Poetry by Roger Singer

May 26th, 2013



Stars fall into weakness
when the satin flow of her voice
places jewels on climbing notes;
she is wealthy in the jazz.

Words with wings take flight
over the waiting crowd
where smoky dark blue and eggplant
hazy hot lights find
the fullness of her lips.

Her eyes spark, casting out shadows,
delighting in lust, like neon lights
blinking a hard bright and red
as her hands sweep over faces
she owns




A street light hums into dark,
its weakness absorbed by
heavy charcoal air.

Sitting on a wooden peach box,
paper pictures on the side and the
aroma of freshness outgrown,
he speaks his jazz into a warm night;
bugs buzz a tune of circling.

The black of his eyes compete with night.
His guitar finds words within him,
delivering a song to his mouth.
He tattoos the air while looking up into a
gray white light, reminding him of
clouds before rain.

His hands relate strongly to where
he’s been.



Red lips pulsed the words
of the jazz living
in the tides of
her ocean.
The ivory of her neck
made jealous
the pearls on earth
as she leaned
like angels do
when listening to her.
Her legs swayed
under the winds
of a summer heat
burning a lust
into hearts owned
by her.
No hands kept her
or eyes
possessed the hot
verses she served
with fire.





Just let it
on me
like summer
washing my
beating me like
over with around
my thoughts
with moving
like catching a
that never stops
hard with song
me like lovers
winking fat with
making me
drunk with
and calling
me out to
the easy flow




Black steel wool coverings
of hair
weave muddy currents
onto his forehead,
like the music
pushing from him;
a great tree of life melts
when he sounds out
the branches of his travel.

Storms raise a dusting
mountain high
where his message runs a path
from the sax of him; escaping notes
find a way to become found.

Running fingers never rest
under the strain of his drive.
The dark engine within his head
lifts jazz into a lightness,
flattening shadows
where his music lives.

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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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