Nikia Chaney
Thomas White
An Echo
nothing like the pain
a pain that comforts
a pain that brings forth new life
nothing like the scream of a warrior advancing
the fierce determination to make right what is wrong in the world
a scream in search of itself
a scream which is but a feint echo of what is real
what is far away
what is close
the drill
the drill is a dance seeking the perfect music
it is movement perfecting the dance
it is Her shadow and His pleasure
it is a bridge across the creeks and rivers
that separate the ordinary from the extraordinary
There is noting like the pain
nothing like the intoxication of mad men
who discover they are brothers
and end the war
Nothing like the warrior's shout
when a child is born
the woman is safe from harm
or her man returns home from
absence of tender moments together
energy spun by the magic of dancers dancing
listen to the wind blow through caverns
of deep contemplation
find spring before it becomes summer
stand in between
find the ocean before it touches the shore
sand in between
find the calm before it becomes a storm
and stand in between
find truth before it becomes fiction
and strike at the heart
of things
then
the warrior becomes a sage
and the pain
it is still there
it is a reminder
of the need for tenderness
and compassion
it is our longing to be free
nothing like the pain
a pain that comforts
a pain that brings forth new life
nothing like the scream of a warrior advancing
the fierce determination to make right what is wrong in the world
a scream in search of itself
a scream which is but a feint echo of what is real
what is far away
what is close
the drill
the drill is a dance seeking the perfect music
it is movement perfecting the dance
it is Her shadow and His pleasure
it is a bridge across the creeks and rivers
that separate the ordinary from the extraordinary
There is noting like the pain
nothing like the intoxication of mad men
who discover they are brothers
and end the war
Nothing like the warrior's shout
when a child is born
the woman is safe from harm
or her man returns home from
absence of tender moments together
energy spun by the magic of dancers dancing
listen to the wind blow through caverns
of deep contemplation
find spring before it becomes summer
stand in between
find the ocean before it touches the shore
sand in between
find the calm before it becomes a storm
and stand in between
find truth before it becomes fiction
and strike at the heart
of things
then
the warrior becomes a sage
and the pain
it is still there
it is a reminder
of the need for tenderness
and compassion
it is our longing to be free
(c) 2011
Eileen Carole
Sankofa Sounds
Jazz
Central Avenue Style
CHAZZ on stage
Calling to the ancients
With sounds, echoes, voices of history
Sankofa sounds of soul
Rooted in the tradition of where we have been, who we are
Griot wisdoms, utterances all can hear
And only some can understand
Tribal chants
Traditional rhythms in tongues
Lead me to the river and let me drink of knowledge
Let me commune in your song
Trible me
Shakere gourds, shaken whispers
Ancestrally connected
Wails to heaven, I am free
Proud people persevering, finding salvation in the music
A spiritual, a song of blues,
A scat overcome with so much feeling, there are no words
Still waters running deep
I come to the river and know the meaning, I know me
Kalimba tones pluck away
Calling to my heart, ringing tones of peace
I can hear CHAZZ and I am drawn to his stage
Worshiper at his feet
His griot sounds in my psyche
Sankofa!
Jazz
Central Avenue Style
CHAZZ on stage
Calling to the ancients
With sounds, echoes, voices of history
Sankofa sounds of soul
Rooted in the tradition of where we have been, who we are
Griot wisdoms, utterances all can hear
And only some can understand
Tribal chants
Traditional rhythms in tongues
Lead me to the river and let me drink of knowledge
Let me commune in your song
Trible me
Shakere gourds, shaken whispers
Ancestrally connected
Wails to heaven, I am free
Proud people persevering, finding salvation in the music
A spiritual, a song of blues,
A scat overcome with so much feeling, there are no words
Still waters running deep
I come to the river and know the meaning, I know me
Kalimba tones pluck away
Calling to my heart, ringing tones of peace
I can hear CHAZZ and I am drawn to his stage
Worshiper at his feet
His griot sounds in my psyche
Sankofa!
(c) 2004
Sharon Smith-Knight
He Speaks Rhythms
He speaks rhythms,
Channels the ancestors secrets
With his drums
Syncopates ancient thoughts with modem schemes
He captures every poet's dream: to make his or her poems
live and breathe
And most poets believe that performing with CHAZZ
enhances their chances of being good, because CHAZZ plays
percussion the way he should
He listens to the poet's verses, and he rehearses
To make sure he has the right beat or sound
And that's why poets from all around
The poetry community
Respect his talent and diversity
And claim him exclusively
Poetry is his priority
He speaks rhythms,
Channels the ancestor's secrets
With his drums
(c) 2003
Larry Jaffe
Drummer's Soul
his hands were masterpieces
of soul's desire
they crisscrossed through the mayhem
traveling from one thought to another
they created staccato livings
for those driven towards hell
they created serenity for those heaven bent
they were the hands of the drummer
worn without hypocrisy
just the simple beats that
he used to earn his living
his bride of joy
his pride of joy
tapping out the future of a generation
drums buttress the soul
in a fusillade of beats
not mechanically driven
but arranged from the heart
drums cry out for destiny
not history
his drummer's hands
callused with beat
his drummer's heart
pumping rhythm through the veins
of the universe
his drummer's soul
bringing mankind together
(c) 1998