Diamonds in the Night

Entries categorized as ‘Music’

Music ‘been always…

August 6, 2009 · Leave a Comment

music ’been always
a part of our history

Drums running rhythms cross country,
us singing in the language of the birds and trees
    roaring with the lions,
    humming with the bees
But that was long, long ago,
                    long before Jericho
Many a man’s come a-tumbling down
once the Word was said, and got around

There was magic and message always in the music —
we would talk in song,
passing the news along,
singing semaphore spirituals
                                           “gon’ steal away, Jesus,
                                                    steal away home…”
and spiritual, we slipped away
training,
training on the underground railroad

Now, spirituals we sang from slavery,
and you know slavery gives you the blues
It works the same
             on every man,
             no matter which name you use
The blues was a feelin’,
then it became a sound
It wasn’t new,
weren’t no mystery
’cause music ’been always,
a part of our history

When I came along,
            started working the trains,
the blues was growing,
Black folks was making gains
The blues came to the cities,
                        by road,
                        by rail
It grew hard like concrete,
they made it cold like steel,
but when we was playin’,
you knew it was real,
which music ’been always,
a part of our history

Rolling, running,
wheels ringing on the railroad,
songs rushing on the wind
As twin serpents of iron
snaking cross country,
pulsing arteries of iron energy,
breath of smoke & steam,
the click-clack clackety ricochet
kept the rhythm throughout the day

The horn and whistle wailed sweet jazz,
the train was a giant harmonica,
moaning the blues as it moved,
and through the night,
you could hear jazz giants playin’
                       blues masters prayin’ in the key of G
And all the while,
that engine kept chugging,
                         pulling us onward,
                                        up that glory road,
                         pluming smoke and steam like a shiny saxophone

We used to get all the crew —
Prez, Bird, Dizzy, Monk
and of course, Cannonball
Fats, Satchmo, Fatha Hines,
Bessie Smith sending shivers down the line
The Duke and Count was royalty,
and we had Lester and Lucky
Miles and Morgan was always hornin’ in,
and with Mingus among us
                          kickin’ up a ruckus,
you’d look up, and it’d be morning

We took Dame Holiday, Dorothy D.,
              sisters Sarah, Ella, Nina
&           the only Lena Horne —
cross country by train they all were borne
singing              swinging               swaying
changing minds with their music
healing the blind with their music
kicking behinds with their music
— like magic,
which music ’been always,
a part of our history

But the last one I remember,
a young fella on horn,
’played like he hit the floor runnin’
                  a relentless rhinoceros,
blasting through mountains of silence
to explode
roaring our of dark tunnels,
man & horn as one, alone,
a wailing soprano saxophone,
changing minds with his music,
healing the blind with his music,
kicking behinds with his music,
as music ’been always,
a part of our history

Standing at the station,
his music made me see light in the distance,
his music was light bridging the distance,
it brought a shine to my eyes —
   made my spirit smile
’cause then I knew my Trane had come in —
                            ’Twas time for my ascension
training,
training on the spiritual railroad

So you ask me now,
what’s to do,
what with this new music,
the Social Rag and you?

Son, a word can change your mind,
        a song can change the world
        ask the Beatles or Quincy Jones
Why not give it a whirl?

If you can make a difference,
and won’t,
who’s to say you wouldn’t have died today,
if you had just believed…
..but ya don’t!

Folks is finally waking up,
it’s the Lifeline Express!
The underground railroad is pullin’ out
The band’s on board,
and they’re playin’ your song
Are you goin’ to jus’ hang around,
or is you comin’ along?!

by

jamal
ali

© 1987

Categories: Culture & consciousness · Music · Poetry · The Social Rag · Uncategorized
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sacrifice & surrender

April 24, 2009 · Leave a Comment

shreds of paper skip the pavement
slow wind mourns a melody
lyrics of sacrifice and surrender
now etched in memory

I stumble through your garden
magnolias hold no mystery
your petals are stiff and empty
of the scent I once could see

I feel folk songs moan,
whimper blues harmonica
wheezing fragments of what-if’s
over tequila-salted wounds

makes you wanna wonder
’bout prisons of used-to-be
&    strait-jacket suits
of wanna-be dreams

I barely sniffed the cork
of champagne desires —
effervescing wishes
melting shadows lost to breath

I hear a folk song chorus
chanting hallelujah
anguish goin’ church
in convulsions of regret

tambourine just a-tremblin’
my tangled tongue is speakin’
pleadin’ for wishes
I know will never come

’flicted tremors wrack my body
and tears no longer flow
grief’s blindness broke my hand
on walls of my frustration

I just wanna testify
wails runnin’ ricochet
along freight cars of abandon
’til I lost the will to fight

whistle moans harmonica
guitar is just a-stringin’
I don’t wanna feel
but the pain is just too strong

makes you wanna dance to glory
’had my hand upon the rapture
all she did was shrug
and her smoke slipped through my fingers

harmonica, cry now if you wanna
guitar, sing if you’ve a notion
the storm inside my chest
is pulling me out to sea

beyond the surf which brings tomorrow
&       waves of destiny,
my heart will sail me safely
until horizon is lost to mind

my eyes linger in the dimming
watching sun retreat from night
drifting slowly down
into whirlpool of despair

words catch on teeth of anger
tongue knots in strangled fear
my future crumbles, abandoned
in cold mists of used-to-be

her words walked right out the window
                       across the hill
                       out of my eyes,
extracting comfort by the roots
’til I was silenced by her choice

long, long
the refrain will always echo
strong, strong
the love I had to leave behind
wrong, wrong
the reasons given for the ending
and I will wander wondering,
how it all came undone

by
jamal
ali

© 7 march 2003

Categories: Love · Music · Poesy · Poetry · Relationships
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h2 vignette

April 5, 2009 · Leave a Comment

h2 vignette

astral body funkin’
his soul danced
writhing to a renegade rhythm
               a ricochet kill shot —
spirit cipher slipping the knot of his dreams
                 sneaking daylight into his dawn

hordes of foul-mouthed finger-waggin’ church women
massing on his frontiers of consciousness
each clutching her version of the right road
                                          right job
                                          right school
                                          right wife
                                          right truth

he went left
& left home
    left the ’hood

forget born again
every morning, he rebooted…

with what he had left over
he built razor wire lyrics
   hammered wrought iron rhythms
   listened to ancestral whispers
& remembered the magic of a past life

with a butcher knife
he carved ve-ve’s in the case of his computer
    tattooed them on his palms and fingertips
& they began to dance
          dancing deuteroms across his screen
          kicking notes in keys he’d never seen

on a pyre of ego
he purged himself
    was urged to utter night stallion dreams
riding rhythm chants
on the chance
    the hope
the magic was not lost,
                   only forgotten

at bottom
glyphs from ancient heartwells
dark tropical traditions
& chunks of craggy concrete truth
brewing in volcano skull
                                 merged
                                 surged
                                 erupted

both stone & steel
lush with the learning of lifetimes
flush with passions politic
&           heart righteous
he made a choice
    found his voice —
freestyling ancient tongues
spitting truth-tipped soul daggers —
committing Thelonious assault through sound

he traveled Miles by Coltrane
words his eyes
        reading his world in their reflections
        morphing majesty from travesty
                     warriors from soldiers
        drawing spirit from stone
lip-synching heart as talking drum

tongue coiled,
he seduced with rhythms phat
                     visions fresh & ancient
Afrika strutting lion-silent
                     sinuous
         hidden in his moves
         softly roaring deep in his grooves
filé to his gumbo gift

teeth clenched,
the stench of complacency pissing away
                                  hissing on hot corners
                                            beneath baggy fronts
jaws and jeans sagging
eyes frosted by the bling

his words seized throats by the tonsils of their fear
dispensing oral enemas to tooth-rimmed shit cannons
icing egos unaccustomed to target status
disproving imitation as flattery
exposing minstrel hip hop
as mug not half-full
but empty

…vapors

the power is the word
he another living evidence
the magic is alive
its wielders waking
               walking ancestors’ trails
only
cuz they don’t yet remember how to fly

by

jamal
ali

© 26 july 1998/17 july 2002

Categories: Culture & consciousness · Music · Poetry · Uncategorized
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Jazz Is A Sacrament of Substance

February 27, 2009 · 3 Comments

Eddie Jefferson

Eddie Jefferson

4 Eddie Jefferson

jazz is a sacrament of substance
and Eddie was a preacher spreadin’ the word
the cat used to swing it
singin’ syncopated lyrics
word-scattin’ while trackin’ convoluted tones
I tell you, the cat used to sing it
mixin’ words with the music
floatin’ and explodin’ from a smokin’ saxophone

in the solos, he heard colors
a peacock of be-bop —
Prez, Hawk, Trane, Bird
and a whole host of others
with the solos, he laced words
a sensuous weave, of voice and reed —
tongue and lips, flippin’ quips
sound side-slippin’
lyric quick-trippin’
squeezin’ words into a herd
                            a stampedin’ surge
modal maxes swingin’ with the saxes
just a-wailin’ while the axes
fed the hearts of every soul

jazz is a sacrament of substance
a sweet honey nectar just for the ears —
it’s the sound of sheer delight
the music the magic
set your soul to flight
bringin’ out the stars to light the night

jazz is a sacrament of substance
a lyrical music that ain’t got no peers
jazz is a sacrament of substance
with no words in the way to nasty up your ears
’til Eddie came along
mixin’ words in the song
— words over Bird just had to be wrong
’til you heard it
’til he stirred it
mixin’ up a bitchin’ brew
singin’ it out to all of you

the stage was a ring
with Eddie in his corner,
humbly acknowledgin’ the sax as king
across the way, the latest contender
the new holder of the throne
wieldin’ his mighty saxophone
with each round,
the sound began to swell
each man came out swingin’
throwin’ to beat the bell
hurlin’ notes, in combos and jabs
riffs racin’ ’round the scale
the horn was just a-screamin’
but the words never failed
swingin’ wild, slingin’ hot
neither knew the meaning of stop
and every night
      every flight
a frenzy of endless delight
a scintillatin’ hit
it was the shit!

jazz is a sacrament of substance
Eddie always knew just where to go
he wasn’t walkin’ on the music
he wasn’t changin’ the flow
he’d slip in a niche, and just blow
he always sings the way it swings
dancin’ all ’round and through that thing

Eddie Jefferson was known
as a vocal saxophone
riffin’ words to notes he heard
renewin’ the past
in raw torrential jazz —

the horns produced the sacrament
and Eddie told us what they meant
with words we know were heaven sent
through this genius of the time —
a miracle, an oracle, an epistle on the move
and every word that Eddie’d vent
just added to the groove

jazz is a sacrament of substance
a lyrical silk to lightly wrap your ears
jazz is a sacrament of substance
and Eddie was a teacher with rhythm and rhyme
jazz is a sacrament of substance
jewels of joy of every kind
jazz is a sacrament of substance
and Eddie blew
what Eddie knew
’til he got through to your behind

jazz is a sacrament of substance
and Eddie Jefferson was a feast for the mind

by

jamal
ali

© 17 january 1996

Categories: Music · Poetry
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Toe/Foot: toes 2 the feet

November 28, 2008 · Leave a Comment

i dreamed about your toes last night
                              tootsie roll toes
                              cocoa beans with toenails
                              precursors to African soles
                              presto pedal digitation —
black magic

woman
when you put your foot in it
in N’awlins
they speak of mojo an’ such…

but this ain’t ’bout Jo
or                        his toes

see, this is about a little woman i know —
                       a kola nut candy treat
she has feet like musical instruments —
a subtle brush
or firm caress
kneading arches
rolling the ball of her foot…

..and the sounds i get —
the breathless music —
     sighs and moans
     cries and groans
     a capella artistry the Muses never dreamed
     bipedal ecstacy like you’ve never seen…

to fondle
to taste
to nibble her sweet fudge feet
the savoring of her precious chocolate foot fingers
this is her fervent plea
add honey, champagne, soft sherbet, whipped cream —
any or all would answer the call of her feasting fantasy

…words were the way into her heart
but the route to her libido
runs by way of her toes…..

i knew feet were a form of transportation
but it seems my experience was far too pedestrian
to explain such sensation
              such passion
i suppose
from the talented tender blending of fingers, oil & toes…

her rapture is gospel —
                   head shakin’
                   tambourine quakin’
                   slammin’ her hand on the bed

you’d have thought she was somewhere in church
                                     testifying true,
but she was writhing in the sheets
instead of bouncing on the pew

rubbing her feet,
i know now how Aladdin must have felt
when he first saw his genie appear
from a few casual strokes of his hand

and, my beloved is no less compliant
                         lying limp
sheathed in a fine film of passionate perspiration
&             the sheen of afterglow

any question
every suggestion
is met with swift mumbling consent —

  “..yeah..uh-hunh…mmmm, right…sure…anything…”

lips & cheek in unconscious twitch —
endless echoes in musical body language
like the way the big gong vibrates
long after the sound is gone…

i approached her barely breathing form
her cloth moist and warm in my hand
i chuckled to myself,
as i began my tender task,
at the song starting on the stereo —
Michael Franks’ tune “Popsicle Toes”
which is just what she would have asked…

  “..yeah..uh-hunh…mmmm, right…sure…anything…”

by

jamal
ali

© 19 november 1992

Categories: Erotic · Love · Music · Poetry
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mango calypso serenade

November 16, 2008 · Leave a Comment

He say dis be de mango mess,

                   signs o’ de mango madness —

                   sublime devourin’ of self an’ fruit

He say surrender chile!

Surrender to de mango!

Surrender to de sweet seduction,

                 de frenzied suction o’ de mango seed,

                 de jealous clutch o’ de mango need

King mango, de tropical treat,

folks justa gobblin’ de mango meat!!

Dis ain’t no fiction

Dis be a ’fliction —

he say it be de mango fevah,

                lustin’ fo’ de mango flesh,

                mango breasts make de vision hazy

                de mad passion make ya mango crazy!!

And it be spreadin’ — 

                                 lips

                                 hips

                                 bellies

&                              smiles,

alla da peoples

           growns

&       chiles

Look! Look!

It be on dey face

it be on dey chest

it be on dey hands

it be on dey feet

da sweet sweet mango mess

folks slurpin’ fingers

                  arms

&               elbows —

mango juice stains in dey eyebrows

— and dey ain’t shamed!

Dey be proud!

Dey no apologize

Look at de crowd!

Dey rhumba,

dey sing,

dey samba,

dey sigh,

an’ no one whisper —

dey all be loud!

Lissen to de slurpers,

dere be no usurpers —

          no encroachin’ on me mango, please!

Lissen to de squealers,

lissen to de chorus —

dey all be hummin’,

smiles on dey faces,

tongues just a-dancin’,

sweet cheeks blessed by de mango’s kiss,

baskin’ in de ecstacy o’ mango bliss

Can you see dem?

See, see?

Wit eyes closed,

an’ belly full,

bodies movin’ calypso sweet,

moanin’ de mango melody

by

jamal

ali

© 13 june 2004

Categories: Erotic · Music · Poetry
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soul music

July 20, 2008 · Leave a Comment

my heart is a well
                a storehouse of memories
                an archive of the wanderings of my timeless soul
                a universe of existence
                               of lives and events

                a symphony of emotions
                                 of sorrow
                                 of joy

my heart is a flute
and I breathe music
songs of longing for what was
and                             is yet to be

the longing
the search
and unfinished, the sorrow
yet ever certain of its final joy

the drive within me blazes
dim now
bright then
a surging will which knows no end

my heart is a flute
my breath music
and this wandering soul sings the opera in his eyes

raising
rising
from sub to superconscious
from ages of slumber
             too many to number
awakening finally to a wholeness of Being
recognizing within
the completeness I’ve been seeking

my heart is a saxophone
and I breathe melodies
a musical melting of joy into sorrow
a lyrical jazz for traveling the spheres

in my library of livesI have known great beauty
and colossal rage
                  pain
                  shame
                  birth
                  death
                  joy and ecstasy which knew no bounds

these are memories
             not fantasies
but flesh and bone and throat-tightening thrill
full of sound and color and images keen
from pulse-racing moments
to the calm and serene

my heart is a drum
and I am walking rhythms
steps in the cycle of an evolving soul

the free flight of the eagle
a dolphin’s glee
the stride of the lion —
all are part of me
the struggling emergence of the butterfly
I know all too well
I am living it in the moment
as I emerge from my shell
wolfsong, coyote howl
the deadly silence of the serpent’s prowl
the thunder heard from buffalo and elk
I know these
I have been these
and so love them as myself

like the wise elephant
my breath is music
all memory
every part of me
is an instrument
for this wandering spirit
all is orchestra —
each heart a rhythm
and every soul a song

my heart is a flute
and I breathe music
and along the path of this wandering soul
the songs are finally joyous
and my Being whole

by

jamal
ali

©  20 march 1994

Categories: Culture & consciousness · Esoteric · Music · Poetry
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