Todd Moore ‘play it’ and Buddy Morrow’s ‘Richard Diamond’ plus Todd Moore ‘judy christopher’ from The Central Avenue Rundown Jazz Radio Show May, 14, Twenty-O-nine — host: Mark Weber on KUNM
Category Archives: poems by todd moore
the central avenue rundown jazz radio show
Hotfood Lady & Joe Friday
Todd Moore ‘cherokee’ LIVE in Studio and Henry Mancini ‘Brief and Breezy’
Todd Moore ‘scalo’ and Mundell Lowe ‘Riff Blues’ from february 1959
are just a few examples of Mark Weber’s Jazz Radio Show, May 14, Twenty-O-nine at KUNM. Thanks to Mark Weber for sending me this ‘jewel’ with 40 tracks of Todd Moore’s Jazz poems and the music of Frank Morgan, Johnny Gregory & His Orchestra ‘Echo Four-Two’, John Trentacosta Straight UP, Zoot Sims, Lucky Thompson, Frank Strozier, Cal Tjader, Lalo Shifrin, Buddy Morrow and Michael Anthony.
Filed under poems by todd moore
burning the…
burning the
crow
folsom shot
w/the 45
auto the
recoil made
his right
hand dance
across a
dry light
ning sky
then he
splashed
the wings
w/lighter
fluid &
got a hot
fire going
before
sitting cross
legged in
the weeds
i love the
way the
fire pops
its guts
folsom sd
it’s the
last time
the crow
gets to
sing
Filed under poems by todd moore
dillinger was…
dillinger was
holding the
wooden
gun when
he got in
the car
billie turned
to him &
sd you
promised
to give
that to
me i don’t
remember
saying that
dillinger sd
besides
it’s my
good luck
charm i’ll
give you a
hundred
bucks for
it dillinger
kissed the
wooden gun
barrel sd
not for sale
baby see
this is the
gun that i
dream w/
Filed under poems by todd moore
parker shot…
…after an original illustration by Jean-Claude Claeys
parker shot
the dog
first not
because
the dog
was fast
w/a gun
but be
cause it
felt good
to see
what rico
wd do
he fum
bled for
his auto
matic
while
parker
blew
the top
of rico’s
head off
it looked
like fake
hair lif
ting off
his skull
Filed under poems by todd moore
we cut…
we cut
thru the
railyard
& headed
straight
for the
river bridge
where we
stopped
in the
middle
my old
man sd
you gotta
be my
eyes &
took the
38 out
of his
how much
you getting
paid to
dump it
i sd 50
he replied
look at it
he sd his
spider
hands
crawling
all over it
a real 38
smith &
wesson
murder &
class he
sd murder
& class
then let
it go into
the river
Filed under poems by todd moore
how come…
how come
you talk
so much
abt blind
whiskey
& bullet
love i
asked
my old
man took
a hit of
beam &
sd blind
whiskey
will fuck
you up
& you
can get
shot to
hell for
love
Filed under poems by todd moore
jack wilson…
jack wilson
took a colt
32 out of
his guitar
case &
shot willie
lee right
in the
center of
his very
white smile
then
went out
side shot
his dog
& his red
buick too
Filed under poems by todd moore
the question…
Todd Moore books/cd’s are available by clicking the toilet handle!
the question
is why do
it why
invite the
darkness
& the
murder
of poetry
in when
the job
that keeps
the lines
in play
is hustling
plates
at the
broken taco
or pouring
the drinks
at the bour
bon cafe
who cares
if the best
poetry comes
from blood
memory
a cockroach
is stuck to
the sole
of my shoe
while
death takes
a shit in
my toilet
Filed under poems by todd moore
i don’t want…
i don’t want
to write like
charles bu
kowski
writing like
bukowski
means
i gotta
wear his
face & i
gotta wear
his meat
& i don’t
want to
wear a
dead man’s
face or
meat i
don’t want
to write
like charles
bukowski
& i don’t
want to
write like
hunter s
thompson
writing like
thompson
means i
gotta do
his fucked
up brand
of crazy
& even tho
i very much
admire the
way that
crazy danced
all thru
his blood i
don’t want
to write
like hunter
s thompson
& i don’t
want to
write like
cormac
mccarthy
as much as
i love blood
meridian i
hate novels
reading them
gives me
the shits i’d
rather write
a poem abt
murder in
the way that
only murder
can fall in
love w/
murder
i don’t want
to write in
the glorious
texan grunge
of american
shakespearian
chaw stinking
scalphunters
jacking off
into skull
caps on the
mexican border
& some
days i
stagger out
of bed go
to the
mirror &
say are you
still here
& then a
demon
dressed up
as dillinger
steps out
of the sha
dows taps
me on the
shoulder
w/a machine
gun barrel
& sez
don’t fuck
w/me amigo
just start
laying that
todd moore
line down on
the page
& i give him
a long
loving ex
tended finger
& start the
poem going
again
Filed under poems by todd moore
