Midnight, I’ve spent another lonely day, thinkin’ of you
Midnight, tomorrow is on it’s way, empty and blue
I’m so lonely, so lonely at midnight for you.
Midnight, oh what a lonely time to weep, I ought to know
Midnight, I should have been fast asleep hours ago
Still I’m crying, I’m crying ’cause I miss you so
Midnight, I lie in bed awake and stare at nothing at all
Wonderin’, wonderin’ why you don’t care, wishing you’d call
Tears keep flowing like drops from a waterfall
MIdnight was composed by Boudleaux Bryant & Chet Atkins. It is said that this was the last song Hank Williams sang before he died.
Howard M. Biggs (October 13, 1916 – November 24, 1999) was an American pianist, songwriter, and arranger. He is noted for his involvement with doo-wop, and various styles, including jazz. He was influential in the first days of rock and roll as an arranger. There seems to be no information about the singer, Joe Costa. Perhaps, readers may provide some background.
I saw you Coco Blue, on the dance floor with your silver sunglasses, twisting the air between the melody and the beat. You died, then The Crowd gathered round, snapping shots & chatter, as they tried to capture the true shade of Coco Blue, while all the time arguing over whether your shoes were red or purple; even then your feet shouted out one final message to your giant magenta macaw in the Other Room, such a pretty bird.
Oh what a night for things
said and unsaid, other doors –
fly high big macaw.
Night vision photos
capture the movement between –
a dance floor heartbeat………….
Another ambiguous two sentence mystery narrative to go with the first three Night Vision compositions.Turned it into haibun by concluding with haiku stanzas. Added the music for the haunting quality – was not able to find a translation, but it is that uncertainty that fits the post.
We were a small example.
Sea teeth in people are found –
there in their smiles.
Male sleep divided
the descent of heritage.
That is not this boy.
The father knows, of course, as the son tries to mask discomfort with a pre-teen attempt at masculine confidence in the face of a questionable culture’s facade. The girls maintain a pose of feminine defiance constructed out of the resignation that girlish wiles and intellectual curiosity must tread a democracy that is not equal – curiously, none of them mentioned what they had buried there, in with the potted plants.
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