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“Woman Thinking,” by James Brewer
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Lady Singing the Blues
That night I heard her voice
Reaching me from the stage.
The spotlight illuminating her countenance
As if the moon were shining down from the intimate darkness
Communicating to the crow the unspoken language
Concealed within her words.
When she sang she meant it
Singing from the heart of the life she lived
About the life she wanted to live
Invoking the spirit
Singing the blues
To compliment the atmosphere
Where we spend our livelihoods escaping our lives
All loners together as a crowd
In solitude
Confronting our troubles with a sense of familiarity.
That’s the blues!
Dealing with your problems by toasting them
Getting off your chest what you put onto it
Content with how it is and what it is
By getting on with it before it gets to you
And pulls you down.
That’s the blues!
Another drink
And you’re closer to home.
I was completely immersed by her presence
Until the music began to fade
The apparition evaporating before the mist in my eyes had a chance to clear
Finding the stage where she stood
Empty
Her resounding voice soaring down to me
Uplifting my soul to the genuine moment
Wishing it had actually happened!
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by Anthony Ward
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Springtide Ditty
Mascara’d vegetation bats its green
audacity and amplifies the breeze
singing through new-lingering day: cool-jazz suite
backing the birds. Kinetic blooming. Keen
riffling. Cobbled ruffling. Flimsy blanket-billow.
Cavalier matins began the scramble
under porcelain, moon-lit cumulus,
velour milieu still cloaking my pillow.
Resurrected spring re-relished refutes
whichever well-heeled cons are in cahoots.
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by D. R. James
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Old Shovel
On the day Miss Lena took her reward
I’m breaking bread w/Eddie
who shoveled her sidewalk as a kid
and picked Miss Ella’s roses.
High-fived Cootie runnin’ scales ’n
JB takin’ the bridge.
She had the grace of fifteen angels
he beams. Always gave me
three dollars and hot cocoa.
Bites into his burger
and tells me that
Miss Basie signed
his college letter.
So that old shovel
goes wherever I go.
and through the snow on Main Street
we hear a choir sing.
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by Mike Jurkovic
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Listen to a 1961 recording of Lena Horne singing “It Might As Well Be Spring”
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Anthony Ward chooses to write because he has no choice. He writes to get rid of himself and lay his thoughts to rest. He derives most of his inspiration from listening to jazz since it is often the mood which invokes him.
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D.R. James’s latest of nine collections are Flip Requiem (Dos Madres, 2020), Surreal Expulsion (Poetry Box, 2019), and If god were gentle (Dos Madres, 2017), and his micro-chapbook All Her Jazz is free, fun, and printable-for-folding at Origami Poems Project. He lives in the woods near Saugatuck, Michigan.
Visit his Amazon author page by clicking here
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A 2016 Pushcart nominee, poetry and musical criti-cism have appeared in over 500 magazines and periodicals worldwide with little report-able income. Full lengths include: American Mental, (Luchador Press 2020) Blue Fan Whirring (Nirala Press, 2018) President, Calling All Poets, New Paltz, NY. CD reviews appear online at All About Jazz, and Lightwood, Featured poet: He was and hopes to be again the Tuesday night host of Jazz Sanctuary, WOOC 105.3 FM, Troy, NY. He loves Emily most of all.
www.mikejurkovic.com
www.callingallpoets.net
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The artist James Brewer works in oils on both canvas and paper, and employs abstract as well as representational approaches. Influences include the art of Willem deKooning and Henri Matisse. He lives Nelson County, Virginia.
To view more of his art, visit his website by clicking here
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