Maybe Maybe you didn’t hear the words to the Pledge of Allegiance you recited every day in elementary school. You know, the part about ‘with liberty and justice for all.’ And maybe you didn’t hear the words to the Star-Spangled Banner you sang before every football, basketball and baseball game. The part about the flag waving ‘O’er the land of the free and home of the brave.’ Maybe you didn’t hear your American History teacher when he discussed that part of the Declaration of Independence that says ‘all men are created equal.’ And maybe you didn’t hear the words to the oath of office you took, the part about ‘never employing unnecessary force or violence.’ Maybe you just didn’t hear all those things. Which may explain why you didn’t hear the handcuffed black man you had face down on the pavement with your knee on his neck, when he cried out “I can’t breathe.” Strawberry She pries open the plastic container extracts one strawberry examining it like a jeweler looking for flaws in a diamond. Perhaps she’ll make her famous avocado strawberry caprese salad or maybe her ever-popular strawberry brushetta grilled cheese. She does not see the woman swathed in bandanas, scarves and long sleeves pushing the one wheeled cart between the rows bent over at 90 degrees for ten hours who placed each strawberry into the clamshell container, the container she now holds in her hand. Maybe a nice mango-strawberry smoothie with lime zest. Peach Flower It’s the flower he remembers.
The Viet Cong, the vermin, the pigs had been driven out. And now he sat in a foxhole, one of their foxholes, cradling the delicate peach flower left behind. One of their peach flowers. Hoa dao. Forty-nine years later he sits in a tent under the freeway. Cars speed by, glaring at the vermin, the pigs. It’s the flower he remembers. It was red.
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Aaron Sandberg resides in Illinois where he teaches. His recent poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Asimov’s Science Fiction, English Journal, Drunk Monkeys, The Racket, Writers Resist, Yes Poetry, Unbroken, One Sentence Poems, Vita Brevis Press, Literary Yard, Perhappened Mag, and elsewhere. You might find him—though socially-distant—on Instagram @aarondsandberg. “Remembering Having Helped a Girlfriend Move”To have a system before was a clever move on her part to guard against the chaos of the day or even how all the days after unfolded like cardboard crates first bursting, sealed-up, and safe like a heart. Still, her labels held and reminded me where we knew each was going to go. We thought it was a start-- then all those brown boxes emptied so quickly and broke down after knife-sliced tape was torn off like the bandage. And all of them knee-knocked and piled neatly next to an old blue dumpster outside her new home for someone else to deal with-- someone else to throw away. “Scattering Ashes at a Disney World Attraction”Not to belie the stowaway loved by our mommies and dads in Ziploc more explosive than gunpowder at the bottom of a smuggler’s purse, she boards a boat and looks left then right then left again past pirates and skulls and crossbones half-mast in what must be mourning or curse, then buries in one smoky clump not in flower beds nor mouse-eared topiary nor under shadows of magic castle walls whose bricks get smaller the higher they climb to give the illusion of height into Heaven, but in a lapping river gently flowing toward itself past Dead Man’s Cove on a brief but endless loop where just a man makes her debark at the end or the start to make room for the new-- and only then in this life can she run up a white flag or strike her colors or get back in line. So now, this time, nodding with Blackbeard to keep her hands inside, clutching an empty bag held by a big heart booming like a cannon in such a small world. “Was Thrown”Once, when I was ten,
a bottle was thrown in the passive voice through our front bay window. A cruiser was dispatched. A truck was caught. And with it the boys, one of whom we knew, though I knew he didn’t know the house was ours. But still, apologies were demanded back in a very active voice. And years later, the house was sold as I’m sure the truck, too. But what am I supposed to do about forgiveness now? I’ve sent things through glass since then-- through homes without address, places held not by bricked cement glue, nothing but bay windows painted black to make it look like no one was home. It starts with pebbles-- a flick of the wrist then stones. And later, not rocks or bottles, but fists.
When the Muse is SleepingI fight sleep until I go to bed and then I lie awake, thoughts whirling like a dervish inside my cluttered head, the way the young view love, quite content to be so confused. There, navigating its way through the maze is the word that was the missing child at the carnival, now safe and snug in bed. There, too, is the answer to the riddle, perhaps not the mystery of your life solved but the mystery of my life solved, perhaps. The thoughts are Tilt-A-Whirls and trapezes, and I dare not interfere or they will freeze and I will be pulling endless ribbons like a baffled clown. Air, air, everything air. And because I did not move, I will fall asleep at the hour the farmer rises and wake without the recollections of words or answers; as such, I go about my chores. Tragedy of Commons: A PolemicIf a baseball player is an egoist and cares more about his statistics than he does about his team, what harm is there? The better he plays, the better his team does. This is an economic argument derived from Adam Smith’s invisible hand theory. However, the tragedy of commons argues the opposite. A goat herder who adds a single goat to open land is the only one who benefits as there is less grazing for the goats of the other herders. It is not that the herders receive no benefit; they receive a negative benefit. What is common to most will receive the least amount of care, argued Aristotle. If a finite resource is freely accessible and its use unrestricted, then man, in his finite wisdom and infinite self-servitude, will overexploit it. Naturally. When First I Heard Jazz I watch the jazz musicians and notice the discipline of improvisation. Tunes and tones tempered, yet freer than any bird ever flew. There is a blues element, something that has been fossilized in the air, something that is unspeakable, that cannot be taught or shown but is known when it is heard. It is crocheted into the sky’s tapestry and is but a knock, knock from heaven’s door. The trumpets are descendants of Patmos, the bass an anchored ricochet in my skull. The instruments, like the lyre, can soothe, can heal but only the listeners, not the players. When I begin writing in its rhythms, my veins become the blood pressure pump, my heart caught in the cuff. Relieved of its duties and replaced by a scab, my heart gives up but not out, and, like love, like things of value, it believes it can be restored to newness, and, finally, finally, the beat, the beat… What Words Spoken in QuarrelWhat words spoken in quarrel Have been spilled with great regret, Seemingly hollow, idle Words that have been weaponized, Followed by those incentivized To wash away the damage Like a medic in the field, Still aware of the danger, But hoping for things to cease, While making false promises Meant to be disguised as hope. When Bruce Raised Henry from the DeadThe dog that had raised Henry from the dead
Was gone and this time would never be found, And so we turned our energies instead To Henry, who was three feet underground. I had discovered the dog underneath A torn-down shed where a three-legged bitch Made herself at home. She’d show her bad teeth When she’d topple each time she’d scratch an itch. The pup fit full in the palm of my hand, Its wet, feathered fur capturing my scent, And I feared my mistake had abandoned Him to my care, something I had not meant To happen. But I noticed Henry, who, Since my good friend had tried to introduce Us, had said nothing more than “hi,” come to From what seemed to be a coma, and Bruce-- We’d named the dog after Springsteen—I’m sure, Was the sole reason for his newfound life, As if both runt and litter held a cure For an illness Henry’s children and wife Were certain would be the death of him soon. They were astonished when he went outside Holding his dog and pointing to the moon As if teaching a child, and they cried For different reasons, I presumed. Laughter Ensued, lasting as long as was able. It wasn’t very long at all after When Henry’d have dinner on the table And hold court, telling an ad man story, Quite proud to impress me and the others Of his decadent golden-days glory When he’d smoked Cubans and wore Brooks Brothers Suits and had an expense account that was More than his salary. He had to “schmooze” His clients and drink hard with them because “Good deals were the byproduct of good booze.” And Henry was Madison Avenue, He’d tell us over and over again-- The heavyweight champ of ad revenue-- Though dry, high as when he’d been drinking, then His voice grew thin and he said, “My poor wife,” And I saw him struggling to look at her. His stories changed as he relived the strife, Like when he gave away their furniture-- “I always was a generous drunk,” he said, “Some checks were gone before I’d deposit “Them. Some nights, I just wished I were dead. “I always hung my clothes in the closet, “Though”—as if the word “though” made it all right-- A fact that his wife painfully confirmed. Then Henry finally called it a night. We didn’t admit that we were alarmed Until the first time Bruce ran away, Straight into the path of a moving car. Resilient, he was brought home the next day, Again retrieving Henry from afar. One lick brought Henry’s chin out from his chest And tripped the switch of circuits in his head, No longer was death willing him to rest. Convinced were we Bruce raised him from the dead. Then Henry, in his new lucidity, Said creatures born like Bruce were meant to stray. We wondered when, at last, the dog was free If Henry deemed they both should slip away.
Dusted archives & vaulted remains |
Charlie Brice is the author of Flashcuts Out of Chaos (2016), Mnemosyne’s Hand (2018), and An Accident of Blood (2019), all from WordTech Editions. His poetry has been nominated for the Best of Net anthology and twice for a Pushcart Prize and has appeared in The Atlanta Review, The Sunlight Press, Chiron Review, Permafrost, Plainsongs, I-70 Review, Mudfish 12, Anti-Heroin Chic, and elsewhere. |
Ripeness Wants to be Ravished[1]
[1] A line from “Strawberrying” by May Swenson, in The Complete Love Poems of May Swenson, 1991
A month away from 70 and I thought
I’d understand everything by now because,
by 70 I would have been dead for 16 years.
None of the men on my father’s side
made it past 54. Why am I the exception?
Probably because of my cardiologist,
Abe Friedman, who prescribed statins early
and enalapril when my blood pressure revolted
in my late 40s. For 25 years I tried to make
Abe laugh but gave up after he asked me,
while I was on a treadmill, if I got any exercise.
I replied, breathlessly, that “I always make sure
to walk from my car on my way into a restaurant.”
All I got was, “I’m not amused!” He saved
my life and didn’t want a goodbye card
or the flowers I tried to send him when
he retired. Maybe I’d understand that
if I was dead. And where is it written,
in the book of religious fairy tales, that
we achieve omniscience after death?
Sister Mary Nevertouchyourself taught us
that, after death, we wouldn’t be interested
in seeing our loved ones again because
we’d be in the presence of God. I guess
we thought, if we were that close to God,
we’d acquire his eternal knowledge almost
as if we’d become God ourselves which,
strangely enough, both Kierkegaard and
Joseph Smith believed. Smith claimed that,
along with becoming God, we’d get our
own planets. Wow! What would I do with
my own planet? First I’d lay in an eternal
supply of Diet Wild Cheery Pepsi--
wouldn’t want to run out of that.
I’d make sure my wife and son lived
on the planet and that we had baseball
and a fine symphony. All the dogs and
cats we loved would be there with us
along with our friends. We’d write poetry,
drink beer, and eat pizza every day. Abe
Friedman would be there. He’d check my
blood pressure, laugh at my stupid jokes,
let me give him flowers and thank him for
all he’d done while we were both alive.
Oh, and he’d listen to my heart.
I’d understand everything by now because,
by 70 I would have been dead for 16 years.
None of the men on my father’s side
made it past 54. Why am I the exception?
Probably because of my cardiologist,
Abe Friedman, who prescribed statins early
and enalapril when my blood pressure revolted
in my late 40s. For 25 years I tried to make
Abe laugh but gave up after he asked me,
while I was on a treadmill, if I got any exercise.
I replied, breathlessly, that “I always make sure
to walk from my car on my way into a restaurant.”
All I got was, “I’m not amused!” He saved
my life and didn’t want a goodbye card
or the flowers I tried to send him when
he retired. Maybe I’d understand that
if I was dead. And where is it written,
in the book of religious fairy tales, that
we achieve omniscience after death?
Sister Mary Nevertouchyourself taught us
that, after death, we wouldn’t be interested
in seeing our loved ones again because
we’d be in the presence of God. I guess
we thought, if we were that close to God,
we’d acquire his eternal knowledge almost
as if we’d become God ourselves which,
strangely enough, both Kierkegaard and
Joseph Smith believed. Smith claimed that,
along with becoming God, we’d get our
own planets. Wow! What would I do with
my own planet? First I’d lay in an eternal
supply of Diet Wild Cheery Pepsi--
wouldn’t want to run out of that.
I’d make sure my wife and son lived
on the planet and that we had baseball
and a fine symphony. All the dogs and
cats we loved would be there with us
along with our friends. We’d write poetry,
drink beer, and eat pizza every day. Abe
Friedman would be there. He’d check my
blood pressure, laugh at my stupid jokes,
let me give him flowers and thank him for
all he’d done while we were both alive.
Oh, and he’d listen to my heart.
SALIMAH VALIANI is a poet, activist, and researcher of world historical political economy. She has published four collections of poetry: breathing for breadth (TSAR: 2005), Letter Out: Letter In (Inanna: 2009), land of the sky (Inanna: 2016) and Cradles (Daraja: 2017). Her latest publication is the poem-story, Dear South Africa, one of seven pieces in Praxis Magazine’s 2019-2020 Chapbook Series. Her upcoming poetry collection, 29 leads to love will be published by Inanna in 2021. Check out her work online at: https://www.facebook.com/SalimahValianiPoet/ |
Flip or, On love (xxxi)
Heads
desierto florido
200 flower species sheltered for years
until rare rain decrypts the seeds
for 10,000 desert blooms
*
Bombay pink: 150,000 flamingos foraging free
*
Outeniqua and Tsitsikamma
green purple yellow
green purple yellow
green purple yellow
green purple yellow
Tails
no answers no questions
just soldiers and police in streets and sheets
*
migrant rotis and
bones
strewn over rail lines
*
We are so hungry we could eat the crust from a wound
*
reclining
back turned to window
unable to hug and be hugged
desierto florido
200 flower species sheltered for years
until rare rain decrypts the seeds
for 10,000 desert blooms
*
Bombay pink: 150,000 flamingos foraging free
*
Outeniqua and Tsitsikamma
green purple yellow
green purple yellow
green purple yellow
green purple yellow
Tails
no answers no questions
just soldiers and police in streets and sheets
*
migrant rotis and
bones
strewn over rail lines
*
We are so hungry we could eat the crust from a wound
*
reclining
back turned to window
unable to hug and be hugged
BOBBY Z is an avid writer and Blogger, also has video’s, audio’s a podcast and has Authored the Book Tales Of The Junkyard Dog. A rather abrupt and unusual Collection of Poems providing insightful and comical commentary on life, the Convergence of the past and the present, and the trails and tribulations of Relationships---BLOG https://talesofthejunkyarddog.wordpress.com |
SAD EYES—SAD EYES
Sad eyes, Sad Eyes.
Always filled with grief.
Always thinking the worse.
Always looking for relief.
Sad eyes, Sad Eyes.
Always filled with tears.
Always singing sad songs.
Always filled with fear.
Sad eyes Sad Eyes.
Always questioning why.
Always second guessing.
Always looking for lies.
Sad eyes, Sad Eyes.
Always filled with depression.
Always looking for self pity.
Always looking to question.
Sad eyes, Sad Eyes.
Always dispelling the past.
Always looking to distort.
Always feeling harassed.
Sad eyes, Sad Eyes.
Always waving good-bye.
Always never believing the truth.
Always looking to crucify.
Sad eyes-Sad eyes
Time to end all your rage.
Put all your sadness aside.
Time to start a brand new page.
Always filled with grief.
Always thinking the worse.
Always looking for relief.
Sad eyes, Sad Eyes.
Always filled with tears.
Always singing sad songs.
Always filled with fear.
Sad eyes Sad Eyes.
Always questioning why.
Always second guessing.
Always looking for lies.
Sad eyes, Sad Eyes.
Always filled with depression.
Always looking for self pity.
Always looking to question.
Sad eyes, Sad Eyes.
Always dispelling the past.
Always looking to distort.
Always feeling harassed.
Sad eyes, Sad Eyes.
Always waving good-bye.
Always never believing the truth.
Always looking to crucify.
Sad eyes-Sad eyes
Time to end all your rage.
Put all your sadness aside.
Time to start a brand new page.
HIGHWAY OF LIFE
THE HIGHWAY OF LIFE----IS ONE OF DEATH AND CONFUSION
AT TIMES IT LEAVES YOU STRANDED----AND OTHER TIMES APPEARS AS A ILLUSION.
REACHING A DESTINATION----WITHOUT ANY MEANING/
YOU’RE LOST IN A NIGHTMARE----YET YOU’RE NOT EVEN DREAMING.
YOU’VE BOOKED YOUR PASSAGE----BUT YOUR SHIP HAS SAILED.
YOUR FLIGHT HAS BEEN CANCEL3ED----YOU’RE ABOUT TO DERAIL.
PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY----WITH NOWHERE TO GO.
SEARCHING FOR ANSWERS-----WITHOUT ANY REASON TO KNOW.
TRAPPED IN A WRECKAGE----YOU’RE ABANDONED AND ALONE.
DETOURS OF LIFE----LEAVE YOU STRANDED ON A DEAD END ROAD.
ALWAYS EXCEEEDING THE LIMITS----WHILE SPEEDING THRU LIFE.
CONFRONTED BY STOPLIGHTS----ONLY ADD TO YOUR STRIFE.
ROAD BLOCKS AND RED LIGHTS---LEAVE YOU VOID OF BELIEVING.
CAUGHT IN A SPEED TRAP---YOURE ACCUSED OF DECEIVING.
THE FINES AND TOLLS OF LIFE----CAN BE COSTLY AND MUST BE PAID.
FEED THE METER----OR BE TOWED AWAY.
AT TIMES IT LEAVES YOU STRANDED----AND OTHER TIMES APPEARS AS A ILLUSION.
REACHING A DESTINATION----WITHOUT ANY MEANING/
YOU’RE LOST IN A NIGHTMARE----YET YOU’RE NOT EVEN DREAMING.
YOU’VE BOOKED YOUR PASSAGE----BUT YOUR SHIP HAS SAILED.
YOUR FLIGHT HAS BEEN CANCEL3ED----YOU’RE ABOUT TO DERAIL.
PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY----WITH NOWHERE TO GO.
SEARCHING FOR ANSWERS-----WITHOUT ANY REASON TO KNOW.
TRAPPED IN A WRECKAGE----YOU’RE ABANDONED AND ALONE.
DETOURS OF LIFE----LEAVE YOU STRANDED ON A DEAD END ROAD.
ALWAYS EXCEEEDING THE LIMITS----WHILE SPEEDING THRU LIFE.
CONFRONTED BY STOPLIGHTS----ONLY ADD TO YOUR STRIFE.
ROAD BLOCKS AND RED LIGHTS---LEAVE YOU VOID OF BELIEVING.
CAUGHT IN A SPEED TRAP---YOURE ACCUSED OF DECEIVING.
THE FINES AND TOLLS OF LIFE----CAN BE COSTLY AND MUST BE PAID.
FEED THE METER----OR BE TOWED AWAY.
FORGIVE AND FORGET
THROUGHOUT OUR LIVES,.. MANT THINGS NEVER GO OUR WAY.
WE’RE LEFT WITH SADNESS…. AND OUR AMENDS ARE ON DELAY.
WHAT EXISTS NOW,… CAN NEVER REPLACE WHAT WAS ONCE BEFORE.
THINK ABOUT WHAT WOULD BE NECESSARY…. TO RE-OPEN THAT DOOR.
HOW COULD SO MUCH LOVE,… AND TRUE AFFECTION.
DEVELOP INTO…. A INCONTROLABLE EMOTIONAL INFECTION.
WORDS AND FEELINGS OF HATE,…. NOT SO EASY TO ERASE.
EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN,…. SHOULD NEVER HAD TAKEN PLACE.
SADNESS PREVAILS,…. FROM WORDS OF HATE.
SO EASDY TO SAY THEM…., SO EASY TO BERATE.
ONCE DONE, WERE LEFT WITH FEELINGS OF DESPAIR.
DID WE REALLY MEAN IT, OR DO WE JUST NOT CARE.
IT OCCURS AT ALL LEVELS,…. FAMILY, FRIENDS, AND FOE.
THE PAIN SUFFERED BY OTHERS,…. SHALL ALWAYS REMAIN UNKNOWN.
FORGIVNESS AND LOVE…. HAS BEEN PREACHED FOR MANY YEARS.
TIME TO TURN THE OTHER CHEEK,…. AND WIPE AWAY THE TEARS.
WHAT ARE THE TERMS…. FOR A SUCCESSFUL FORGIVENESS.
MAY BE AS SIMPLE AS A PHONE CALL…., BUT MUST ALSO HAVE THE WILLINGNESS.
CHRIST DIED ON THE CROSS…. TO TEACH US TO REPENT.
SO WHY CAN’T WE ALL,…. JUST FORGIVE AND FORGET.
WE’RE LEFT WITH SADNESS…. AND OUR AMENDS ARE ON DELAY.
WHAT EXISTS NOW,… CAN NEVER REPLACE WHAT WAS ONCE BEFORE.
THINK ABOUT WHAT WOULD BE NECESSARY…. TO RE-OPEN THAT DOOR.
HOW COULD SO MUCH LOVE,… AND TRUE AFFECTION.
DEVELOP INTO…. A INCONTROLABLE EMOTIONAL INFECTION.
WORDS AND FEELINGS OF HATE,…. NOT SO EASY TO ERASE.
EMOTIONAL BREAKDOWN,…. SHOULD NEVER HAD TAKEN PLACE.
SADNESS PREVAILS,…. FROM WORDS OF HATE.
SO EASDY TO SAY THEM…., SO EASY TO BERATE.
ONCE DONE, WERE LEFT WITH FEELINGS OF DESPAIR.
DID WE REALLY MEAN IT, OR DO WE JUST NOT CARE.
IT OCCURS AT ALL LEVELS,…. FAMILY, FRIENDS, AND FOE.
THE PAIN SUFFERED BY OTHERS,…. SHALL ALWAYS REMAIN UNKNOWN.
FORGIVNESS AND LOVE…. HAS BEEN PREACHED FOR MANY YEARS.
TIME TO TURN THE OTHER CHEEK,…. AND WIPE AWAY THE TEARS.
WHAT ARE THE TERMS…. FOR A SUCCESSFUL FORGIVENESS.
MAY BE AS SIMPLE AS A PHONE CALL…., BUT MUST ALSO HAVE THE WILLINGNESS.
CHRIST DIED ON THE CROSS…. TO TEACH US TO REPENT.
SO WHY CAN’T WE ALL,…. JUST FORGIVE AND FORGET.
AT PEACE
DEEP INSIDE MY ANGUISHED DOME.
MY THOUGHTS RUN WILD, & MY EMOTIONS ROAM.
THERE IS A DANGEROUS DESIRE TO ACHIVE GREAT THINGS.
BUT MY HEART IS SOMEPLACE ELSE, & MY MIND CAN’T SING.
IT IS WITH THESE THOUGHTS THAT I HAVE LONG ENDURED.
A FASCINATION, TO BE SIMPLE AND PURE.
TO BE SOMEONE, AND NOT LIKE HIM.
TIME IS SHORT, AND THE LITES ARE BEGINNING TO DIM.
I RAN THE RACE , BUT ALWAYS CAME UP LAME.
I FOUGHT THE DEMONS, I’LL ACCEPT THE BLAME.
ALTHOUGH I MAY NOT HAVE LIKED THE CARDS I WAS DEALT.
MY CONSCIOUS IS CLEAR, AND I’M AT PEACE WITH MY SELF.
MY THOUGHTS RUN WILD, & MY EMOTIONS ROAM.
THERE IS A DANGEROUS DESIRE TO ACHIVE GREAT THINGS.
BUT MY HEART IS SOMEPLACE ELSE, & MY MIND CAN’T SING.
IT IS WITH THESE THOUGHTS THAT I HAVE LONG ENDURED.
A FASCINATION, TO BE SIMPLE AND PURE.
TO BE SOMEONE, AND NOT LIKE HIM.
TIME IS SHORT, AND THE LITES ARE BEGINNING TO DIM.
I RAN THE RACE , BUT ALWAYS CAME UP LAME.
I FOUGHT THE DEMONS, I’LL ACCEPT THE BLAME.
ALTHOUGH I MAY NOT HAVE LIKED THE CARDS I WAS DEALT.
MY CONSCIOUS IS CLEAR, AND I’M AT PEACE WITH MY SELF.
MUSIC THAT SOOTHES THE SAVAGE BEAST
A UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE.
FROM THE “MET” TO THE “STREET”.
MUSIC THAT EXCITES AND DELIGHTS US.
LIKE A CONSTANT DRUM BEAT.
GOING TO THE BROOKLYN PARAMOINT.
TO FULFILL OuR MUSIC NEEDS.
ROCK’IN ROLL SHOWS HOSTED BY.
THE ONE AND ONLY ALAN FREED.
Gloria by the Cadillac’s
Dry humping at the Friday nite dances.
Listening to earth Angel.
While at the drive-in, doing a little romancing.
IT’S NO MORE DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL.
WHEN YOU GET UP WITH YOUR DAUGHTER TO SWIRL.
ITS NOW the ALL TIME FAVORITE.
BY THE TEMPTATIONS, “MY Girl”.
There was a time many years ago.
When the music temporarily died.
Buddy holly, Richie valen’s & the big bopper.
Are now appearing on that big stage in the sky.
Then there was the chambers brothers.
With a 60”S favorite “time”.
Or how about johnny cash’s
50’s favorite “walk the line”
Or bobby z’s version which he sang at the nco club at fort bliss
In 1963 and 64
I keep my pants up with a piece if twine
I keep my eyes open all the time.
Because of you, I’d walk the line.
Because your mine, please pull the twine.
Music that excites you.
Makes you want to dance.
Music very special.
To help you when romancing.
Maybe it was “jerry lee lewis”.
Who left you rock’in and reel’in.
Or was it the righteous brothers.
With the greatest song ever ”you lost that loving feeling”.
Johnny ray, singing “that little white cloud that cried”.
The young rascals and the four tops had no flaws.
Janis Joplin & big brother and the holding company.
Bobby fuller singing “I fought the law”.
May have been jackie Wilson.
Causing the crowds to roar.
Or was it bobby Dylan.
Doing “knock’in on heaven’s door.
Danc’in to the slow ones.
Will always in our minds remain.
To another old time favorite.
The knockouts doing “darling Lorraine”.
From George thorogood with “bad to the bone”.
To elvis doing “blue suede shoes”.
Or how about screaming jay Hawkins with “I put a spell on you”.
And of course bb king signing the blues.
Whenever on the dance floor.
We always held her tight.
Especially when dancing to.
“in the still of the night:.
Words that leave you.
And sounds so gentle and sweet.
Music that arouses you.
Makes you jump to your feet.
How about the Beatles.
Doing sgt. Peppers lonely Hearts Band.
Or maybe joe cocker.
Doing a little help from my friends.
Or could it have been robert palmer singing.
“”doctor—doctor give me the cure”
I got a bad case of lov’in you.
Jersey city’s own, the Dupree’s.
With the classic “you belong to me”/
Or maybe the young rascals.
doing “people got to be free”.
From “rock around the clock” to “Johnny be good.”
May it never cease.
Music thru the ages.
Has “soothed the savage beast”.
Now that we have taken.
A stroll down memory lane.
Music tells a story.
Sounds that shall forever remain.
FROM THE “MET” TO THE “STREET”.
MUSIC THAT EXCITES AND DELIGHTS US.
LIKE A CONSTANT DRUM BEAT.
GOING TO THE BROOKLYN PARAMOINT.
TO FULFILL OuR MUSIC NEEDS.
ROCK’IN ROLL SHOWS HOSTED BY.
THE ONE AND ONLY ALAN FREED.
Gloria by the Cadillac’s
Dry humping at the Friday nite dances.
Listening to earth Angel.
While at the drive-in, doing a little romancing.
IT’S NO MORE DADDY’S LITTLE GIRL.
WHEN YOU GET UP WITH YOUR DAUGHTER TO SWIRL.
ITS NOW the ALL TIME FAVORITE.
BY THE TEMPTATIONS, “MY Girl”.
There was a time many years ago.
When the music temporarily died.
Buddy holly, Richie valen’s & the big bopper.
Are now appearing on that big stage in the sky.
Then there was the chambers brothers.
With a 60”S favorite “time”.
Or how about johnny cash’s
50’s favorite “walk the line”
Or bobby z’s version which he sang at the nco club at fort bliss
In 1963 and 64
I keep my pants up with a piece if twine
I keep my eyes open all the time.
Because of you, I’d walk the line.
Because your mine, please pull the twine.
Music that excites you.
Makes you want to dance.
Music very special.
To help you when romancing.
Maybe it was “jerry lee lewis”.
Who left you rock’in and reel’in.
Or was it the righteous brothers.
With the greatest song ever ”you lost that loving feeling”.
Johnny ray, singing “that little white cloud that cried”.
The young rascals and the four tops had no flaws.
Janis Joplin & big brother and the holding company.
Bobby fuller singing “I fought the law”.
May have been jackie Wilson.
Causing the crowds to roar.
Or was it bobby Dylan.
Doing “knock’in on heaven’s door.
Danc’in to the slow ones.
Will always in our minds remain.
To another old time favorite.
The knockouts doing “darling Lorraine”.
From George thorogood with “bad to the bone”.
To elvis doing “blue suede shoes”.
Or how about screaming jay Hawkins with “I put a spell on you”.
And of course bb king signing the blues.
Whenever on the dance floor.
We always held her tight.
Especially when dancing to.
“in the still of the night:.
Words that leave you.
And sounds so gentle and sweet.
Music that arouses you.
Makes you jump to your feet.
How about the Beatles.
Doing sgt. Peppers lonely Hearts Band.
Or maybe joe cocker.
Doing a little help from my friends.
Or could it have been robert palmer singing.
“”doctor—doctor give me the cure”
I got a bad case of lov’in you.
Jersey city’s own, the Dupree’s.
With the classic “you belong to me”/
Or maybe the young rascals.
doing “people got to be free”.
From “rock around the clock” to “Johnny be good.”
May it never cease.
Music thru the ages.
Has “soothed the savage beast”.
Now that we have taken.
A stroll down memory lane.
Music tells a story.
Sounds that shall forever remain.
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AARON SANDBERG
AHMING ZEE
ANANDI KAR
ANUM SATTAR
BENJAMIN SKOMORAC
BOBBY Z
CARSON PYTELL
CHARLIE BRICE
DAVE BACHMANN
DEEKSHITA ATHREYA
EMALISA ROSE
HIBAH SHABKHEZ
JAEWON CHANG
JEFF KING
KEITH BURKHOLDER
LIAN WANG
LOIS GREENE STONE
NDABA SIBANDA
SALIMAH VALIANI
STERLING WARNER
TAEYEON HAN
THOMAS LOCICERO
USHA AMULYA NAREM
WILSON TAYLOR