The Geez by Nii Parkes (little red riding hood read aloud txt) 📕

b-

side that holds its breath. Trouble brewing.

There’s nothing random about rain;

It clears the sky’s throat for the sun’s shrill

voice; the white hanky is for black sweat.

They’ll all laugh when I say it, whisper

as though I’m making whoopee with Communist

ideals. They’ll laugh like they laughed

when Louis appeared coal-sketched on screen,

years before he lifted the smoke and called

Eisenhower a spade, said let’s call the whole

Soviet thing off, as sweetly as he sang that song

with Ella ___ and there’s silence where the applause

should be; because it’s OK when the needle hits

the dark flesh of wax and causes blue screams,

but when the tip hits the dark flesh of a woman

and she wails for justice; shooting off ideas

as she reloads stimulants, suddenly music is

treble trouble. And everybody knows

that the calm comes before the clouds…

There’s nothing random about rain; so blow

Louis, blow from cheek to cheek, blow

under a blanket of blue until you get a kick

from a laughing Ella and switch the tone

so swift // so hot // so dark

that the only bright thing will be the spotlight

of struggle illuminating a girl in Baltimore,

learning as time goes by that life isn’t a fine

romance, love, but your soul won’t desert you;

like the note can’t leave the music, like

the shadows can’t leave the darkness.

The secret is to listen; to the slow creeping

embrace of the trumpet’s protest, the percussive

defiance of the piano’s syncopation, the indrawn

breaths when the song learns the body that sings it.

Crossroad vs Blues

(or You Wouldn’t Talk About Crossroads If You Knew My Life)

“I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees

...standin’ at the crossroad, tried to flag a ride...

didn’t nobody seem to know me, babe, everybody pass me by” – Robert Johnson

Belly

I see a road growing branches, but these hands sure can swing an axe

I see a jungle of confusion, but these hands still can swing an axe

Come hell or highest water, I’ll still be on the road making tracks

I came up on Fannin’ Street, with just a guitar and walking shoes

All the halls and saloons in Bottom, with a guitar and walking shoes

(I) met ’leggers, girls and hustlers, came away singing Shreveport blues

Got mighty fine stories stranger; I don’t need to make no deals

Got a chain of chanting work songs; I don’t need to make no deals

Hand me my 12-string over yonder; I’ll show how the blues are meant to feel

It’s Huddie, Sal’s little boy, but e’erybody calls me Lead Belly

I’m promised to sweet Martha, but on the road I’m Lead Belly

Even jailers couldn’t hold me, once I made them hear me clearly.

Buddy

I picked balls before strings, so my tunes all carry weight

I started with diddly, arms strong from lifting cotton bales

Two-fifty to the two-string, all my stories carry weight

I crossed roads with my tow truck, but I never hung around

Baton Rouge to Chicago, Friendly Chap never hung around

If you needed to find me, I was where the folks was brown

I cook a mean rack of ribs; I learned that from my mama

(I) play a polka dot Strat; I do that for my mama

and I don’t need to do no deals, don’t need that type of drama

I learned the licks by listening, then plucking by ear

I’ve been playing these blues ten dozen nights a year

When streets are bare and night has fallen, I’ll still be playing right here.

Rosetta

I was told I’d see some creature; all I see is a raft

I was warned to take a preacher; all I see’s a bobbing raft

I don’t need no floating lyrics cos I was born with the craft

Had my own words since I was four; in church I made my voice strong

Had an axe since I was four; it’s how this girl got her freedom

I don’t need no outside hand, cos I build my own kingdom

Who needs a night devil when a girl’s got black magic?

Who needs a night devil when a girl’s got black magic?

Don’t it take you close to heaven when you hear my guitar lick?

I take light into the dark, I see strange things everyday

(I) take my Gibson into basements, I see strange things everyday

I rock harder than high rollers, but the blues showed me the way

Stevie

Had a mean old daddy, his hands rained pretty heavy

Had a sour-faced old man, whose palms were rough and heavy

I learned real, real quick, Stevie gotta take care of Stevie

As a boy I turned to Mama, but she was weak for his kisses

See, Mama had a strong arm, but she was weak for his kisses

A sharecropper’s girl, she sure knew what the blues is

Cos Mama wouldn’t leave him, we were caught at his crossroad

(Me) and my brother Jimmy, used guitars to find our slip road

Till spinning crossroads come for me, I’ll be on the road

When it comes down to choosing, I’m my mama’s boy

Don’t waste my time with the devil, I am my mama’s boy

She couldn’t leave Daddy’s slow hand; I use my hands for joy.

Howling Wolf

Howling, howling, but I never saw no wolf

Red Rooster rustler, I’ve been howling since my youth

But when I found the blues in Patton, I knew I’d found the truth

What’s all this racket? All this talk of Devil deals?

I stand six-foot-three, look like the Devil’s nemesis

My mama’s rejection showed me what my path was

I played Lemon, I played Rainey, played every hour I could

Sonny Boy taught me harp, Charley’s licks made my guitar smooth

(I) got dragged into the army, but still made my way to school

Drove up to Chicago, with pockets full of dough

Paid everyone I played with, never cheated a soul

If I’m not in the spotlight, ask Lillie if I made it home.

Robert Johnson

Know that song of 27? First riff on that comes from me

and I’m an endless rambler, jump on every train I see

but I ain’t never met no devil, unless they came to see me

(I) played in many hellholes, still couldn’t pay my bills

Till 100 past my birthday, gals were my only other thrill

If you take away my music, there’s nothing more to reveal

In my head I hear boogie