|
A
black stiletto heel rests against granite
the cornerstone on 59th street.
Long bent leg reveals her garter belt
white stockings under a red mini skirt.
Sequined
top, eye catching
pledges allegiance
lifting Marilyn Monroe off her neck.
The breeze refreshing
she
blows you away.
Across the street
the pusher deals
from the bottom of the deck.
Suits
scramble for the blue train
cellular phones stuck in their ears,
have your people call mine,
buy me some of that IPO.
A
necklace of yellow cabs
links the avenues, interspersed
with black pearl limousines
Marilyn puts one on.
Copyright
© 2000 David Ruslander
Return
to Top
A
bluesy haze hung over your Birdland.
Black & white faces played in your band.
Heads
bobbing to musical spacings
watching and hearing your sax playing.
Everyone
loves Charlie 'Bird' Parker.
But Charlie, you found places darker and darker.
Woodsheding
all summer made you a king.
Man you learned to make that horn sing.
Your
flatted fifth changes turned jazz on its head.
You were the reed-man you know it was said.
Oh,
Cherokee, baby, what luxury,
who could forget that night at Savoy?
Your
self-medication did so much harm.
Poppy was always on your right arm.
Nobody
squeezed so many notes in one line.
You played yourself out in one-third time.
Copyright
© 2000 David Ruslander
Return
to Top
Amber
waves of grass blowing in warm summer sun
rolling over California hillsides brings a song to the breeze.
While the grasses appear dying the roots still live.
When they drink upon the autumn rains green stems return;
things are not always as they seem.
While walking through this flowing grass sea
I contemplate the cycles coming and going,
calm, stormy, dark, and light.
A startled covey of quail rises into the sky
and the black dog runs through the fields of gold.
Copyright
© 2000 David Ruslander
Return
to Top
|
