The Singer Poem by Roy Johnson

She is the karaoke queen
down at the Gold Dust Lounge.
Every Saturday night
she sings -
a soulful,
sultry,
sinful sound
with just a touch of Sunday,
like a mournful,
wistful,
whispering French horn
in the distant mist
just across the river.

She has a little book shop
on the other side of town
with books and records
for all the folks around
who come to hear
as she sings softly
while she works
in the dusty little shop.
she croons ballads,
blues,
quieter tunes,
even soft jazz
in her dusky way.

She could have been a rock star
but didn't like the life.
Too noisy and wasteful.
She would have liked
the stage
or musicals
or even jazz
they were a quieter life style.
Maybe small clubs and coffee houses
with soft sounds,
folk songs,
easy listening.

But for now she's content
to spend Sunday by the river
sending her sounds across.
The sounds of
Eva Cassidy,
Norah Jones,
Mama Cass
and maybe even Eartha Kitt.
One day there will be
a time when
the stage will call
and the world
will hear.