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RRRRRSATZ

Submitted by Esker on Sun, 2016-02-07 23:04

lingering scene
clinging like the oily trade
rothmans pallmalls pot
and oils
swirling in the beams
piercing angles
Beat Narcotic Thudding
from the ceiling down
knocking your brain
like a freight on a bad
rail scene
and all the bad cats
and leaning foxes
are shone up
glassy and gleaming
shot up toked up
juiced up jammed up
and the electric fender
stratocaster tortures
a note on a glass slide
And the pool balls
click
and I come alive inside
to the transfusion
and confusion and
the need for thirst
and the drive too
score..and the
little short haired
dark lake girl
leans down though
the vibrating shaking
loud crowd of textures
and fabrics weaving
like a river of stampeding
madness
eyes up the soft shadow
blue of a sure square
rod and knocks
the red in the side pocket
stands up excited
and shows it
she can give me
two pointers to that
number three
dunked in the basket
dig in my jeans
pull out my clip
and flash it
"Jim Beams and a double black russian"
smile a comfort charm
to the baby working bar
and keep an eye on the bouncer
the place is packed hot and rolling
dark as a den
rounding out renditions
of "Bad Moon Rising!"
drinks hit my spot and I toss
her a fin!
Is Life is Heaven
then Im living in Sin
and Ive been around
the block
of my Hell

Brunetti on a run
sinks the black

I hold my drink
say a prayer
throw it down
arch my back
and soak all
the chaos
of this theory
with these
wonderful
eyes

...

Editing stage: 
Editing - rough draft

Comments

vandiemenspeak

Mon, 2016-02-08 00:45

vandiemenspeak's picture
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Wow, I felt like i was in the room, and the room ws on fire Esker! Nothing ersatz about that feeling..

Love the title, loved the ride! Like Kerouac on Charlie Parker in the 241st chorus, Mexico City Blues:

And how sweet a story it is
When you hear Charley Parker
tell it,
Either on records or at sessions,
Or at offical bits in clubs,
Shots in the arm for the wallet,
Gleefully he Whistled the
perfect
horn
Anyhow, made no difference.

Charley Parker, forgive me-
Forgive me for not answering your eyes-
For not having made in indication
Of that which you can devise-
Charley Parker, pray for me-
Pray for me and everybody
In the Nirvanas of your brain
Where you hide, indulgent and huge,
No longer Charley Parker
But the secret unsayable name
That carries with it merit
Not to be measured from here
To up, down, east, or west-
-Charley Parker, lay the bane,
off me, and every body

Thanks man.

Chris.

Chris Hall - Tasmania

Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of Prince's stores and bumped them up on the brewery float. On the brewery float bumped dullthudding barrels rolled by grossbooted draymen out of Prince's stores.

Esker

Tue, 2016-02-09 09:12

Esker's picture

billie holliday....brilliant voices..musicians
writers and lyrics
living and surviving
I use U tube all the time to find music
overlap loops...run footage of kennedies
speech to a vietnam era song
open windows
open a window to images of the era
.
was lucky to have lived sixties as a wee one
then into school at seventy one..two too
kindergarten...seventy in public...seven to
post secondary and seventy nine to high
school...left finally in eighty three or eigthy
four..i missed a credit and hung about
but it was great!

I hung about everyone drifting in to sit with the
small band..they did heart covers..female sisters
nice people...hung out with the driven girl..she ran
she was bubbly alive pretty..insatiable...we never
did anything but the juicy stories! lots of fun
sat i with the teachers discussing politics and funny
in school stuff...breath of fresh air for them!

bright girl showed me bowie and others
my intellect chummies showed me the high brow music
and we often hit Toronto to shop the vinyl stores
an older woman I knew went to the clubs and others
knew the pianist greats like oscar peterson and
moe koffman....I went to Grossmans tavern in toronto
where Jeff Healey played....a lot of them....
drove in convertibles fixed up and old primered out
late sixties road warrior beasts jacked up with
intakes and superchargers put in by mechanical
whiz farm boys.....
sat with the brilliant smokers discussing math theories
and drawing sketches..the women huddled in corners
doing their thing while Robert Johnson music played

bohemian life I tasted in its raw culability
and refinement!
danced at a fancy disco place with a very stylish
skinny little woman in her fancy clothes
weekends of debauchery and booze and
typewriters and music..

the late eighties to early nineties
a grand adventure
to the slower more patented life now
but the new music is coming alive
again..vinyl returns

and we love
we live
we survive

thank U

author comment

emeka ozurumba

Mon, 2016-02-08 03:35

emeka ozurumba's picture

Very Good poem and wonderful imagery

Esker

Tue, 2016-02-09 09:15

Esker's picture

forget a word..my....sketch of what it is...
my paper to the propoganda schedule
I will remember the correct word for this
eventually!

manifest ..there it is...
poems like a manifest!!

thank U

author comment

Esker

Mon, 2016-02-08 17:09

Esker's picture

the truth is freedom but do we want for freedom
Not I..
I was free then
the germ of dust is the pearl of this inlay handle
on strato or navy colt
zippo or trim decorum
what we play as men
to our women or our women
play the men
or the oceans of creatures
within that deep
hungering for the resonant
subsonic beats
and hush sighs of rains
thundering the surface
till the sunshine soothes its
restful peace

thank U

I read the greats and listened
to those that had the vinyl too said
musicians
and those too that personally
knew the beat jazz artists

mickey finned and slim jimmed
meaning I got ripped off
and a meal was one of those
thin sausage treats
that was it and whatever
I could find
scrounge and haul home
.in winter..in summers swelter
wherever we could find
shelter
meeting the mad with delirious
and beautiful bones
of the most colorful season
burned up minds
like cordite and smouldering
flares to a landing z
forgotten
cherishing the great dust off salvation
drinking cough syrup
and visions of great granduer

I dream...and feel the women
whose arms draped upon me
I remember the great original
men angry and full of humor
with their rage
passing like a glint wheel
rolling on the tracks rail
silence ere they passed
like the crickets singing
in autumns grass

the womans peal
hurt and wails
rage and anger
like a hunger not
availed

you have never lived
till they hovered over
you with a knife
on your heart
a representative
of all the bad men
they loved and worshipped
naked and magnificent
U find a voice
to save not them but yourself

you never lived till U wake
to a beautiful
ghost shorn of innocence
blank and emotionless
standing over U in
the dark..light dim
by the streetlight
a Lady Macbeth not
yet a teen
slipping away

all the dollar in the wallet
so it was not that

tell me when your half
brother gets run over by
a train
your mothers botched
tummy tuck bacteria
consumes her
your adopted dragon
lady feirce mothers hand
turn black from needles
shunt of morphine ease
from cancer stealing
her away ....

tell me then
this river
you sit by
haunted
its relief reflection
its dark deflection

I have lived
and when I am done
I shall live no more

but I have
lived

thank U

author comment
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