Schinnery Sundays

The Man under the red light,
Sings The Blues with delight.
The man's cap sits low over his eyes,
The words that spills from his lips are wise.
Rhythmically his fingers strum guitar strings,
Lyrics so raw, it speaks the truth of things.
The man under the red light,
Sings The Blues with delight.
Tap tap tap & his foot keeps the tempo,
His name is Ray, didn't you get the memo?
His voice is passionately raspy
His voice is sensually sassy
The man's cap sits low over his eyes,
The words that spill from his lips are  wise.
My soul finally fells well fed,
as Ray' chuckle lingers in my head.


  * A Poem for "The Ultimate Storyteller" of Blues