More Music & History.

Robert Johnson Sold His Soul To The Devil

A jet-black man in a dark grey suit,
A boy wearing all he owned.
A contract signed, no
Lawyers present, no
Blood spilt.

I know nothing about the
Plains of the Mississippi,
But I felt him standing,
At the crossroads, crying.

With his piece of old wood, shaped like
Someone’s grandma,
A 1931 Gibson L-1,
He sat there whistling
And aching to be on his way.

He wanted to come with me.

Up to this point,
He existed just between
Sheets of vinyl
And hushed rumours
Of plantation workers,

Of Delta-dwellers,
Cotton pickers,
Jazz musicians,
And the assembled choirs of angels.

But he was in town for just one night,
Back to reclaim the blues from Whitey
And those who don’t know what it means
To dust your broom
With a kind-hearted woman.

He had his Tennessee flat-top box
And that dumb smile of a man
Who knows he was out of his depth
Many years before.

That one suit he owned,
With the wide lapels and tight pinstripe,
Was draped over his bony frame,
His big fedora cocked sideways;

I felt every song love ever written
Sublimate away as
He walked onto the stage,
Unafraid of death.

Awesome Sonnet

Awesome Sonnet #1.

Fair flaxen-haired goddess of the night-time;
Whose presence lights up masquerades and balls,
I beseech you, even the smallest sign
My ears await, my fragile heart it stalls.
A solitary glance across this fête
Would satiate me at least for tonight,
And then tomorrow and tomorrow’s fate
May yet happily remain out of sight.
For my love of you is unrequited –
Your flank of sycophantic admirers
Would pounce upon me if I were sighted
Moving in; I, just a lowly squire.
But I feel there may still be hope for me:
One must not refute what they’ve yet to see.

Something new.

Back By Popular Demand

In 1973, Jesus Christ
Was born in Delanco, NJ.
He went to public school,
enjoyed music:
New Order and Bruce Springsteen –
Lovely local flair
And the malaise felt by his generation.

He got a gig on MTV,
Changed the whole scene, man:
Jesus Killed The Radio Star –
Shoegaze pop and the Good Word
Brought down the Berlin Wall –
He was at Bill’s victory party in ‘92
But not ’96.

He moved to late night on NBC,
tied for Time’s “Man of the Year”
with two other guys.

I met him in a bar late last year,
newly legal, wanting to celebrate:
He was in the corner on his own,
doing last week’s crosswords.
I asked if he’d like a drink,
He said the wine list wasn’t great,
so we shared some vintage Glenfiddich:

“I never figured you for a drinker…”
“It came with the territory.”
It doesn’t matter who you are,
The son will never please the father:
Jesus Christ, hope of millions,
hadn’t called home in twenty years:
“Tomorrow, I shall die, unfulfilled.”

It was the cleaner who found him,
on the hardwood floor, flanked
by his two pet retrievers, ever faithful.
She said a prayer in Portugese, and called
The New York Post:
PERSONALITY DEAD, DOGS MURDERED?

He was buried in Asbury Cemetery,
A grey rain fell on the procession.
Bruce made an appearance, as requested:
“We Shall Overcome” and “My City of Ruin”
In the name of the Father
(Who could not attend due to a business engagement)
the Mother
(estranged)
and the E Street Band.