The New Revolution Blues Poetry 21st Century

Blues Poetry; Introduction Lady Blues Jackie Ain't Know Back Door To My House Jacqueline Amos Born in Harlem, Author, Poet, Artist and R@B singer, Jacqueline surrounded her self with the exceptional expertise musicians and vocalist, she begin singing at the age of 18, trained at Medgar Evers College, Jacqueline started gigging at an early age, it prepared her for the new revolution of Blues and Jazz, her creativeness didn't stop at being a blues singer, it took her to another level of education. Jacqueline a graduate of Medgar Evers College minored and majored in Education and the Arts. When I think about the poet and Author Jacqueline Amos, I often reflect on the times of Cotton Club Comes To Harlem with Lady Blues, Billy Holiday, the reflection sends a light of the times of the 1940's, the horns that plays from the direct spirit of Blues, and the sounds of the pass, which reverts through the mike of Lady Blues Jackie, this vibrant cry, take me to the cotton club brings the applauds from the audience, Jacqueline not only a literarily writer but a composer who gets down and dirty at times, singing the flows of which she refer to her ancestors, the cries from the mike, my mama done told me, I was a country girl, but I took a chance on the silver meter to release my pain, through this heroic symposium, of blues and poetic compositions she let the world feel the revolution of composition I'se Country Girl deep from the south pick plenty of cotton and milked many cows, she goes into a trans as she sings, release my spirit look out; here comes the spirit that lives within, Billy holiday presents, she sings as the sweat surrounds the implementation of her brow, play those down home blues she cries at the keyboard, let me step out my form, and take on the presence of the ancestors who brought me to a new form of blues. The southern blues is the style of lady blues; her dynamic style portrays Billy Holliday, Bessie Smith, Etta James, Earthier Kit," My man Doesn't Love Me" Billy Holiday, and many exceptional lady blues singers, her high light is differently original, with that misty forte of blues aesthetics " Many say she is the resurrection of the past. Lady blues Jackie compose on the rhythm of the bars of notes; the melody instantly forms a historic symphony of blues. Lady Blues portray the 40's in her conservatory of originals, feeling the soul that lives within her, her vocal style at times resemble Bessie Smith, and many masters of the blues. Lady Blues also creates a forum the back door blues. Jacqueline mentor's were Billy Holiday, Bessie Smith, Lenis Guess, B.B King, many celebrities of blues, Jacqueline states I lived around the components of blues, simplified through the history of my family genes, I take on a new preservation of modern blues and jazz, with a touch of honey that sticks to my ribs, the legends that lives through me, The symposium preceded a performance of blues related to the compositions of her poetry, the pain of pleasure one might say sadistic in the format of relevance, the association of pain and pleasure, Lady Blues Jackie have been performing since the age of 19 relating to the stories of her family tree, I think she is genuinely please to release the sounds that are instill through birth, Jacqueline speaks of her auntie Louise Corley, she perform in the clubs of Harlem, which she has now passed on, she speaks of the time when she watched her auntie perform for her family, hoping that one day she could do the same, her father a southern a lover of music as well as her mother, it runs through the genes, as well as her sister, but the voices of originality presents the blues as she was back in the 1940's as well as her poetic compositions, the rebirth of Harriet Tubman as wells Langston Hughes, Mama Sings the Blues A Night in Harlem Black gals with the greasy curl; High top shoes, black man, with The platted suits, gold cuffs With shinning puffs, Black gal's With Flower in the hair, Black man, culture vise; Black power pride, sweet Black jazz, with the taste Of Louie Armstrong; Black man with the swinging Watch, laid out With the conquer lean hair; Flashing lights, cigarettes that Linger in the air, Playing that black jazz Feathers in the derby hats; Cotton club comes to Harlem; Play that black jazz Billie holiday sings My man don't love me Any more, as the horns Play, singing mama he Don't feel my pain. Bill Robinson smiling, Blues dancing, Josephine, royal, Black girl flowing with her dance, Big bosom black gal, as she sings the down home blues. Black gals dancing The camels walk with fingers pointing in the air; Charleston let mama sing; The black girls throw their legs In the air, playing that blues Come on down with the Mix, mama done song that Black jazz, sweet incenses; lets Get it own down here. Sweet smells of Harlem Through The Back Door Aren't al dat, boys on the band stand; boy play that horn, waiting for de'nit to come, down with black boy blues, playing for the white folks, back door to the stage front, jazz my mind as I take a blow, white powder enhance my flow,, high top pants, striped jacket, collar turned up so, greasy hair, conquer lean, white folks , white table cloths, playing in the house, where the white folks go. Play that jazz, play that jazz, play the blues, on de' keyboard. -- Jacqueline Amos In the African American struggles during civil rights, musicians were treated as the back door help, it was hard to subside to the segregation and entertaining those, who hated you for the color of your skin, not only it was in human, to have to walk through the back door, nevertheless by those who required your labor, many who got high to ease the inner pain, and to continue to perform under all odds. Today whites and blacks play side by side, over coming the odds of hatred. Today we celebrate the new revolution of entertainment and circle ourselves with the positive and appreciation of Jazz and Blues. On The D Train Sitting on the D train flicking my joint, in your mummies roots are you their clutching my survival? On a planet call zombie's block. Standing before me in the sunset, all your glory in your form in the mist of the tunnel, hookers out for the night, public transportation riding among the rats of a new revolution. Blowing my horn, city lights dialects covered up in boxes, train smelling like a pissed out toilet, riding on the d train, holding my wallet close to my heart. Underground railroad playing the moody mood blues, junkies waking up, and falling the sleep at the same time, black boy play those drums, as the hooded patrol establishment, monitoring the trains of the hooded mask. Bit--s with horse hair hanging down their back, faces made up as clowns, dresses up their ass, black dollops in the image of painted faces, and white masks smelling of dead fish as you pass there way, give me twenty dollars I will be your fantasy for to night. Give me that down home corn liquor; Straight from my daddy's patch; Give me some of that down home corn liquor Straight from my daddies patch. When I finish singing the blues Daddy got to make a brand new batch I m a country girl down from the woods Watch me work. Mama said girl you are to young to leave this place I said mama I will be out here when the rooster crows. Give me some of that down home corn liquor I hear de' blues in my mind, tapping my feet trying to get to the A train one more time, play that moody blues, black boy , play it until the chow chow arrive. Don't sleep if you do your goods will become the rat that sniffs through the night, Finding my way to the Harlem light, standing at the edge of the plight, Bombarded by the underground lights. The grime stuck to my mind, it was no man's grime but death and human trans of discuss, the smell of cunt, the cigar stick, to plunge it in the darken holes of the toxin birth cannel of rotten fish, the rubber band wore out as the black rivers turn to dust. I stand tall as the monkey on my back; take me for a ride. The pimp man stands and watch the whores of the night, lying back as white powder release me my mind, and the sweat races to another level call world, and the music blasting, I think I went to hell, waiting to catch the A train on my way back, rats a running up the rail way track, trying to figure out who is the man and who is the rat. Riding on the D train my visions Harlem, and Hells of the crowded tunnels, dirty rivers, bridges clanking; The smell of dead life, hotels in the hole in the walls, whores on the stroll, sugar daddy play that song for me, razor-sharp artifacts passing into the past, dodge the bullet that just went off, the hooded regime bang bang, give me what you got. Dope man on the Conner of the darken walls, tunnel of darkness children of the night. We're blessed said the grand reaper, sitting on the bench, with a joint in his hand, waiting for the next victim, to subside his death, divagation inner city guide by the white powder, hairy naked accomplishment bodies forming, into cages of rages, Growing into mad black formability screaming in a straightjacket; That you're losing the game of the doctors of insanity, I'm with you grand reaper where you must feel very strange I'm with you grand reaper where you imitate the shade of my mother and stripped my father of his in heritage, I'm with you grand reaper where you've murdered your visions of change and any hope of survival on the D train. I'm with you in the marks men pen, where you laugh at this invisible man, who do you serve grand reaper, smoking the ganja awaiting the next train.