Like Cinderella’s
Glass slipper Only one pair
Had the right fit.
In life’s early years It took time Searching For the right fit — Trying on Many different shoes Before the music Brought us together.
I
Slipped into you Tying you
To my body – Knowing
Only you Could get so close.
We
Have walked Many miles Not always in step But at the start of each day You were there.
You
Supported each step Through the good times When we danced together And the bad times When the music stopped.
Over the years I knew
Where we were going You knew
Where we had been
As our souls Have now worn thin — Broken
Held together by twin Only now expressing The secret face Of our enter selves.
Having been seduced By a lover’s
Darkest kiss No longer laced together — Merely to be left behind In the window
Of yesterdays Kissed only By tomorrow’s sun.
. . . beware those who seek constant crowds for they are nothing alone beware the average man the average woman beware their love, their love is average seeks average
but there is genius in their hatred there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you to kill anybody not wanting solitude not understanding solitude they will attempt to destroy anything that differs from their own not being able to create art they will not understand art they will consider their failure as creators only as a failure of the world not being able to love fully they will believe your love incomplete and then they will hate you and their hatred will be perfect . . .
— from The Genious of the Crowd by Charles Bukowski
Live Jazz In The Old Pueblo — Photo-Artistry by kenne
The Weary Blues
— Langston Hughes
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon, I heard a Negro play. Down on Lenox Avenue the other night By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light He did a lazy sway . . . He did a lazy sway . . . To the tune o’ those Weary Blues. With his ebony hands on each ivory key He made that poor piano moan with melody. O Blues! Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool. Sweet Blues! Coming from a black man’s soul. O Blues! In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan— “Ain’t got nobody in all this world, Ain’t got nobody but ma self. I’s gwine to quit ma frownin’ And put ma troubles on the shelf.”
Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor. He played a few chords then he sang some more— “I got the Weary Blues And I can’t be satisfied. Got the Weary Blues And can’t be satisfied— I ain’t happy no mo’ And I wish that I had died.”
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that’s dead.
Photo-Artistry by kenne
Dark Clouds Over Tanuri Ridge– Photo-Artistry by kenne
Raven — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Live Jazz In The Old Pueblo — Photo-Artistry by kenne
Tucson Basin Sunset — Image by kenne
Photo-Artistry by kenne
