Tag Archives: popular culture

Style..(Rebooted as”Hepcats” 12/6/2020)

over at Maxi’s
next door to the Flamingo,
friday nite cool;
Coltrane on his Blue Train,
Philly Joe’s drums hustlin’
for space and time
tryin’ to fill a vacuum
that Coltrane never leaves;
piercing gliding whetted
Coltrane’s sax cuttin’ the joint
& cuttin’ the nite into ribbons
of color,strands of splendor
intoxicating innuendo for
Hepcats their mint juleps
colder hemp harder
dirtier like primordial notation
drivin’ that Blue Train along
outbound bound beyond
all talk all senses
over at Maxi’s
next door to the Flamingo
friday nite cool.

footnote on ” Hepcat “.
A stylish or fashionable person, especially in the sphere of jazz or popular music:

Rock Obit.

Your chords struck

like summer lightning,


lost in the ephemeral

geography of Route 66

jamming with Waters,Hendrix and Page

in unrecorded sessions,

unannounced out of town gigs,

no Sam Phillips and

Union Avenue for you,

just the frisson of

word of mouth and late

night unattended studios;

Your fledgling promise

of a could’ve,should’ve future

eclipsed by androgynous pin-ups

and their Top 40 golden disc,

that got taken away from you

in a drunken early morning call you made,

“you let them steal my song,you..”

that ensured you were never heard;

Years later, discarded

recordings belatedly retrieved

from forgotten storerooms,

piqued public curiosity,

“whatever happened to…”

2 a.m. rundown motel lobby,

someplace south of Phoenix,

a late night deal,

a drunken brawl,

a passing Sheriff

who thought he saw

you reaching for…

chords that struck

like summer lightning.


Long ago and oh so far away ,

your words spoke to me

though they’re silent now ;

yesterdays you brought them all

back again with words

that fell like raindrops

onto desert sands ;

Then the showers came

the storm and the floods ,

till your voice wearied itself

with its burden of honesty

and all your insights

into suffering and love ;

Still now your storm has passed ,

the stream of all you said

flows on and on ;

And you were right after all ,

Rainy days and Mondays will never be the same .

( Footnote )
Karen carpenter 1950-83
The Carpenters[1] were an American vocal and instrumental duo consisting of siblings Karen and Richard Carpenter. Producing a distinctively soft musical style, they became among the best-selling music artists of all time. During their 14-year career, the Carpenters recorded 11 albums, 31 singles, five television specials, and a short-lived television series. Their career ended in 1983 by Karen’s death from heart failure brought on by complications of anorexia. Extensive news coverage surrounding the circumstances of her death increased public awareness of eating disorders.[2][3]

The duo’s brand of melodic pop produced a record-breaking run of hit recordings on the American Top 40 and Adult Contemporary charts, and they became leading sellers in the soft rock, easy listening and adult contemporary genres. The Carpenters had three No. 1 singles and five No. 2 singles on the Billboard Hot 100 and fifteen No. 1 hits on the Adult Contemporary chart. In addition, they had twelve top 10 singles. To date, the Carpenters’ album and single sales total more than 100 million units.[4]

In Vino Veritas

Opportunities like seagulls in flocks

have flown by ,

precious moments and chances

whipped away suddenly from our grasp ,

sent whirling skyward

into ethereal anonymity ,

revealing an emptiness

of purpose

exposing a hollow shell

cracking at the seams ;

whispers shall be our deliverance

but not for a while yet ,

and the mists of morning

accompany us with their dull cadences

which we often mistake for unwarranted approbation ;

there is neither failure nor success ,

neither defeat nor triumph ;

our gilded shields and splendid spears

have rendered nought

but an inheritance of tears ;

Somewhere in the drowning stream

as the Sun sets and encroaching night

begins its long slow asphyxiation

of what we thought was our day ,

a solitary flower is placed carefully

on an unmarked grave in a church yard

at the edge of the coming Storm .

Lord of the Rings ( Part 4 )

    The Fellowship strove on towards the Red Horn Gate
    from thence eastwards and to their fate ,
    packs of Wargs and the blinding snow
    forced the Company another way to go ,
    Into the Mines of Moria down deep
    thro’ the dark with stairs to climb,chasms to leap ;
    Finding Balin’s tomb and the books written there
    they felt a strange menace in the air ,
    evidence of Orcs and fouler things
    had ruined once great halls of former Kings ;
    Alerted by Pippin’s playful casting of a stone
    the Company knew they were not alone ,
    out of the dark Orcs charged forth in hordes
    confronted by Aragorn and Boromir’s drawn swords ,
    Gandalf cast one last spell to little avail
    giving the others time to head for Dimrill Dale ,
    at the Bridge at Khazad-dum one last foe appeared
    drawn from darkness it was The Balrog they’d feared ;
    Gandalf fought the terror but at a cost
    saving his Companions ,the Wizard himself
    with Balrog was lost.


leper messiah

He’s gone away

& won’t be back ,

all his future words

will remain unwritten ,

all future songs

unsung ,

all future art

unpainted & undrawn ;

All the Young Dudes too

are faded & gone ,

& the Spiders from Mars

are out of tune :

however the day ends

its epitaph remains :-

” Ziggy played guitar “.



Jacques Brel : Parody

It is raining here in Brussels

even amid cobbled streets emptied

of their customary hostility it is raining ,

raining always in my Brussels

a town where my dreams were stolen from me

by events too sad to recall

on this rain damaged day ;

I gaze at a bleak horizon

that stares back at me unwaveringly ,

its bleakness disparaging any hope that

I might harbour of a dry evening ,

of at least a few hours devoid of incessant rain ;

Soon I will go ,

go and have lunch

at the bistro on the corner ,

of a deserted and inhospitable cobbled street ,

partaking of my quotidian ” saucisses avec frites ” ,

I will thereupon ponder my fate ,

my disillusionment with life in general

and consider ending it all amid the rain ,

as it is raining here in Brussels ,


( Footnote :-From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Jacques Brel

Birth name Jacques Romain Georges Brel
Born 8 April 1929
Schaerbeek, Brussels, Belgium
Died 9 October 1978 (aged 49)
Bobigny, France
Genres Chanson
Occupation(s) Singer-songwriter, actor
Instruments Vocals, guitar
Years active 1953–1978

Jacques Romain Georges Brel (French: [ʒak bʁɛl]; 8 April 1929 – 9 October 1978) was a Belgian singer-songwriter who composed and performed literate, thoughtful, and theatrical songs that generated a large, devoted following—initially in Belgium and France, later throughout the world. He was widely considered a master of the modern chanson.[1] Although he recorded most of his songs in French and occasionally in Dutch, he became a major influence on English-speaking songwriters and performers such as David Bowie, Alex Harvey, Leonard Cohen, Marc Almond and Rod McKuen. English translations of his songs were recorded by many top performers in the United States, including Ray Charles, Judy Collins, John Denver, the Kingston Trio, Nina Simone, Frank Sinatra, Scott Walker, and Andy Williams.[2] In French-speaking countries, Brel was also a successful actor, appearing in ten films. He also directed two films, one of which, Le Far West, was nominated for the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival in 1973.[3] Having sold over 25 million records worldwide, Brel is the third best-selling Belgian recording artist of all time. )

A 1980’s Bruce Springsteen Song


We fought all our battles so long ago
out on the fields of play ,
one more home run to win
one more heroic hit and a garlanded presentation to come ,
But that was all before My Lai
that was all before we got called up ,
called up to fight all our battles
on someone else’s field ;
and we knew in our hearts
there’d never be a lucky home run
no garlanded presentation to come ,
That was all after My Lai
all after we got called up
and left behind all our memories
of those battles we fought
so long ago on the fields of play ;
With just one more home run to win ,
one more heroic hit
and a garlanded presentation to come.


The dark in all its grayness

clouds behind the shadows

hiding in the clouds ;

Uneven tempoed adrenalin flowing

downwards into tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow ,

as they creep in by stealth or sleight ;

Red yellow orange and blue sparkling

shining gleaming screens in a million homes ;

all with their excuses

hidden behind locked doors ,

shivering in unison in fear of

of what might be once they wake up ,

alone and alone again to the wailing sirens

the sharp report and echo of gunfire

in their street ,

outside their door ,

in their hallway

where a newsreporter smiles

amid the dark and all its grayness.