Ray Van Horn,Jr.
Night Jazz
the moldy fig wakes at dusk,
falls in and latches on
steppin’ out in its sable zoot suit
swishing its fly, starry plume
atop its inky conk
scatting to the clambake of
the wolf’s gutbucket trumpet
the coyote’s sly sax
the thrumming bass of the bullfrog
and the beaver’s mod skins
snapping its jazzy onyx fingers to the four
beat
with a cool, crazy bop
don’t bring me down, cats
the caliginous hipster croons
blow those blue notes proper
peel me off some hot licks…smooth…
watch that clinker, daddy-o, dig?
none of that Mickey Mouse cornball drag
kill me right into the dawn, baby
yeah, that’s wild, Jack
sharp, baby, sharp
out of this world
I’m gone, man…real gone
Death of a Birdsong
I walk down the urban street
bouncing and bopping to
my private beat
a strange brew of hip hop, rock and Celtic
my confidence prompts strangers
to greet me with sad facades
sometimes covetous
as the smell of diesel and rotten food
puncture my nostrils
threatening to wreck my good mood
but I carry on proudly
and invite the pulse of the city
to guide my instep
but for a second
I nearly drop to my knees
wanting to cry
as a robin chokes in midsong
from atop its concrete perch
and falls to a blackened pavement
indifferent to its passing
just
another statistic
in a metropolis
slowly losing its resonance
the moldy fig wakes at dusk,
falls in and latches on
steppin’ out in its sable zoot suit
swishing its fly, starry plume
atop its inky conk
scatting to the clambake of
the wolf’s gutbucket trumpet
the coyote’s sly sax
the thrumming bass of the bullfrog
and the beaver’s mod skins
snapping its jazzy onyx fingers to the four
beat
with a cool, crazy bop
don’t bring me down, cats
the caliginous hipster croons
blow those blue notes proper
peel me off some hot licks…smooth…
watch that clinker, daddy-o, dig?
none of that Mickey Mouse cornball drag
kill me right into the dawn, baby
yeah, that’s wild, Jack
sharp, baby, sharp
out of this world
I’m gone, man…real gone
Death of a Birdsong
I walk down the urban street
bouncing and bopping to
my private beat
a strange brew of hip hop, rock and Celtic
my confidence prompts strangers
to greet me with sad facades
sometimes covetous
as the smell of diesel and rotten food
puncture my nostrils
threatening to wreck my good mood
but I carry on proudly
and invite the pulse of the city
to guide my instep
but for a second
I nearly drop to my knees
wanting to cry
as a robin chokes in midsong
from atop its concrete perch
and falls to a blackened pavement
indifferent to its passing
just
another statistic
in a metropolis
slowly losing its resonance
Ray Van Horn, Jr. is the author of
the thriller novel “Mentor” and is a
music journalist and columnist for
national magazines such as AMP,
Metal Maniacs, Pit, Impose, Angst,
Hails & Horns, Caustic Truths and
Loud Fast Rules along with
websites such as Music Dish.com,
Live4Metal.com, Pivotal Alliance.
com, Rough Edge.com and more.
Ray is a former analyst for The
Hockey Nut and has had his fiction
appear in various publications.
Five of his short stories were
collected in the Cyber Age
Adventures anthology “Playing
Solitaire.” Ray is also the winner
of Quantum Muse’s fiction contest
for 1999. Ray’s poetry has
appeared at E2K. He has
frequented the open mike poetry
scene in Maryland and has been
featured three times.”
the thriller novel “Mentor” and is a
music journalist and columnist for
national magazines such as AMP,
Metal Maniacs, Pit, Impose, Angst,
Hails & Horns, Caustic Truths and
Loud Fast Rules along with
websites such as Music Dish.com,
Live4Metal.com, Pivotal Alliance.
com, Rough Edge.com and more.
Ray is a former analyst for The
Hockey Nut and has had his fiction
appear in various publications.
Five of his short stories were
collected in the Cyber Age
Adventures anthology “Playing
Solitaire.” Ray is also the winner
of Quantum Muse’s fiction contest
for 1999. Ray’s poetry has
appeared at E2K. He has
frequented the open mike poetry
scene in Maryland and has been
featured three times.”