Category: Adrian Green

Drifting on a tide from long ago, They swing at anchor silently Wreathed in early morning mist, Like ghosts grown mellow with antiquity. With names…

Not blues in twelve but there is joy and pink champagne, the maker’s music trading eights in syncopated synergy from Dixieland to Rock ‘n’ Roll,…

There are no lies in the morning no cheating of age an illusion of eye smoothing skin over bone. No portrait hidden away becoming skeletal…

New moon on the lake. Your voice and the nightingale serenade springtime. Full moon on the lake. Your voice and the waterbirds celebrate summer. Old…

in the soft jazz and midnight hour your eyes are dancing close to mine a sway of hips, a touch of lips while on the…