Tuesday, October 7, 2008

The Lost Poems Vol. 2 (click here to listen)


Coming at yr ear holes right now we have Vol. 2 of the "Lost Poems" series. This recording features the fancy flying fingers of Chris Daily, solo piano improv. Dig!

text:

the lost poems of John Johnson

1.

I had visions as a child,

you see,

that’s why I need

to write about rollercoasters

and candy shops.

girls who’ve lost

their sense.

girls who have no sense at all.

that is about it.

right now I’m sitting in a boring motel room and dreaming.

I dream of the great

hidden

monsters

in clothing shops who eat tree bark and collect

dust

collect

dust.



2.

when I have begun to reach out

from

beyond the white bricks

of

my home

I know I have

brass bells in the attic

of my

grandparents’ old home

and they ring

ring

for us.

someone I met a while

ago

with tall boots

gave me some advice:

she

said

toss away your old clothes when you’re feeling bad

and

go get some new ones.



3.

nobody I ever loved

had

seashells,

maybe empty bottles,

but not a free bunch of sand clumped together

in an envelope

mailed to themselves.

maybe I never grew up on the sea,

maybe that’s

it.

I never had wind around a gull’s

beak for

a best friend.

I did grow up near windmills and near

sawdust.

I grew up with

reeds and bunches of dead leaves.

my childhood

best of all books

is flat and superior.



4.

a piano piece

I once

wrote

for free for a song for a woman

went something like

la dee da

dee dum

du du dun

and the cloying hands of the angels

and

the drip of the waterfall

and pretty spectacles.

but it didn’t get me very far;

some

dust and some

flat tires in the

presence

of old brick buildings

long dead

and

long forgotten.



5.

my mother told

me

the last thing I could do

would

be large and black and

terrible

thunderstorms.

terrible like the first word I ever uttered.

forget me nots.

nobody I ever loved had

white shoes and

a green

dress

and cinnamon.

but that’s okay.

it’s a great life to be the bedspread,

the burgundy

carpet,

the old lifeless stalk of bamboo in the neighbor’s

yard.

oh guns of the old town,

shoot

me a million miles into space

I can’t believe.



6.

I feel

as if I don’t

own

a thing.

my

flesh.

my bones.

the dreams and the drift

of

good times

in the light of lean days

of no

one

on time.

all alone in the desert the

last

of

god’s children will scream

of

the time they were loved

and

they

will be more beautiful than

ever.



7.

if I die in white stripes

I will be better

than

the night

of loose vagabond cars

careening

over empty yards.

my neighbor once shot a dove

with

a tiny rifle.

it was a beautiful plummet

into

the hard earth.

white white

feather

cast out everywhere.



8.

at the party

with

the gentleman gazing

upon

a woman

he

once knew

is not laughter.

laughter is the reticence

in

her eye as

she sips white champagne

and

unravels her laced shoes

and

runs into the coat closet

with kisses.

6 comments:

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Chris S said...

Holy toledo. Ghost jazz strikes again. And apparently somebody really wants to sell a bulldozer/loader/excavator/juicer/crapper.
Okay; Jeff, Chris: awesome job. Love
the piano and all the adventures it takes in the five minute landscape of John Johnson's Boho words.

Chris Daily said...

thanks. it was all good fun to listen to and record. what can i say? we do excellent work.