Saturday Night at the Blue Room

#1 in a series about a special Coffee House & the special people there.

Ah, the Blue Room…

I come here to listen  

 to youth and vigor spilling out

      from inner voices that speak of vinegar and honey,

      of sulfuric acid and mercury.

 

Sweet Voodoo Child tests the waters 

      giving glimpses of the power of her words

  yet to come.

She is what gives us hope for the future, 

as delicate as the dew-shimmering webbing

     of a dragonfly’s wings,

as strong as the chainmail of the black knight,

a soul with a Kevlar vest made to fit,

  The inner visual acuity of a Lennon not dead,

          a Leary not burned out on LSD.

 

I salivate at the mere thought of new words,

    of wisdom so ancient

 it free falls from his soul

…Older Than Aztecs…

Look into his eyes, it’s there to see.

Listen to his voice, it’s easy to hear,

A prophet, he’d scoff at what I say,

 but it’s as real as this dream we live.

Only a man who’s seen beyond time

Could play the music so well

And wear that gray fedora with such grace and style.

 

 

 

 

I come here to listen to

Sweet Child of Mine

        who brings out the mother in me

      and my she-claws spring to defend.

    But she’s quite grown up, speaking of love,

her voice grown strong

   the way Women’s voices do

       when they leave prince charming's behind

sitting in a mud puddle of pig s**t, his mouth hanging open

as she saunters away.

 

Make no mistake,

None of these people need my

clipped and broken talons in their lives.

      They don’t often know it’s me there at the corner table.

I simply listen to the timbre of their souls

carried on the blue smoke of the Orchid Room

and love them for the fact

they don’t simply live, they feel in ways I recognize,

in ways I respect,

 they stand at this mike to sing their songs for us all.

 

 

 

Ah, Paul’s Blue Room…

I order my drink here:

A Brass Monkey

  That’s ½ oz rum, ½ oz vodka, 4 oz orange juice in a high ball,

But the bartender knows me here, knows my drink.

He fixes it a bit stronger and longer and forgoes the optional Galliano

on nights when I come in

nodding my head in his direction.

  

 

Pardon my bare feet.

This is the place I kick off my shoes.

And let my hair fall down.

I sing my song at the mike,

   for the others who come here to listen.

 

 

Pardon my low cut crimson dress.

This is the place I show myself for who I am, it’s true.

There are no lies here for me.

    It’s far too easy for the others to feel insincerity in my words

  if they aren't stripped bare.

 

Reviews

[R J Askew]

Really like the attitude and observation of how things are in this bit:

her voice grown strong
the way Women's voices do
when they leave prince charming's behind
stting in a mud puddle of pig's s**t, his mouth hanging open
as she saunters away.

And also the last verse caught my eye. Blue Room sounds like my kind of place!

[Rain]

Ah, the Blue Room. I've been there. In fact, I was there a few minutes ago, hearing all the lyrical sounds, and feeling the layed back atmosphere, seeing the faces, and hearing the haunting jazzy voices. I was taken there my a friend I don't know, but have known all my life. This whole piece was a song, and I got to sit at the corner of the bar and hear the dreams of Billie Holliday and John Coltrane, Johnny Hartman, and Hank Williams. I love the Blue Bar. Rain..

[Pema Dorje]

humility and homage put together in a comely way... this is a wondrous write and a celebration of finding Humanity in the midst of dire miseries ... wow!

[Angelheaded Hipster]

Wow...Just wow....how this slipped past my radar is beyond me...I see myself in those words...I know so many people that hang out there in that Blue Room of yours...
This is just mind blowingly creative, visual....I feel like I could read this at least once a day, and never tire of it....

[Lydia Shutter]

I want to spend every evening there! Sounds like a place all of us would enjoy gathering! No insecurity in your words...just honesty and a bit of sensuality. Extremely well written, Mimi. Lydia

[Bubo]

This blue room sounds perfect!
Reminds me much of the jaz clubs, and the feeling of expression to just be.
Wonderful expressive piece.

[T. L. O'Neal]

This is an interesting poem, far different it seems from your other writings. I enjoyed all the references to different things and people in this to illustrate what you were saying. It added a lot of color to the piece. T

[Blue Bard]

to youth and vigor spilling out

from inner voices that speak of vinegar and honey,

of sulfuric acid and mercury.

Your poem evokes the experience of this place with accuracy and style. Everyone needs a Blue Room and isn't that what this about, a place where we can strip bear our words and ourselves. You have taken a personal experience and connected the reader with their own needs and longings. To tap that universal note is a true gift.

[Emily B]

Oh, my! I salivate at the mere thought of new words,

When I'm not here at the cafe, can I come to the Blue Room? Someday when my words are stripped bare?