Rhythm and Blues

"And God said, Let there be light; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness."

And in the light the seed of rhythm and blues exploded. And the earth trembled.




Standing naked and vulnerable beholding the gift of life our fists clutching hopes and dreams, we gaze at the stars. With courage and fear we look up and witness all that comes to us from that wide open sky. We are the eternal vastness existing inside of that which swallows us. We are the seeds of language and we speak of its voice through music. Our throats warble joyful bird songs and yes we suffer; not because it's required of us, we suffer because we've acquired the language of suffering ... this is why we sing.


Carol Brown ©

Pop

Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken

In, sprinkled with ashes,

Pop switches channels, takes another

Shot of Seagram's, neat, and asks

What to do with me, a green young man

Who fails to consider the

Flim and flam of the world, since

Things have been easy for me;

I stare hard at his face, a stare

That deflects off his brow;

I'm sure he's unaware of his

Dark, watery eyes, that

Glance in different directions,

And his slow, unwelcome twitches,

Fail to pass.

I listen, nod,

Listen, open, till I cling to his pale,

Beige T-shirt, yelling,

Yelling in his ears, that hang

With heavy lobes, but he's still telling

His joke, so I ask why

He's so unhappy, to which he replies . . .

But I don't care anymore, cause

He took too damn long, and from

Under my seat, I pull out the

Mirror I've been saving; I'm laughing,

Laughing loud, the blood rushing from

his face

To mine, as he grows small,

A spot in my brain, something

That may be squeezed out, like a

Watermelon seed between

Two fingers.

Pop takes another shot, neat,

Points out the same amber

Stain on his shorts that I've got on mine,

and

Makes me smell his smell, coming

From me; he switches channels, recites

an old poem

He wrote before his mother died,

Stands, shouts, and asks

For a hug, as I shrink, my

Arms barely reaching around

His thick, oily neck, and his broad back;

'cause

I see my face, framed within

Pop's black-framed glasses

And know he's laughing too.



-Barack Hussein Obama