downtown club
sound of a sax stabs 

the neon glow

                           - JW, 5-24-14

 blue dusk --

 faint memories drift

 in a tenor jive

                  - JW, 5-12-13

Haiku art = haiga

It’s incredibly rewarding to know that something I wrote moved someone. My artist buddy, Matty Cipov, was taken by a throw away haiku that never made it into the art-haiku broadside we collaborated on back in 2007-2008 (That Smirking Face). It stuck with him and here is a brand spanking new, absolutely incredible drawing Matt created to accompany my haiku:

mysteries

tangled within

her dark hair

The haiga is available through Matt’s online shop.

peering down
with a century of smug
stone gargoyles
                         - JW, 10-3-12

red --
the prominent role
in one life
                 - JW, 8-16-12

    jazz club --

my cognac snifter fills

with lost bop

           - JW, 6-30-12

   city still life --

the flower planter

tethered to a wall

           - JW, 6-6-12

shadows

darken into menace

stone gargoyle
        - JW, 5-3-12

The Doorman's Diary 5.12.12

The jazz club gets its share of mismatched couples. A 30-something guy wearing what I refer to as a bubba cap (baseball cap typically with plastic mesh back and industrial or agricultural company logo above the curved bill) worn backwards and a plaid flannel workshirt, accompanied by a well-dressed, attractive young woman presented themselves at the door. They settled at a table near the band and enjoyed the first set. During the break they were leaving and bubba-hat-dude said he was walking her to the car and would be back.  He returned, sat at the bar, and we got talking. He works at a drilling rig in rural Montana. A brutal lifestyle of two weeks at the site of hard, all-encompassing work and then two weeks off. He stepped outside for a smoke. After a couple minutes, I stepped outside and saw a bewildered look on his face. He said the woman he was with is smart, fun to be with, and has a good job, but he won’t see her again. Said he’s 31-years-old and with being an oil roughneck there’s no way to establish a long-term relationship. Meanwhile a couple “out on a date” with their 16-year-old son, were celebrating his birthday. They said with six kids, they’ve established this date-with-mom-and-dad idea to ensure that each child gets special alone time with them. They had dinner at an Indian restaurant and then came to the jazz club because he’s learning sax and drums. I cornered the sax player between sets and he gladly talked with the young guy. The drummer acted too self-important to meet the kid. Fortunately, the drummer was cornered by the mom when he walked past and apparently agreed to bless them with his presence. I’ll bite my tongue so as to not be calling him an arrogant turd, or worse.

The Doorman's Diary 5.11.12

You know the phrase "slower than molasses?" That phrase describes the traffic at the jazz club tonight. Fridays are always iffy. It can be packed or tumbleweed dead. I stood at the open front door and watched the cyclops beam of the elevated freight train traversing our corner of the city and half expected to see a couple of rail-weary hoboes roll out of a train car and drop down to street level and wearily make their way to the door in search of a shower, can of beans, and soft earth to unroll their bedrolls. There was minimal activity outside our door which meant there wasn't much happening in the club. An irregular regular showed up, paid the cover, and was heading to his stool at the bar. I gently chided him on always leaving early to get home for his beauty sleep. He said, "Yeah, I do try to get to be bed around midnight, 'cause I need to be up early to get a call from my 91-year-old dad. He calls to let me know he’s lived through the night ... and I guess to make sure I'm still here." I thought, "You're a good man" and I think I even said it. Even though the crowd was slim, the quartet played exceptional. The tenor was playing superbly tonight and adding tasteful finesses -- which I noticed especially when they played the Eddie Harris / Les McCann classic, Cold Duck Time. Later when they were on break between sets, I mentioned that it seemed like he was stretching the musical balloon a bit. He admitted that when it’s slow, it allows everyone in the group to take risks they wouldn't normally take. I began to think, "Isn't that what good jazz is all about... someone in the group taking a risk and the others adapting to push it further or to reign them back in. No wonder I enjoy the music so much on these occasional tumbleweed nights.

  back alley walk

I sort through the conflux 

of my thoughts

                       - JW, 5-2-12

The Doorman’s Diary: 4.28.12

The jazz club was rolling Proud-Mary-slow at the start and then suddenly it seemed like Tina Turner’s legs were dancing and kicking people through the doors by the van load.  One large group clogged temporarily at the door as they searched among themselves for cash. They were all in the debit-card generation—under 30. I assured them that they could put their covers on their bar tab but they must have sensed my reluctance. I find that the government’s failure to phase out paper money in favor of coins pretty amusing since the debit / credit card will do it for sure. It started in 1971 with the big Eisenhower silver dollars and then the quarter-size Susan B. Anthony dollar and then the Sacagawea dollar and then most recently the presidential coin series. Because of budget constraints and increasing stockpiles of Sacagaweas and the president series, minting for new dollar coins was suspended on December 13, 2011. The plastic card will triumph, probably followed by retina scans, tattooed bar codes, or implanted points. The new world order. To connect with a couple sitting near the door, I mentioned that the bass player with the exaggerated Italian name had received his over-the-top name after returning from a trip to Italy. They found it amusing and said they themselves are going on a 10-day trip to Italy in three weeks. I was able to connect them with the bass player when the group broke after the first set. Serendipity is wonderful and magical… hip, hip, urrà!

he hobbles. . .

my old friend 

who is old

                       - JW, 4-23-12

2am taco truck...

a drunk steps in 

a hot-sauce splotch

                       - JW, 4-7-12

A Musical Sampler from Mazatlan, Mexico

Just like the box of Whitman’s Sampler Assorted Chocolates, the album “Mazatlan Sampler” provides an incredible collection of musical talent residing in Mazatlan, Mexico. Keeping with the theme, the album is subtitled “ear candy from Mexico’s Pacific Coast.” Each song is different from the rest, but all are very good. There are 15 songs on the CD performed by as many musicians or groups. There are a few original songs, but most are covers of old American favorites. The majority of songs are sung in English. One gets the feeling that the American expat community in Mazatlan must be vital, which makes sense since Mexico has the largest population of Americans living abroad, with the number reported to be well over one million. The song selection gives the CD a nostalgic yearning… perhaps a longing for a lost American youth? Or maybe an America that was left behind. Even the jewel case design, ala the Whitman’s Sampler box, is a tug at the past. Probably much like the warm-breeze weather of Mazatlan, this CD is best enjoyed on a summer day or night with a cerveza fria or tooling down the highway with the windows rolled down. The musicianship throughout the album is excellent. You’ll hear marimba, wah-wah, and slide guitar. And some incredible vocals. The CD is really ear candy. Click through to the Mazatlan Music Lovers Club page for information about ordering the album, which I recommend that you do. Oh, and don’t be put off by the quoted price of $120—that’s in pesos. The current conversion is a little more than $11 US.

_____

Thanks to my friends Jim & Marilyn for bringing my very own copy of the Mazatlan Sampler back from their home away from home.

post bar-close

I snarf an egg sandwich

from a gas & go

                       - JW, 3-24-12

dusty emptiness

the ifs

of my life

                       - JW, 3-1-12

day’s end

the darkness

lets itself in

                        - JW, 1-7-12

dark for hours --

someone somewhere

re-enacts his day

                        -  JW, 12-10-11

wee hour

the last taxi

arrives

            - JW, 11-30-11