FOOTPRINTS

by Mary K O’Melveny

Wayne Shorter, the enigmatic, intrepid saxophonist who shaped the color and contour of modern jazz as one of its most intensely admired composers, died on Thursday in Los Angeles. He was 89. 

—The New York Times, March 2, 2023

Some people barely tiptoe

through the multiverse, if 

they ever notice it at all.

Others soar on color, line,

on rhythm, tempo, vision.

On poetry swirling like silk.

Listen to that smooth, mellow

tenor sax as he croons, spoons, 

caresses, cajoles, teases, tempts.

His roads were paved with be-bob, 

fusion, funk, hard bop, symphony,

opera, even chamber quartets. 

 

His footprints knew no limits. 

No regrets. Once you start out, 

There is no reason to stop. 

Take his lead. The weather

report is good. The route mellow.

You know some band mates — 

Art Blakey, Miles Davis, Herbie 

Hancock, Esmerelda Spalding, 

Joni Mitchell, Milton

Nascimento, Steely Dan, Carlos 

Santana, Terri Lyne Carrington. 

 

You know some tunes—Juju,

Nefertiti, Iphigenia, Endangered 

Species, Gaia, Speak No Evil.

We all grooved down those paths,

as he soothed our way home. 

Every note was a prompt,

every sound a clue, every tone a 

tricked out treat, every twitch 

a temptation to stop, then soar.

He is now well on his way

along enlightenment’s pathway. 

In the key of cool.

Mary K O'Melveny is a recently retired labor rights attorney who lives in Washington DC and Woodstock NY.  Her work has appeared in various print and on-line journals. Her most recent poetry collection is Dispatches From the Memory Care Museum, just out from Kelsay Books. Her first poetry chapbook A Woman of a Certain Age is available from Finishing Line Press. Mary’s poetry collection Merging Star Hypotheses was published by Finishing Line Press in January, 2020.

STIFLING HEAT

by Laura Rodley


This poem is going to cool you off
no jumping into a bathtub
full of ice cubes, no witch hazel
drenched in sheets
across your chest, no rapid
heartbeat of starlings, your heart
beating, siphoning air,
it is this poem rubbing
the dripping condensation
of its long green bottle
against your forehead,
gurgling down your throat
when thirsty; you tip the poem
up to drink.  It is this poem,
its ice cubes set between
your breasts, its shorts
that you are wearing, pink madras
cotton with only one slim zipper
the halter top that matches;
feel the soft cotton against
your skin, run the cool green
bottle of the poem
against your arms,
drink it, drink slowly,
make it last.


Laura Rodley’s New Verse News poem “Resurrection” appears in The Pushcart Prlze XXXVII: Best of the Small Presses (2013 edition). She was nominated twice before for the Prize as well as for Best of the Net. Her chapbook Rappelling Blue Light, a Mass Book Award nominee,  won honorable mention for the New England Poetry Society Jean Pedrick Award. Her second chapbook Your Left Front Wheel is Coming Loose was also nominated for a Mass Book Award and a L.L.Winship/Penn New England Award. Both were published by Finishing Line Press.  Co-curator of the Collected Poets Series, she teaches creative writing and works as contributing writer and photographer for the Daily Hampshire Gazette.  She edited As You Write It, A Franklin County Anthology, Volume I and Volume II.