Poetry by Roger Singer

May 26th, 2013






Lights out of focus,
Blurred colored spots,
Raindrops find pleasure,
On windows face,
Without direction,
Like souls deep in night.

Winds with favor,
Brush through my hair,
Like loving fingers,
On ivory keyboards,
Like blankets that wrap,
My thoughts around you.

Bartenders rush,
Like my failing heart,
With your hand in mine,
Like flavors that bond,
In cool mixed drinks,
Where ice melts into jazz.

On the dance floor,
Lovers are as one,
Ears receive whispers,
Promises and lies,
The bass man solos,
And bodies merge closer.

Time remains hidden,
On streams of truth,
In smoky rooms,
Where smiles and laughter,
Share equal space,
With tears and loss.




Burnt cold toast,
Scrambled eggs,
Elbows find comfort,
On tables edge,
Where faces rest in hands.

Morning bright sun,
Throws early waves,
Through front windows,
Of a waking diner,
Next to the club of jazz.

Two women and a man,
Exhausted eyes,
Slouch quietly,
Like flowers wilting,
From whiskey and dance.

A cigarette burns,
With leisure like summer,
And thin vapory spirits,
Near half cups of coffee,
Are marked with faded lipstick.

The man,
His bowtie unfurled,
Like snakes crawling down,
A stained once white shirt,
And pants that are minus a belt.

The waitress,
Hewn from stone,
A soldier of morning,
Disrespectful of pity,
For repeaters of waste and sin.





 Shadowed notes,
Slip lazily,
Through smoky air,
Wide and fat,
Heavy with sound,
Bound on dark walls.

Rolling music,
Tumbling sounds,
Silver and gray,
Like wheels spinning,
Blue and crying,
On long cold highways.

Dusty light bulbs,
Breathing smoke,
Like night fog,
Onto gray outlines,
Where lips meet,
On curtained vapors of lust.

Traffic creeps by,
Clouds walk over,
Lines of people,
Possessed with time,
But not where jazz thrives.





Stars in her eyes,
Find favor,
With music,
From members,
Of the band,
Building fluid sounds.

Like water,
Running rich,
Graceful and full,
Conscious motion,
Liquid layers,
Deposited on her soul.

A shoulder dips,
A neck exposed,
Fingers snap,
A head rolls back,
Spilling her hair,
While lips pout.

Men with desire,
Glance and gaze,
Needs of hunger,
Passion and thirst,
Remain in the glass,
At their fingertips.

Her eyes open,
The bass man winks,
Spirits connect,
Love and lust,
Music continues,
Where jazz releases.


About Roger Singer


Dr. Singer served as a med-tech at MacDill AFB in Tampa Florida for 3 1/2 years during the Vietnam era. While stationed at MacDill he attended evening classes through the University of Tampa. When discharged he began studies at the University of South Florida attaining his Associate and Bachelor degrees. Dr. Singer attained his doctorate in chiropractic from Logan College of Chiropractic in 1977. Dr, Singer has served on Legislative and Practice Management committees for the American Chiropractic Association, lecturing at a number of chiropractic colleges in the United States, Canada and Australia, and has authored over 50 articles pertaining to chiropractic management and legal guidelines for associates. He has maintained a solo practice for the past 30 years. He has four children; Abigail 27, Caleb 26 (a captain and airborne army Ranger, who will be returning to Iraq for his second tour of duty), Andrew 23 and Philip 20.



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2 comments on “Poetry by Roger Singer”

  1. Roger has a feel for Jazz–the sound, the music, tempo and jargon. Each of his poems grind out the message in resounding tones. If he is not a Jazz aficionado (which I suspect he is), he has a knack for extracting the marrow from the music he hears!

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