speak for all of us My voice rises to the air "Spare change!" I hear laughter Someone is moving me away I see my face on the ceiling A color with a light A light that is sound The air drags against my voice I speak "1, 2 buckle your shoe 3, 4 dead on the floor 5, 6 beaten with sticks 7, 8 you came too late." "Take these do you know where you are?" Eyes focus A white snake Look above the sky I could hear my voice in another room screaming Picture
If when walking the beach with my dog I notice the gentleness of the sea and how the waves always come back If I see him rolling in the wet sand I laugh, knowing this is a picture A thing that will stay with me a long time. |
