Voice Lessons
Without a blue note, the tune
will wheel, become a reel
unspool into a flutter
of lyrics about
a well-loved village
a pub back home
a girl from the old country.
Without a blue note, the hymn
will rebound into sounds that bounce
across corners from a four-square squeezebox
to ping-pong
in harmony shapes
weave in and out
all hymnals held high.
Without a blue note, the singer
will bellow under cellos
explode into aria, chatter
recitative over woodwinds
until the soprano
bursts into joyful
cascades of coloratura.
But when song longs to steep
in your gut, bend the note blue
to meld evening sky into sigh
dissolve liquid time signatures—
wander, meander, turn.
Bandelier
We take our winter hearts
to the edge of the kiva.
Star cliffs rise
over polished mountains.
Red rocks glint at our feet
like crushed rubies.
You dare me to climb up
ancient ladders
to where their dwellings sleep.
Far away, the city’s fire
spits twilight. We listen
to murmuring rocks.
Under bone trees and stone sky,
we expect to breathe thunder.
Charismatic
Rejoice in the gift
of your tongue
of the taste
words leave
when they sizzle
with rizz.
That riff, that jazz,
that jabber.
Your jibber can lift
you above plain
song purity
past grace notes.
Dip you into diphthongs
of longing.
Linger to ring up
slobbery slush.
Hush. No need to blush.
Your prophet weaves
such wooly worms
that never dream
of winter’s end.
Such blend to black,
such utter lack
of light inside
those vacant eyes.
A mongrel mouth
that growls and slurs.
Editor’s note: “Bandelier” refers to the Bandelier US National Monument in New Mexico; the “kiva” mentioned in the poem is a subterranean space used by the Pueblo people for rituals and community meetings.
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