ROUND ABOUT MIDNIGHT
Jazz radio on a midnight kick,
Round about Midnight.
Sitting on the bed,
With a jazz type chick
Round about Midnight,
Piano laughter, in my ears,
Round about Midnight.
Stirring up laughter, dying tears,
Round about Midnight.
Soft blue voices, muted grins,
Excited voices, Father’s sins,
Round about Midnight.
Come on baby, take off your clothes,
Round about Midnight.
— Bob Kaufman (1925 – 1986), Beat poet.
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ALL THOSE SHIPS THAT NEVER SAILED
All those ships that never sailed
The ones with their seacocks open
That were scuttled in their stalls …
Today I bring them back
Huge and transitory
And let them sail
Forever.
All those flowers that you never grew—
that you wanted to grow
The ones that were plowed under
ground in the mud—
Today I bring them back
And let [...]
JAZZ CHICK
Music from her breast, vibrating
Soundseared into burnished velvet.
Silent hips deceiving fools.
Rivulets of trickling ecstacy
From the alabaster pools of Jazz
Where music cools hot souls.
Eyes more articulately silent
Than Medusa’s thousand tongues.
A bridge of eyes, consenting smiles
reveal her presence singing
Of cool remembrance, happy balls
Wrapped in swinging
Jazz
Her music…
Jazz.
— Bob Kaufman (1925 – 1986), New Orleans-born Beat Poet.
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