Roots Music by Eve West Bessier 

artwork by Claude Smith

2002, 24 pages



Zoo You, Boogaloo

(listening to “Freddy Freeloader” by Miles Davis)



Rhinos rubbin’ aphrodisiac horns, scopin’ the score.

Giraffes seekin’ more, necks cranked to check out the scene

between high branches of staccato, clipped notes of tonal tease.

The chimpanzees, with ease, please themselves with eucalyptus

leaves stolen from the pandas in pen ten, grinning like Zen,

and then some.  With the pink flamingoes, there goes the

neighborhood.  Splashes of cobalt in the zebra stall, striped

is all the hype, snipe some zig and zag on your rag and keep

the julep clippin’ on pursed lips and cheeks as big as Dizzy’s.

Hip trippin’ move into the sax groove that taps the hooves of

antelopes and makes the elephants trumpet along with the song.

The lizards in their glass houses, throwing no stones, cool

blooded zone, slithering like an eclipse of control and zippin’

to the electric buzz, the hum of the tropical fish in their bubble.

Stunned stingrays and sharks roamin’ like vacuum hoses,

their non-noses over the turf searchin’ for snacks and attackin’

the backs of fellow finned fanatics.  In the attics of the club,

those chimpanzees trapeze to please the crowd, loud yawps

over the rooftops of the world.  Hold on to your hats cats,

the tigers are sweeping the waterline with feline sleek,

benign to no rule and spoolin’ the line with jewel eyes.


Zoo you, Boogaloo.  Chew the news, blow a fuse.

Dig that Noah with his twos.




Bang!  You're Alive!



You are here,

red pin in the swirling spin of a galaxy.


Remnant of the Big Bang in the golden egg.

DNA strands wrapping around profound perfection.


Every molecular rind in line seems

to define a master plan.  The mind desires order

in order to feel safe, while the heart seeks stars.


Reality, a fickle fabric of cyclical perception,

as beguiling as time and matter.  What matters

in conclusion is the way you approach

the subject matter of life: like a challenge or a joke,

a riddle or a mountain, a dream or a land mine.


And how easily it all unwinds at the first signs of trauma,

or the crashing of dogma, the thrashing of new birth.

It's worth more if you savor the moment with an afterglow

of trans-spatial contentment.  We are more than we know.


Why do we try so hard to make everything jell and fit,

when life chews at the bit to run free of convention?


Kick ass!  Jump start the steed of inspiration.  Hot wire

stolen moments in the back behind the seat of authority.


Attention!  The tension is the juice.  Make it nectar,

thick and sweet.  Meet the day with unmatched socks

and shock a few habits to death.