FOR HOWLIN’ WOLF IN HEAVEN

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I surf and click, then raise his complex shade,

the presence and the poundage of a man

who took care of business, transcending his name

along the road between White Station,

Mississippi, and the juke joints of Chicago.

 

A diminutive screen contains him,

as he expounds the meaning of the blues –

a patriarch and mason, who had grasped his letters

like thorns, until his labours found a way

through the entanglement of clauses.

 

And see him as he takes the stage

in his ample suit, his ululation rising

from its buried source, a landscape

of estrangement where his mother

sets her face against his devil’s music.

 

 

◄ The Way We Were

Chasin' the Breeze ►

Comments

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Philipos

Sun 24th May 2020 11:59

Powerfully well written piece David. Enjoyed. P 👍

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Tim Ellis

Sun 24th May 2020 10:21

A fitting tribute to a great musician!

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poemagraphic

Sun 24th May 2020 10:13

superb

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