Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Inspired by my wife (who doesnt sing but does anyway)

Black Woman Blues

 

If she holds that first note/

eyes sealed and tomb-heavy/

finger kissin' the mic/

we know she's got the ghost/

Fat Bass sighs his strings down/

Bone Boss stops tap-tap-tapping/

Doc Stick rattles a soft march/

and Brass Man pulls the pause

 

The cotton skirts and/

dirt shirt boys take their pew seats/

they know the hymn and the sermon/

hands raised and testifyin'

 

She pulls that mud-water tone out/

on a holiday/

a holy day and she's still making love/

she's got the melody and/

Brass Man's on the down stroke,

harmonious.

 

Doc Stick watches her hips/

she's molasses thick and he marks/

time as she willow-sways/

the old music in her/

the lyrics heat-trickle down her neck/

and Doc pounds the old heat through/

that black skin bass

 

The dirt shirt boys see the ghost in her/

they get to clappin and stompin/

they wanna rush the groove/

cotton skirt-twirl hike-up dance it/

skip to the end and/

sleep on the chorus/

but she aint lettin go.

 

Bone boss stays spider-light on the

ivory. He bird-songs her

summer night/pulls the

stars out and sets them twinklin

 

Fat Bass hums thick and sargum-low/

he lays down that country road home/

sausage fingers on gold string biscuits/

but she's got the ghost/

she aint coming home tonight.

 

Brass Man takes her up/

they dance that ghost-step/

off the road, past the birds/

her song is hot peach cobbler on his lips/

burns the tongue but he keeps on playin/

 

The cotton skirts dance green angry moves,

narrow hips and can't keep Black Woman's groove.

She takes all the men to that hidden place/

they don't know the way

 

Black Woman pulls that last boy-summer/

out of an old song/

hums the final note/

lets the cotton shirt boys know they/

aint got time to waste before/

winter's coming and black woman's

on the next song

and the band is packin up.

 

 

 

Benticore

Out

 

1 comment:

CousinSarah said...

Doc Stick watches her hips/

she's molasses thick and he marks/

time as she willow-sways/

the old music in her/

the lyrics heat-trickle down her neck/

This is beautiful Jerry...this whole piece. I love the last line I posted here...brotha you best to get your ass writing.