The Blues…

Locusts sing their
Silver-summer song
Miles Davis playing his
Bitches Brew, where do I belong?
Wishing for some kind of
Permanence in this revolving world
Somewhere where the wine is cool
And white flags unfurl
Half immortal above a timid grave
Looking to infinite gods
But there is none to save.
Plagues on the rise
The only justice is for the rich
Protests in the streets
As fire burns its bliss.
But still yet Miles and Billie
Stir the sacred soul
And in this darkling hour
I rise alive and whole…

© 2020 Kelli Geopfert

There is something in the music that acts like a conduit – carrying  memory to feeling to desire on every note. A powerful thing, that in a strange way the listening makes me feel like I am a part of you, our hearts beating in unison to the blues.

You should be here with me, feeling every breath like it’s sliding up the neck of the guitar, and the pulse´d beating crash of the symbol and slap on the bass in unison with the rhythm of my body.  When the bluesman puts his lips to the mic and sings his words in a slow low groan, I’m convinced they will uncover the telling of our story. One way or another – a phrase, a word, a riff, a run, or maybe the whole song, making an indelible mark of blues that dances over the  soul of two lovers.

© Sandy Hibbard