Willow Lake Press
by Ernest Williamson III © 2006
The following are spoke word compositions. These works are fiction and bear no resemblance or likeness to anyone living or dead. All opinions and interpretations expressed here are entirely the authors. Copyrights are held by the respective authors.
The Selling of The Souls
Ernest Williamson III © 2006

irrespective of minced happiness
a smile splintered partially in tune
with the nice weather
unclothed sunlight cloudless skies
and yet partially colluded with problems
sandy ligaments
in feet and hands
lying to the bruises of incoming apathy
like a car accident
with blood stretched on the concrete
or a racial slur leaping from ignorant young lips
as a Christian elderly Black man drives cautiously
down the street in search for carnations for his wife
of 65 years
but what can the writer sell his observations
what can the greed of the eye effuse to others
when the writer's own inner galaxy trembles
in drifting orbit

maybe I can stare at the word STRONG
carved in this oak tree on 52nd street
south of too many confederate flags
rendering swastikas in gray shadows
or maybe I can write with two hands
and paint one sign outside of my weary house
not for sell
not for sell
The Jazz of Old Wine
Ernest Williamson III © 2006

life is a disposition dipped in mirth divided by two
annulled in blithe and despair
like our first kiss
in the middle of yesterday's November rain
with fresh pine biting with congealed blue notes while
in the residue of phony lightning storms
I'd love to hold your story
from tears to triumph in my sheet music
as I wait here on the corner of Hope Street
singing a change gone come
for twenty minutes
inside of twenty long years
and though I long for your utterance
I can still stand here
branded by these watery rainbows
near my shoes
these worn leather brown shoes.
Jazz Displacement
Ernest Williamson III © 2006

tailored liaisons
jogging along your way
so crass
I see jazz Coltrane teaching philosophy again
but he's dead I heard somebody say
I love really good news in good sounds
trumpets pullin' my vibe to strangers
makes me stand
atop waffling bar stools
Ellington's big band
joustin' hisses abound
such a shame to be tap dancin'
in these clouds
way up here
lookin' way way down
The Importance of Liquid Rainbows
Ernest Williamson III © 2006

Mother used cedar-wood window sills
to hang my clothes in Mr. Landall's mansion
2 miles south of Granny's Market
Mr. Rogers and Mr. Milton
would stand on descending concrete steps
for my brother and me
and though they were pink and old
I never saw any association of discontent in their
words I am a black person
or African American you may say
yet my friends
back then like the smell of sun dried clothes
on the ceder-wood window sills in my room
were mostly of a nice touch
a good smell in my nostrils
a silent smile
fans of universality
and to my surprise
from the common disdain
of the incivility of 1965.
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