Take Five
last time i was
with dad
i was playing jazz cd’s
in my stepmother’s computer
he came into the room, his body
running on fumes
but smiling like a young man
as the piano notes
did a percussive dance
through the room
” you know, erren, for 70 years old
i look pretty good,” he told me
daddy was impressed that
i liked jazz
he told me he loved dave brubeck
later, i went into room
and he gave me a watch
the last present he ever gave me
if dad ever meets up with
dave brubeck in heaven
i hope he doesn’t bug him
to death by asking him to play
alot of jazz tunes
For Herbie Hancock
takes his hands and makes robots dance
makes the sky turn red like watermelon, man
or can make a man, into a watermelon man
hands tickle the keys and the watermelon man
picks up the slack and moves to a futuristic bop sound
herbie puts his hands to the keys
and planets begin
to dance
travelling miles to reach euphoria
and it leaves
you in a trance
back in the day
you made the piano
shuffle like the new york city
subway
when a ride cost a
nickle
steaks cost two dollars
and a five spot
could get you into the
five spot downtown to see you
” i may live updown
but im always downtown…”
herbie,
keith jarrett may be the
king of improvisation
but you invented fusion jazz
you made the albums
miles wanted to make
you was mixing jazz
with rock and electric sounds
when medeski martin and wood
was wetting their
diapers
they are not worthy enough to
hold your
headphones
you’re the only acid
i get high
on
you helped charles
bronson
fufill his
death wish
as he hunted for bad guys
even jaco pastorious rode your
jock
and ya’ll made lovely
sounds together
on headhunters
i grew an afro, listeing to you
funkier than a sorority
girls draws
i was waiting for
huggy bear to
make a
cameo appearance
your hands touch the keyboards
and the electric sounds you made
gave birth
to a hologram of
an electronic goddess
who came into my life
one night
she was a bitch with
her own brew
she gave me eargasms
and i came with
pleasure
your hands touch the keys
and the watermelon man picks up the slack
transporting him forward
to a futuristic bop
sound
you didnt always sell out
but when you did
even your sell out music
sounded cool
stay hyped, my friends
like miles, you still held on
to your soul
hip hop and euro funk
like kraftwerk
found its way onto
your musical
landscape
your music was played at nfl games
and on soul train
the jazz purists screamed judas
but nobody should hate you for wanting
to get paid
can i loop
can you loop the
canteloup?
the fruits you bear
from your songs
your hands touch the keyboards
and a rockit lifts off
leaving me smiling for miles
cos you rocked it.
on river, you did the
santana thing
you got divas to
sing
while you let your
piano talked
in the key of
joni
i feel the aftershocks even in the
future
and it never feels wrong
you take a gershwin
melody
and make it stand on
its head
see you grooving down
the river
feeling bliss from miles
ahead
can i loop
can you loop
the canteloupe?
this bliss i always taste in
your songs
i heard you speak like a child
never doin no
wrong
Erren Geraud Kelly/ December 7, 2015
what i’d say….
ray’s voice
is what a brotha
feels like after he’s had
a good piece of
pussy
i know now why mama didn’t want us
playing secular music in her home
and why white kids love
r and b so much
it was heroin
for your ears
ray was the only brotha
who could mix the church
country music, blues and the cathouse
and make it sound cool
he sings ” i got a woman”
like she’s the only salvation
he needs
once upon a time
you could feel music
not just hear it
ray is what happens
when you break the chains
around your heart
and set yourself free
march 2011
Marialy
Play a melody that travels
The curves of your body until
Your body becomes an
Island
Make it percussive
Like my heartbeat, like the
Drums, which is
What I feel when your fingers
Strike the piano keys
Make it brown and soulful
Like your body,
Round and bouncy like your
Ass, that moves to the
Beat of home
Make the melody hot
Like the ashes falling from
Fidel’s cigar
Your body is a party
When you sit behind the piano
You bring the party
When you press
the keys
the party never stops even
as it leaves you, it travels
miles and miles and miles
for marialy pacheco
Terrence’s Horn
Is the call the dry bones heard
And rose from the wreckage
Hurricane Katrina left behind
His blues is the blues of dreamers
Of days when shotgun houses ruled
And melodies led you like a pied piper into
A second line
His trumpet is gumbo to my ears
Calms one’s fears , about the water rising
Instead, fever rises when he plays the blues
Terrence’s melody comes naturally like
Women showing their tits for beads
His melodies planted the seeds for renewal
After the waters receded
Like the saints, red beans and rice
And king cake, it is always needed
When I go to heaven, I hope it’s Terrence’s horn
I hear welcoming me, instead of Gabriel’s…
For Terrence Blanchard
Billie Holiday
Sometimes, Mademoiselle will play
Billie Holiday 78’s on an old
Victrola, she got as a
Christmas present from her dad
Which belonged to his
Dad
Mademoiselle will listen to
Billie purr “My man,”
As her dog looks on, as if it’s
Lost in a dream, all night to
The moon
In the attic, Mademoiselle will
Dance with a mannequin
Pretending it was a lover
Which is strange, because she is
Too lovely to be alone
She pantomines with longing only
Billie knows
Mademoiselle washes away
Her heartache in a sea
Of bathtub gin and wonders
“Where can her lover man be?”
Melody
Even as I braced myself for it
It came without warning
But who adheres to
Love’s rules?
It’s like bargaining with the
Devil
Only this devil’s a redhead
And played piano as if
She could connect all the moments
Of the day and turn them into
Dreams
Her music held me like a lover
Could
Her melodies make the keys
Feel like a couple
I hear the fire in the music
And the knot burns away
I want to
Anchor my song with
Hers
Bird Read Beckett
bird read samuel beckett
he read novels and plays
he lived his life as one long
exstitential episode
he prided himself on being
intellectual
bird loved his fried chicken
and preferred his gin
to go down smooth
like his solos
mr. eastwood,
take that lie back
and apologize!
if charlie parker was
psychotic
it was only because america
made him that way
bird refused to live in
the boxes
people put him in
every time i listen to a
bird cd
i’m helping charlie parker
take back his genius
from the syringe
everyone knows a prophet
is rarely welcomed
in own land
BEBEL
doesn’t walk, she sashays
she glides
at carnival in rio de janeiro
wearing nothing but body paint
and glitter as she
sings
her songs are more dressed up
than her
tig o bitties moving in time
to the samba beat
her body is as curvy
as a coca cola bottle
the bossa nova and brazilian women
are two good reasons alone
to move to brazil:
brazilian women’s bodies
are figure 8’s
they look like spring
smell like roses
and their voices are
always singing, even when
they’ re talking
they perfume the air
with their songs
during sex, their bodies
move with the rhthym
of the sea
Footprints ( for Wayne Shorter )
you speak no evil
when you talk about the miles
you traveled, the
way your sax sounded
like a thunderstorm
or spoke like a child
miles always had an ear for
talent, so, it was no surprise
he made lightning strike several
times, first, with trane, then cannonball
then later with dave liebman
but you made heavy weather
all by yourself
as you and jaco pastorious
led the jazz fusion revolution
you let trane’s shadow fall
over you
and became blessed with
the gift of the
gods
even when flight 800 went down
and took your better half
away from you
you took grief,
dipped it in an inkwell
and played healing over several
bars
the buddhists say “suffering
builds character”
you are winter,
every note you played, left behind
footprints of your journey
but still, you have miles to
go
Coffeehouse Poem #14
tall and tan and
lovely
the woman from brazil
walks in starbucks
in skintight jeans
wearing black and grey
spats
i smile
because at that moment
i know god is
brazilian
NOTORIOUS
my mom’s watching the movie “notorious”
on b.e.t., a film about the life of
rapper notorious b.i.g.
the narrative is holding her attention
like catnip
i told her i’d listen
to rap again
when it had something
positive to say
now, i listen to jazz
like i used to listen to rap, i
listen to miles davis like
most guys
listen to b.i.g. or snoop
my mom is 73 years old
and even she’s heard of snoop dogg
i listen to a monk
solo
like a baller
dissects a nas lyric
50’s and 60’s jazz
are my favorites
especially hard bop
lee morgan, horace silver and red garland
people treated monk
like they treated my brother roderick
or tupac
they called them crazy
when they were really
geniuses
i sit with mama
and watch the rest of
the movie with her
every other line is bleeped out
even b.i.g’s profanity
is poetry
days after roderick’s death
i was cleaning out his closet
i found some novels one of them was
hemingway’s “the sun also rises”
and a dvd of the movie “juno”
i smiled
maybe under that thug facade
roderick was just a
closet nerd
and he didn’t want anyone to find out
three years have passed since he died
i can take comfort
in knowing
the streets didn’t kill my brother
just bad kidneys
Lady Saxophone
Tells her tale in blue notes
that slice through the apathy
Of the chemical town
She takes he pain and turns it
Into swing
She is a love supreme
A mother to all
But a child unto jazz
About Erren Kelly
“ I am a Pushcart nominated poet from Seattle, Washington. I have been writing for 25 years and have over 150 publications in print and online in such publications as Hiram Poetry Review, Mudfish, Poetry Magazine (online), Ceremony, Cactus Heart, Similar Peaks, Gloom Cupboard, Poetry Salzburg and other publications. My most recent publication was in The Rain Party and Disaster Society; I have also been published in anthologies such as ” Fertile Ground,” and Beyond The Frontier.” My work can also been seen on Youtube under the “Gallery Cabaret” links.
“I am also the author of the chapbook, Disturbing The Peace, on Night Ballet Press and I’m currently working on another book.
“I recieved my B.A. in English-Creative Writing from Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge. I also love to read and I love to travel, having visited 45 states and Canada and Europe. The themes in my writings vary, but I have always had a soft spot for subjects and people who are not in the mainstream. But I never limit myself to anything, I always try to keep an open mind.”
