Legacy Account

 
What must it think
After so many years
It must lay there inside the case
Remembering all those nights and days
 
Every note must have been like a poem
Expressing joys and aches
Every breath spoke life
Playing tones too advanced for the human ear to hear
But only felt
 
What it must have been on wondering nights
Improvising  
Like poetry in a scale of notes
Each reed
Pressed between teeth and lips
Eyes closed
Festivals
Jazz clubs
Under the stage lights
Smoky crowded rooms
Telling a story without words
 
Sit and listen
Watch and read
The framework of each verse
Written like he played
A testament to artistry
 
And the lonesome saxophone goes to sleep
Filled with memories

 

A nearly non-descript fellow in a gray flannel suit is on the down steps of the
     blessed escalator in a mall near you.

The only odd thing about him his head, which is wrapped in dirty, stained white linen. Meet Blind Joe Death.

He's followed by another fellow even more non-descript  than he, so why
     bother to attempt to describe him. suffice to say he's in "human" in
    form, as is the other guy.

The first "other guy" likes his name of "Blind joe
    Death". Everybody thinks they "know" him, And  that's okay withol' B.J.

The "other other guy", sometimes responds to the word, "dada", when the sotten ash falls out of his head."

They're in a be'damned shopping mall, just they two.  They're looking for a Satchel Paige t'shirt, of all things.

 The first other guy says "Fuck this. There aren't any Satchel shirts in this   goddamn hell-hole".

To the exit they go followed by no one.  Just they two.

As they get outside, BJ sniffs and says, "damn, who burned the pizza?"

And as far as thee eye can see, 'naught but smouldering ash, gray haze, and little flickers of flame.

"Wow. Looks like someone had one hell-of-a  fire-sale out here, Shit." Says BJ.   Dada nods affirmatively.

BJ says: "Well, look here. Somebody swept a path  through the ash just for us",  (of  
      course).

Dada tries  to nod, but instead coughs a horrendous cough that billowed black soot all'round, enclosing both of them, (and the some).

 " Jesus Christ, dada. Y'coulda blowed a hole in Trump's border wall wit that one." said BJ.

     "Sorry"' wheezed dada.

      "Sorry, my ass. Blow all ye want.  Ain't anyone checking air quality'round here.
      
       "Might as we get our asses movin'.  Who knows where we'll be at sundown......providing there's any sun to be goin'down,at all  Phew!."

       dada just got up, stifling several coughs, and followed BJ along the ashen road to who-knows-where.
                
***************************  ( "That's a wrap, fellas."]


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      dankozak 15Feb2021 >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 
Almost six years old.

I'm broken'up broken'down
seeing her on the face'time screen,
knowing full'well that the
likelihood of my living long enough
to ever be with her again
grows slimmer every day.

A failing, broken heart(ed) ol'bastard
wimpering, most pathetic, house'bound
3000
miles away.

So full of innocent life & pleasures.
Drawing, reading, watching movies, trampolining, eating pizza,
                 loving school.
Oblivious to the raging dis'ease and death enveloping the follied
                  country and sorry world in this insane 2020 year.

Looking so much like my deceased Leah Marie
at that age....oh, bloody unbearable.

One little girl swallowed by eternity.
Another in this world, yet so far beyond meaningful reach.

Feels as though i've missed my own life in
so many more ways than one.

This life, such profound grief and pain, punctuated by too few
Bright Moments.........

                                     ~~    but who am I to judge?  ~~


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2020dkzkpoomplusbadfotoimage13nov2020

 

dan's right up there with ferlinghetti and I bet they're getting on
 
 
 
 
 

 
When I come outside I see the morning,
the birds are singing, sorrily
— there is a train rolling
through the East bottoms,

Since four o'clock,
the rooster across the alley,
he's been up and crowing,

The wind chimes I can hear,
Marmaton around the corner
playing his banjo from the balcony,

He stands for, Friend, come here.
I was named after a river,
and the grey clouds rolling in, you can see,
is where the promised rain is kept.

I've lived a long and far journey,
Friend, listen to me,
I am the watershed of my mother...
.
.
.
I come outside to the ashen clouds,
dawn has broken,
the sounds are soft and rolling,
and I can feel the beautiful rain.