Henry and the Scheme of Things.
It was all part of the scheme
of things Henry thought and
even when the women looked
at him with that odd curiosity
he never failed (at least not in
the beginning) to make a score
usually with one of the females
less prettier than the ones who
left before and after taking her
for the drink and meal routine
and maybe to the cinema he took
her back to his place and poured
her a drink and put on a cool jazz
record on the hifi and set her down
on the sofa and she talked and he
watched her lips move the lipstick
red the kind his mother used to wear
and her nose was kind of pointed and
lifted up at the end and her words
went over his head he wasn't interested
in her philosophy of being or what
she had bought at the last sale he
studied her chin the way it rose and
fell as she spoke the words pouring
out and he said look Honey I know
you like to talk but how about you
and me going to bed? Oh she said I
haven't told you about the time I
went to New York and so Henry lay
back on the sofa closed his eyes
and let her talk a jazz saxophone
filling in behind her voice the record
turning her mouth opening and closing
and he thought of time passing and
remembering his mother's red lipstick
mouth scolding and after boredom had
set in deep he drifted off to sexless sleep.
poem by Terry Collett
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Related quotes
Henry and Woman Servicing
You don't want to go
With that kind of woman,
Henry's mother said.
What kind of woman
is that? Henry asked.
The kind that offer
themselves to men
who are not their
husbands, his mother
replied, sitting back
in the soft chair by
the fireplace, joining
her fingers, forming
what she used to call
her church. Henry watched
her church form of finger
forming, his eyes sliding
over his mother's dyed
hair, the grey streaks,
the nose, the thin red
painted lips. But isn't
that kind of women
providing a service?
Henry asked, walking
to the window, watching
his father mowing the
lawn, sweat on the brow,
the eyes dead looking.
Service? His mother said,
her tone icy, Service?
She repeated, that's not
service, Henry that's sin.
S.I.N. Henry raised his
eyebrows, there was in
the pocket of his pants,
a pack of fives, unused
as yet. Oh, Henry said,
Duncan Smold had this
woman in the back of
his car, he called it hard
smooching or some such
word. Henry's mother
eyed him closely, her eyes
narrowing. Then he sinned,
Henry, he sinned, she said,
pushing a hand through
her hair, her features going
red. Oh, right, Henry said,
I'll tell Duncan next time
he's in his car with some
woman in the back, that
he's sinning, Henry turned
away, he didn't want his
mother to see him grinning.
poem by Terry Collett
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Jazz and The Hobo
It was a Saturday morning
And you were 19
and you were racing along
Victoria Street having just left
Victoria Railway Station
on your way to Dobell's
Jazz Record Shop
moving quickly
through the sea
of humanity
thinking of jazz
and what record
you were going to buy
at the shop that day
imaging yourself
fingering through LP sleeves
taking a mental note
of which one
you might buy
a John Coltrane or Miles Davis
an Art Blakey or maybe
a Dizzy Gillespie
a jazz record being played
over the loudspeakers
in the shop
you mingling with others
in the crowded place
when this hobo stopped you
taking hold of your jacket gently
and said
have you got some small change
for a sandwich?
no
you replied
I haven't
and rushed on
through the crowd
fingering in your pocket
loose change
silvery coins
and his voice
in your head
as you raced along
and your conscience
nagging you
maybe the voice
of the believed in Christ
so you stopped
and turned around
and made your journey back
through the people
passing by
your fingers taking hold
of the coins
the silvery loose change
and there he was
the hobo asking others
the same question
and they too went by
shaking their heads
or saying
no sorry no change
and you took his hand
and put in the loose silver
into his open palm
and said
here go buy yourself
a sandwich or whatever
and you turned
and left looking over
your shoulder
and he stood there
staring at his palm
and the coins shining
in the morning sun
and then you looked ahead
thinking of the record shop
and the LPs and the jazz music
being played
but deep down
in some other part of you
you knew you'd given
to one who maybe
was hungry
and had unconsciously
prayed.
poem by Terry Collett
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Lipstick On Your Collar
When you left me all alone at the record hop
Told me you were goin out for a soda pop
You were gone for quite a while -- half-an-hour more
You came back and man, oh, man, this is what I saw:
Lipstick on your collar told a tale on you
Lipstick on your collar said you were untrue
Bet your bottom dollar you and I are through
cause lipstick on your collar told a tale on you! yeah!
You said it belonged to me, made me stop and think
And then I noticed yours was red; mine was baby pink
Who walked in but mary jane, lipstick all a mess?
Were you smoochin my best friend? guess the answers yes
Lipstick on your collar told a tale on you
Lipstick on your collar said you were untrue
Bet your bottom dollar you and I are through
cause lipstick on your collar told a tale on you! boy!
Told a tale on you! man!
Told a tale on you! yeah! (fade)
song performed by by Cyndi Lauper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Judy and You and Chagall
What did you think
of the Chagall postcard print
I bought you?
Judy asked as you both sat
outside the Fox Inn
I pinned it on my wall
you replied
and stared at it every time
I entered the room
thinking of you
she sipped her drink
her eyes searching you
her hair tied behind
in a ponytail
so I gathered
by your letters
she said
putting her glass
on the small wooden table
I missed you
you said
I went to London
while you were away
and saw you
in every girl I saw
even at the ballet
at the opera house
she looked at her glass
I was only away for a week
she said
it seemed a year
you said
you inhaled the cigarette
you were holding
taking in her hair
and eyes and how
her lips moved
as she spoke
Florence was fantastic
she said
I picked out
that Chagall print for you
in one of the art galleries
who did you go with?
you asked
friends
she replied
male or female?
both
she said
you inhaled the cigarette again
and thought of the first time
you kissed her
how the moonlight
shone on her face
as you moved her around
you mustn't be so jealous
she said
I have to see others
who was the guy?
Henrik
she said
you imagined her
and this Henrik
making out
in some Florence hotel
his hands touching her
I thought of you
every moment
you said
that's sad
she said
why?
you said
because no one
should think of another
that often
she sipped her drink
and looked around
at the evening sky
how was Florence?
beautiful
she said
like you
you said
I am like Shakespeare's' lily
she said
as it withers
she added
I see
you said
and you studied
her hands as they lifted
the glass to her lips
the fingers
the skin
the way they held
the glass
did you read my letters
when you got home?
you asked
yes
she said
every single one
my mother said
I must have besotted
some poor soul
and you thought
of the Chagall print
and how you had sniffed it
for traces of her scent
and remembered
your mother's words
nothing is given forever
things in this world
are only lent.
poem by Terry Collett
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No Son Of Mine
The key to my survival
was never in much doubt
the question was how I could keep sane
trying to find a way out
things were never easy for me
peace of mind was hard to find
and I needed a place where I could hide
somewhere I could call mine
I didn't think much about it
til it started happening all the time
soon I was living with the fear everyday
of what might happen at night
I couldn't stand to hear the
crying of my mother
and I rememeber when
I swore that, that would be the
last they'd see of me
and I never went home again
they say time is a healer
and now my wounds are not the same
I rang the bell with my heart in my mouth
I had to hear what he'd say
He sat me down to talk to me
he looked me straight in the eyes
he said:
You're no son, no son of mine
You're no son, no son of mine
You walked out, you left us behind
and you're no son, no son of mine
oh his words how they hurt me, I'll never forget it
and as the time, it went by, I lived to regret it
You're no son, no son of mine
but where should I go,
and what should I do
you're no son, no son of mine
but I came here for help, I came here for you
Well the years they passed slowly
I thought about him everyday
what would I do, if we passed on the street
would I keep running away
in and out of hiding places
soon I'd have to face the facts
we'd have to sit down and talk it over
and that would mean going back
they say time is a healer
and now my wounds are not the same
I rang the bell with my heart in my mouth
I had to hear what he'd say
He sat down to talk to me
he looked me straight in the eyes
he said:
You're no son of mine
song performed by by Phil Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Took The Words Right Out My Mouth
It was a hot summer night and the beach was burning
There was a fog crawling over the sand
When I listen to your heart I hear the whole world turning
I see the shooting stars
Falling through your trembling hands
You were licking your lips and your lipstick shining
I was dying just to ask for a taste
We were lying together in a silver lining
By the light of the moon
You know there's not another moment to waste
Not another moment
Not another moment to waste
You hold me so close that my knees grow weak
But my soul is flying high above the ground
I'm trying to speak but no matter what I do
I just can't seem to make any sound
And then you took the words right out of my mouth
Oh-it must have been while you were kissing me
You took the words right out of my mouth
And I swear it's true
I was just about to say I love you
And then you took the words right out of my mouth
Oh-it must have been while you were kissing me
You took the words right out of my mouth
And I swear it's true
I was just about to say I love you
Now my body is shaking like a wave on the water
And I guess that I'm beginning to grin
Oooh, we're finally alone and we can do what we want to
The night is young
And ain't no one gonna know where
No one gonna know where
No one's gonna know where you've been
You were licking your lips and your lipstick shining
I was dying just to ask for a taste
We were lying together in a silver lining
By the light of the moon
You know there's not another moment to waste
Not another moment
Not another moment to waste
And then you took the words right out of my mouth
Oh-it must have been while you were kissing me
You took the words right out of my mouth
And I swear it's true
I was just about to say I love you
And then you took the words right out of my mouth
Oh-it must have been while you were kissing me
You took the words right out of my mouth
And I swear it's true
I was just about to say I love you
song performed by by Meat Loaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Son Of Mine
Well the key to my survival
Was never in much doubt
The question was how I could keep sane
Trying to find a way out
Things were never easy for me
Peace of mind was hard to fin
And I needed a place where I could hide
Somewhere I could call mine
I didnt think much about it
Til it started happening all the time
Soon I was living with the fear everyday
Of what might happen that night
I couldnt stand to hear the
Crying of my mother
And I remember when
I swore that, that would be the
Last theyd see of me
And I never went home again
They say that time is a healer
And now my wounds are not the same
I rang the bell with my heart in my mouth
I had to hear what hed say
He sat me down to talk to me
He looked me straight in the eyes
He said:
Youre no son, youre no son of mine
Youre no son, youre no son of mine
You walked out, you left us behind
And youre no son, no son of mine
Oh, his words how they hurt me, Ill never forget it
And as the time, it went by, I lived to regret it
Youre no son, youre no son of mine
But where should I go,
And what should I do
Youre no son, youre no son of mine
But I came here for help, oh I came here for you
Well the years they passed so slowly
I thought about him everyday
What would I do, if we passed on the street
Would I keep running away
In and out of hiding places
Soon Id have to face the facts
Wed have to sit down and talk it over
And that would mean going back
They say that time is a healer
And now my wounds are not the same
I rang that bell with my heart in my mouth
I had to hear what hed say
He sat me down to talk to me
He looked me straight in the eyes
He said:
Youre no son, youre no son of mine
Youre no son, youre no son of mine
When you walked out, you left us behind
And youre no son, youre no son of mine
Oh, his words how they hurt me, Ill never forget it
And as the time, it went by, I lived to regret it
Youre no son, youre no son of mine
But where should I go and what should I do
Youre no son, youre no son of mine
But I came here for help, oh I was looking for you
Youre no son, youre no son of mine - oh
Youre no son - ha yeah, ha yeah, ha yeah, ha yeah
Youre no son, youre no son of mine - oh, oh...
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mother Once Said...
My mother once said
'Don`t open your mouth before
Elders and those with white hairs'.
My mother also said
'Don`t speak unless asked'.
My mouth asked me once,
'What is my role in your life? '
I said, 'My mother has said nothing about it'.
I added, 'You swallow and eat'.
My mouth has been quiet since.
My friends said, 'Your mother is wise'.
My father said, 'She is my strength'.
I wondered how she could be so great!
Then was born my kid brother with a big mouth.
My mother said to my kid brother too
Not to do those old things
But his mouth spoke everything
Everything that I never dared.
And his mouth swallowed, ate and spoke.
Today my mother is no more
And my father is is weak and worn out.
I still remember my mother`s words.
While my kid brother speaks out his mind
My mouth refuses to speak out its regrets....
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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I Remember When My Mouth Was Full
and i too remember when my mouth was full
i still wanted to talk
to you, there was this thought that keeps on bugging me
and it was for you,
that time, when my mouth was full, i wish i could talk
intelligibly, but how could i? when what i had was everything
kept within the four corners of my mouth,
sealed by the fence of my teeth, and the lock is in my tongue,
and my lips, they keep closing, keeping what palatable food was there.
i vomited. no, i did not.
i swallowed them all, Hook
line and sinker. i forgot that i am human.
i thought i was a fish. there were bubbles.
there was that river that swallowed me.
and it too did not talk,
now, i am talking to you. and you are listening.
then what? i have nothing to say.
i am empty.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Slow Ride
She takes her time when its time to get ready.
Always has her way.
Always leaves me waiting by the phone.
She told me more than once to take it slow,
And I said ok.
But lately Ive been sleeping all alone.
Im not breaking up inside,
Im much to proud to moan.
Baby please come home.
I feel a little lucky so I try to play it cool.
I think she laughs inside.
With the words that burn like fire in my mouth.
Try to be a man like I got the master plan, night out on the town.
Drink and dance and we can turn it out.
Whoa, maybe its how your body moves I just dont know,
Maybe its just the way you move so slow.
(phone dialing)
[hello? ]
[hi its me]
[i thought I told you not to call me here]
[i know I just really needed to talk to you]
[get a clue babe, theres nothing to talk about.]
(click!)
Ask me why I play myself play myself for a fool.
Swear I would do most anything.
Walk a mile to see her smile.
Walk a mile just to rock for a while.
Babe Im thinking with my ding-a-ling.
Whoa, Ive been doing some thinking,
Now I just dont know.
Maybe just the way you move so slow.
Maybe cuz you move so slow.
Maybe cuz you move so slow.
But sitting on the verge of tears does not become my 22 years.
You took my shame, and you took my pride,
And now you gonna take me for a slow ride.
But uh, uh. waiting, waiting on the phone.
Got the words that burn like fire in my mouth.
Come on down reggae style,
Wind up your body like a bass line wild,
Drink and dance and we can turn it out.
Whooooaaaa, Im not going crazy but I just dont know,
Maybe cuz you move so slow. (x3)
Like love,
Move nice and low.
Slowride! (x3)
song performed by by Sublime
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lipstick Vogue
Dont say you love me when its just a rumour
Dont say a word if there is any doubt.
Sometimes I think that love is just a tumour;
Youve got to cut it out.
You say youre sorry for the things that youve done.
You say youre sorry but you know you dont mean it.
I wouldnt worry. I had so much fun.
Sometimes I almost feel just like a human being
Its you
Not just another mouth in the lipstick vogue
Its you
Not just another mouth in the lipstick vogue
Oh yeah.
Get to the slot machine almost dead on arrival
Just hit me one more time with that live wire
Maybe they told you you were only a girl in a million
You say Ive got not feelings;
This is a good way to kill them.
Select the control and then insert the token
You wanna throw me away but Im not broken.
Youve got a lot to say. well Im not joking.
There are some words they dont allow to be spoken.
Sometimes I almost feel just like a human being
Its you
Not just another mouth in the lipstick vogue
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jazz radio is not very friendly to pop singers who decide to make a jazz record. But a lot of people have been. A lot of the people I've talked to like the record.
quote by Rita Coolidge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maundy Thursday and Later.
Maundy Thursday. The church
Was packed. Full of incense.
Miss Dogberry sat at the back.
Mudrift watched her. He studied her.
The way her hair hung black and long.
Her broad bridged nose. Sat next to her.
She unaware. Priest proceeded with
The service. Miss Dogberry smelt Mudrift’s
Scent passions were stirred. She sniffed
Heavy her nose breathed deep. A bell
Was tolled. Candles were lit. Mudrift felt
Love or was it lust? Moved closer his thigh
Touched her thigh. Priest’s hands were
Raised host lifted high the Crucified the
Bloodied lamb. Miss Dogberry whispered
Softly do you sense it? Mudrift nodded
His loins stiffened. The last supper the Judas
Gone the Magdalene followed him out.
My place or yours? Mudrift muttered.
Mother’s at home Dogberry said no privacy.
Mudrift took her his hand in hers. I live alone
Mudrift muttered no disturbance. His room
Was warm smelt of old smoke and beds unmade.
He offered drinks and put on jazz with lights
Turned low. She undressed slow hand holding
Out each small item. Mudrift watched her
The nakedness revealed the plump body
The broad bridged nose the soft flesh lips
The melon breasts. Is that Stan Getz?
She asked Mudrift that baritone’s his
Saxophone. Mudrift nodded his mind on
Sex not saxophones or soft jazz tones.
He kissed her lips his arms embraced her
Ample flesh. She didn’t mind his lack of hair
On balding head or bearded face rubbing
Her chin. She wanted sex and saxophones
And him within. Maundy Thursday.
The Crucified above the bed upon a cross
Nailed hands out wide eyes looking down
Head to one side. Mudrift made love the
Magdalene Miss Dogberry gazed up above.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Old Man
An aged man came into the bar from out of the cold,
he was wearing a monk’s habit as in the days of old.
‘Like death warmed up’ my mother used to say,
as he sat by the open fire on this winters day.
He never spoke, ordered a drink, or even showed his face,
he hardly moved at all and everyone gave him space.
The barman said, “You can’t sit there without buying a drink, ”
a stare of stone was the response, “okay, I’ll give you time to think.”
The place went deathly quiet as whispers could only be heard,
“Where did this monk person come from, doesn’t he look absurd? ”
The whispering stopped as the man turned and looked directly at me,
he pointed with his long skeletal finger and croaked, “You will be he.”
I gulped, and nervously asked, “What are you talking about? ”
“You’ll be leaving here with me, so let’s make our way out.”
“I’m not going anywhere, ” I said, “until I’ve finished my beer.”
“That’s fine by me, ” he said, “I’ll be waiting here.”
To humour the old man I asked where he thought we were going.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet, and by the way I’ll be doing the rowing? ”
“I’m sorry old man I’m not going anywhere, it’s much too cold outside.”
“You haven’t got it yet have you; we’re taking your last boat-ride? ”
“There are no boat-rides until spring the river’s been frozen for a week, ”
said the barman with a grin on his face that went from cheek to cheek.
“It’s not a literal boat-ride you fool it’s a journey everyone must take
and my job is to escort the travellers across the lake.”
“What is this old man on about, there are no lake’s around here,
come on everybody sup up, it’s time for another beer.”
“You are getting on my nerves barman give your mouth a rest,
or I’ll take someone with a mouth the size of his chest.”
The barman looked quite unsettled and threatened to throw him out
unless he ordered a drink, but he refused and called him a lout.
“That’s it, ” the barman said, “I’ve heard enough let’s have you outside.”
“That’s good enough for me, ” said the old man, “you’ll be taking the ride.”
At that precise moment the barman collapsed clutching his heart,
an ambulance was called and within minutes they had made a start.
The paramedics tried in vain to revive him: alas they could do no more,
but see the barman’s spirit and the old man walk through the door.
poem by Orlando Belo
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I always hated jazz guitar. I loved jazz saxophone but I hated jazz guitar. If I would buy an organ trio record I would make sure I'd buy one that did not have a guitar player on it. The sound was awful!
quote by Tom Verlaine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Invitation.
She invited Joey
to her apartment
on the second floor
and as she opened the door
her dog came
barking along the hall
Shut up Bonaparte
she said
Go away
and the mutt walked back
with its tail
between its legs
to its basket
under the table
and she ushered Joey in
and closed the door behind her
and said
What would you like to drink?
tea coffee coke beer?
Coke will be fine
he said
and she told him
to go sit in the lounge
and once he sat down
he looked around the room
and on the small table
by the sofa where he sat
was a photograph of her
and her husband
taken on their wedding day
she dressed in white
and smiling
and he in a black suit
like a hit man
in a mobster movie
and she came in
with his coke
and set it on the table
by the sofa
and then went out again
swaying her behind
which made him smile
then she was back
with a tall glass
of white wine
and she set it down
on the table beside him
and sat down
and began talking
about the night
he had met her
and her husband
in the bar in town
and how she had invited
him over to meet her husband
and he had bought them
both a drink
and while her husband
talked to his friend
she had flirted with him
and made him laugh
and how after that
they'd all meet
on Friday evenings
in the same bar
and her husband
had invited him
to their place
to play chess
and he remembered
how he used to play chess
holding off letting
her husband win
so he could stay longer
and see her more often
and then she leaned over
to get her drink
and she put one hand
on his thigh
and reached over
for her wine
and he smelt her scent
and the brush of her hair
as she leaned over him
and having her glass
she leaned back
her hand still resting
on his thigh
and that look of mischief
burning in her eye.
poem by Terry Collett
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Fat Dame in Maine.
You know the fat dame in Maine
Whose husband used to carry a
Gun for the Mob until they banged
Him up for shooting some guy in
The head? Well she rang Eddie the
Other night and said why don’t you
Come over and spend a little time
With me? And Eddie said sorry Honey
But I’m washing my hair then I’m sitting
Down with a JD and going to listen to
Some jazz and maybe get in a take away
And so the fat dame said ok then I’ll
Come over to you and dry your hair
And share the JD and bring a pizza and
Snuggle up close and listen to some jazz
And maybe later we can hit the sack and
Make some hot sex and dig deep into each
Other so Eddie said hang on there Babe
I’ve just now remembered my mother’s
Coming to see my new pad and I’m taking
Her for a bite to eat and maybe take in a
Movie ok the fat dame said then I‘ll stay
Home and drink my booze and watch the
Late night TV and eat some chocs and sit
Sad so well the next day they found her in
Her bathtub throat cut lying in water dead.
poem by Terry Collett
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Back To Insomnia
back to sleeplessness
i come to you, and we talk a lot till morning
no coffee or smoke, just plain talking
and i have lots of things to share with you
my lost boyhood
so much time has been wasted on so many preparations
what father wanted what pleased mother
what made grandpa proud
and things too personal that to you i could only tell
how i wish i can go back to bed and have a nice sleep till noon
but i am simply a kind of a sleepless man wanting to talk to you
and here you are
wanting what i am and listening
too much interest in what i am saying and what i have to say
this loneliness
and guilt and
this wish for death
i could tell you like me, but how can i ever hold you
you are around me, words and words, and images and empty spaces
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Wonderful Woman
A good talk is so up lifting
Taking one away from drifting
No thinking of if-ing
Just a good talk
One that make you want to walk
But not stalk...
One that take you back in years
Remembering your young tears and fears.
The laughter of childhood...
Damn! a good talk is so good.
Filling your heart with warmth
Putting dreams out of place...
Adding to your world lace...
And not haste.
A good talk and the world stands still...
What a thrill...
taking away ones ills...
Forgetting about ones pills...
Damn! what a good talk will do for you.
Opening up things within...
That you re-live again...
That good talk is with a woman.
A woman you enjoy...
A good talk taking from toy of being a boy.
The things a good woman is capable of...
Without making love.
So I thank the good LORD above...
For speech...
And what a good woman can teach.
All in a good talk...
A conversation without a face...
But on the over side woman.
A woman with grace.
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jazz night dream
Jazz night blue light
Some Joe's hazy bliss
Our first crazy kiss
As cool sounds drift out to the street.
Our eyes make love whenever they meet.
Your hand that rests in mine
That sax, both chill my spine.
Jazz night two wilting flowers
Smooch in the wee small hours
That great Miles Davies number
Rescues us from slumber.
Two cool cats on the town
Badder than Leeroy Briwn.
No reason for one more drink
No reason for us to think.
Jazz night starlight gives way to a misty dawn
Is this where the blues were born?
Where purest hearts were torn
And the warmth of Ella's voice
Then our lips touch like a feather
Now our hearts just have no choice
Guess we're in for stormy weather.
Jazz night, blue light
Will stay inside our head
We'll lay in love in bed with secret words all said.
Wrapped in rapture, then calm- our satiated bliss
The coolest night of charm
Could only end like this.
poem by Kevin East
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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