He had a Kawai baby grand piano in his living room
It wasn’t a Bosendorfer, Steinway, or Yamaha
But he had a baby grand and my roommate a long time ago
Had an inherited Steinway with real ivory keys, she let me play it
Play way into the night, a nurse now, and a music school graduate
With her inherited Steinway, and he is a psychologist with his Kawai
Laura Rain played Blues on Whyte in Edmonton, and
The Edmonton Bluesfest; I heard she played Buddy Guy’s
I first heard Monkey Junk at the Salmon Arm Folk and Roots Festival
Playing on a side stage; Taj Mahal headlined on the mainstage
My sister had a Taj Mahal album in the ‘70’s; and Monkey Junk
Can fill a moderate concert hall and they’ll always work in Canada
My friend the psychologist got a friend of his to cast his wedding rings
And having lived in Southwest Florida for decades could always get gigs
He wouldn’t be able to fill a concert hall, but there weren’t any, anyways
Just the symphony hall, and I heard B. B. King play there, once
And I’m a Swedenborgian minister of a small, aging, dwindling church
An accomplished piano player in Nashville asks me spiritual questions
And critiques recordings of my original music free of charge
He plays cruise ships and exclusive summer resort hotel bars, solo,
With an illustrious past, having performed with industry giants,
Making a living in an undependable business. We’re all making a living.
And there’s a place for art in life, however life ends up construed
Whatever life is called, or identity defined, be it by a career, aspiration
Passion or calling, writing on a business card, how others know you
Like my friend with the Kawai, or his friend who cast his wedding rings
Or the music graduate with her inherited Steinway, who is a nurse
B. B. King, Taj Mahal, Monkey Junk, Laura Rain, my musical friends,
My musical inclinations, the thousands I spent on instruments
I, a Swedenborgian minister at a small, aging, dwindling church,
Still happy, contented with my life, contented with my inclinations
And their manifestation, my pay, the recognition of my peers, my friends,
My musical instruments and their exercise, my career, my attainments,
Those I yet pursue in these advanced years, the lingering dreams I cherish
The moderate drive moving my intentions through happy reflections
WE ALL SEE THE SAME MOON
24 May 2021 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: aging, art, BB King, Bosendorfer, Buddy Guy, dreams, Kawai, Monkey Junk, music, Nashville, poem, poetry, Salmon Arm, spirituality, Steinway, Swedenborg
The Wheel of Fortune
14 Sep 2018 Leave a comment
in Blog Tags: Buddy Guy, Earl Klugh, fortune, poetry, Zappa
Blown away by the blues licks of
John Watkins–he played with
Buddy Guy, Koko Taylor, and Willie Dixon
Played with
Here he is in a blues bar in my small city
Played with
I think of Darryl, my friend, he played
Arenas with Frank Zappa, Earl Klugh
Now eking out a living playing cruise ships
Played with
Played
The wheel turns–turns for all of us
A wheel in a wheel, in a wheel
There is a big wheel turning the world
We each of us turn in our small wheel
I was up–oh, I was up
My wheel spun off the axle and crashed
Oh, I crashed
It wasn’t a matter of riding high and falling low
I crashed
The big wheel swung me up onto my feet again
The beneficent big wheel
I’ve been riding it upward for years
And my small wheel is turning me towards prosperity
I’m not expecting it to crash
But who does?