Poetry by Ed Corrigan

 

 

 

 

 

my funny valentine

Miles’ horn blows
thru my head
down to my toes
down baby down
i need to blow
my bleeding nose
a red note bleeding
dododowaaaah
a smile with my heart
she just tore me apart
wuwuwuwaaaah
don’t know myself no more
what goes around comes around
my heart in lost and found.

Coltrane blow that sax
ride the rhythm
sweet and blue
way beyond blue
cool man cooool
big daddy you
really got ahold on me.

all the while Miles riffs
ripityripityrip
pippippip
bipitybipitybip
shake that thing
zizzyzizzyzoomzingaling
Miles blow my mind
takes me way out beyond
the ocean’s waves
he starts the newest craze
crazy for Josephine
know what i mean?
blow baby blow
horn aphonic sound
lost and found
sweet comic valentine
be mine all mine.

all in a sweet cool stream
don’t wake me
from this dream
stay little valentine, stay…
dreaming the blues away.

 

 

 

Valentine

Listen to the music
Listen to the sound
Turn off your thoughts
Tune in turn on
Gather round
Miles Davis is calling you
Gather round
Listen to the sound

Tiga Tiga boom boom
Tiga tiga twiddly mac twat
Tweet tweet twat
Bang a dong
Never ever, never ever mind
So what
The song
Bang a dong
Free me baby, free
So what
Give it to me

The beat, the beat
The unintended
Syncopated beat
On the street
Off my feet
Down the street
Moves on
No song
No memory
No intentions
An uninterrupted stream
A stream of consciousness
Beat beat beat

Searching a rhyme
A rhyme divine
Searching for a mind

No clash
A movement
From my head
To my heart
To and fro
Sway and fro
Brain and soul
A rhythm
A non rhythm
Bang those strings
Bang those skins
Bang a dong
Rough rough roughillicious
I am all
Tongue tied twisted
Beat up inside
King Kong and his bride
His lily white
Princess bride
Whitey tighty twiddly diddly twat

Searching for a string of notes
A parade of floats
Blue blue aqua velvet green
What a scene
A parade of boats
Rocking, rollicking bouncing
The wavy undulating heat
Strike those strings
Zizzy zizzy bingaling

And that horn
Blare blare mocaholic sound
Beat beat
Blow baby down
To the ground
A ground zerooooooo
You are the one
You are the one
Be mine every
Be mine in
And every
Time
Baby, it’s so good
For what ails you
Move body, mind
Heart, soul
The beat goes on
In a song
Without a song
Bang a dong
Within your mind
Oh baby be mine
All you need is
Love Love Love
Beat Beat Beat
All the time
Loony toony
Rhapsodic
Time
Incredible
Tripper-cerrific rhyme
Be mine
Be my
Valentine
Ffff fade away baby…

The Stand of Birch

Protector of dark
Secrets inside
Halos of fairy dust
Tinker Bell tracers
Castle like spires
Splendiferous
Translucent
Lunatic-licious
A cloud gate
You must pass thru us
We will wash your
Mind
Then push you on
Into dark forest
Beyond
All experience and imagination
We will cleanse your soul
For your trip
Upon a path of no return
A shining cloud gate
Etherealite
Sparkling souls
Remnants of rusting leaves
Shuddering in the wind
Clinging like loose buttons
To a threadbare thread
Silver shadows with
Barely hanging ornaments
On bones so white
So straight
As not to bend
To your will
We will cleanse your being
As you walk and breathe
Air, dust, cloudy steam
A world beyond
Blinded minds
In our timbre of existence

 

don’t know jack

what if i were jack kerouac
would that be
wac
or wut?
i would know the perfect
word to write
every time
i needed a line
is this too much rhyme?
if i were jack kerouac
i’d be cuul all day
beat in every way
seattle blue
if i wanted to
Criss crossing
screaming
across america
stories looking for me
if i were he.
was it all in his head
those amazing things
he wrote and said
or was it shoved in
like meat to a grinder
making a massive meat burger
from not so thin air?
the traffic light just
turned red
it really fucked up
my head.
jack kerouac is dead and
if i were he
who
would
be me?
cuul de sac is the nu b wac. beautiful beat…lives on…
jack uac is jazzdelicious, lost in space baby…

 

 

 

Saeta

The war was born
of a firestorm.
The band went marching on
and trumpets blasted to the heavens
as the earth scorched below.
The war was born
by men of no imagination
living illusions, delusions
who cared not for music
or the children of others.
Men who loved and were loved by their mothers,
or so they say…
Jack and Jill
marched up the hill
on a path
of their own construction and
destruction.
The band played on and
the trumpets sounded the story
of souls lost in their ways.
The war was born
of a firestorm.
Consuming all in its wake
burning flags and all else without discretion.

Indeed, the storm became
a demon of our dreams.
It took on a life of its own
stealing the air that we breathe
melting eyes beyond disguise
consuming all that it sees
and all that sees it.
Sucking up people off sidewalks and streets
burning all fruit, leaves, branches
pulling up the very roots of trees.
Melting all that melts and
all God’s creatures, innocent or not.
A reddish, yellowish, hellish tornado
not taking us somewhere over the rainbow
but only way down below
beyond protection and redemption.

Jack and Jill
went up the hill
to fetch a pail of water.
But were soon ascending to a fire cloud
sadly to return never after
rudely sent to their ever after
by men who knew not
what was true
who cared not, for me and you.
By men who were succoured by mothers,
women who were ultimately consumed
by their bombs and napalm.
The war was born
of a firestorm.
A storm which consumed all in its path
incinerated the haves and the have nots,
the know and the know nots
the first and the last
and the band played on.
We step to the beat of death drums
and the trumpets
extol our glory
to the bitter end.
We march to the boom boom beat of the drummer
only to be finally silenced
by the shattering of already deaf ears.