tagNon-Erotic PoetryBrother Blue

Brother Blue

byRisiaSkye©

Sixty years of that life, just playin' hard--
went from tailfins and ducktails, baby,
right up through electric cars.
From dive bars down in the Delta
rose the Grandfather Superstar.
The years go quick and the scene has changed,
but the Mississippi poet-preacher's blues?
Well, they always stay the same.

Wanna hear that church-house organ,
feel those mean-woman blues,
backed up by howls of brass and steel
that still speak the hardest truth.

When the organ sings and the pipes are true,
he don't limp through no lazy-man's jive,
but keeps that packed house rockin'
and those Old School blues alive.
The weathered pipes bleed melody,
richer tones than the funkiest soul;
those black eyes seen the world (twice over)
but this prophet's tales ain't yet all told.

Wanna hear that church-house organ,
feel those mean-woman blues,
backed up by howls of brass and steel
that still speak the hardest truth.

A roamin' song-man teacher, touched by the divine,
still just lookin' (after all these years)
for a little peace of mind.
Velvet midnight miracle, heaven learned to sing;
and the sky crashes down on all of us
when he cuts loose on Lucille's strings.
It's a chorus of furious angels,
delivered by grace of the King.

Wanna hear that church-house organ,
feel those mean-woman blues,
backed up by howls of brass and steel
that only speak the hardest truth.

The whole house is enraptured (even fools like me),
vibin' with the echoes of a guitar elegy
from a walkin' talkin' preacher, speaking history.
Stepped right off those cotton fields, baby,
to sit back down on the throne of glory.
And when time itself fades to hazy memory,
only then will the heavens finally reclaim
their blues-man prodigy.



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