Lesson in song preludes ̶ though youth file phoning couldn't
care less these days: the plug swipe send device delivers
content straight into your stream; heads nod, foot taps so old.
He'd pull the vinyl from its sleeve with love rag polish
the voice key mastering. His finder's code: to keep
the treasure ̶ for as long as ̶ glean pristine.
Band width on turntable, the lever cue; the needle's first nut
crackling touch; and this insight: Now while Sinatra's busy
entertaining, here's how Ray Charles serves from his line
toss dark.
One skip, one wobble ̶ wave signal ruined, the record shelved.
No scruffier corner of the globe: the sun and arch of Georgetown
after noons ̶ the fun scrub prep root universe we made and played,
his studio breaks the notes consumed.
The life in those days; our wakefulness.
What track list impulse frequency link in like that?
Some sounds some times
like rivers teem meander ship fit coast
land bound. As bow wings beat sea lanes release great white
winds dare you beam ̶ untied unchartered ̶ Tide quavers trace
how long far gone; hand lift cheer which way.
– W.W.
FORCE RIPE
A tree does not surrender its fruit
until it is ripe
nor an egg a chick until its wing is
sharp as a beak
nor a bird her nestlings until she is sure
they can fly
nor a jeweler issue diamonds unless
they are clear.
But an impatient poet aborts his
labour's nuggets
by tossing them off while they are still
crude, dull and earthbound
like seeds too blind to filter light, too green
to green become.
(from "Within The Wind" © by Brian Chan)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 