Author: davestankowicz

Dave Stankowicz is a retired educator who lives on an island off the coast of Portland, Maine with his wife Debbie Jordan and their dog Cody. Liberated from the responsibilities of teaching he has found the space and time to pursue so much that interests him. Dave is the former host of the WMPG radio show Palm Wine Radio, and currently hosts Next To Silence - an hour long show that explores different themes, genres, artists and record labels. Next to Silence can be streamed live on Peaks Island Radio at https://peaksislandradio.com on Mondays and Fridays @ 7:00 PM EDT, and Tuesdays @noon. You can also stream archived shows at his site (category: next to silence) He continues his lifelong efforts to master space and time.

Priceless Jazz Collection Part 1 – May 20, 2024


The “Priceless Jazz” series is a collection of jazz albums released by the jazz record label GRP Records. The series features compilation albums highlighting the work of various jazz artists, often focusing on specific periods or aspects of their careers. These albums typically include tracks from the artists’ catalogues, showcasing their most significant recordings. The series aims to introduce listeners to the timeless and influential works of jazz legends.

Playlist:

00:00 Pharoah Sanders – Astral Traveling
07:36 Keith Jarrett – Bop-Be
14:30 Alice Coltrane – Blue Nile
21:28 Freddie Hubbard – Freddie Hubbard
27.56 Billie Holiday – Porgy
30:51 Gato Barbieri – Nunca Mas
36:16 McCoy Tyner Trio – Inception
40:41 John Klemmer; Dave Grusin; Larry Carlton -Touch
47:28 The Brecker Brothers – African Skies
57:59 Ramsey Lewis; Ramsey Lewis Trio – Wade In The Water


Waiting

they stand without speaking
against the pale wall
without moving without asking
for anything

they have known hands
and the weight of the world
they have known the breaking
of frost into water

they do not wait
they do not wonder
they stand where they were left
and that is enough

outside the wind moves
somewhere the earth turns
but here
nothing is missing

Peaks Island, Maine

Stranded

The sea has no memory,
but it leaves reminders—
bone, gristle, a mouth frozen mid-thought,
waiting for nothing.

Once, this thing had direction,
a current to follow, hunger to heed.
Now it lies where it was left,
a shape reduced to outline.

The sand does what it always does,
takes without effort,
makes room for the next arrival,
the next forgetting.

You stand there, hands in pockets,
as if there’s something to be done.
But the tide will return soon enough,
and take care of it.

New Smyrna Beach, Florida

Mannequin Rodeo Girl

she stands there, frozen,
draped in red like some kind of
plastic outlaw,
her dead eyes aimed at nothing,
maybe the exit sign, maybe the past.

the price tags dangle
like motel keys in a ghost town,
waiting for a hand that never comes,
waiting for a reason to matter.

someone dressed her up for a life
she’ll never live,
cowgirl hat, fake leather bag,
dreams stitched together from old fabric
and bad decisions.

the store hums with neon loneliness,
tired jackets sag on racks,
and she just stands there,
cool as hell,
waiting to be bought,
or forgotten.

Deland, Florida

Jack Schitt

Jack Schitt.
He had the kind of name
you’d see on a bathroom wall
and laugh at,
a name built for bumper stickers
and dirty jokes,
but there it was,
nailed to eternity.

“He was an asshole,”
the plaque says,
but funny.

Like that makes it better,
like the world needs more assholes
with punchlines.

The truck below hums along,
hauling yesterday’s crap
like it always does.

Jack would’ve liked that.

Canaveral National Seashore, Titusville, Florida

Lone Pink Shoe

Look at it—
pink and small,
with a cat’s face stitched to the leather,
smiling as if it knows
something about joy,
about the swift, spontaneous dance
of childhood.

Who left it here?
Who forgot it?
Was there a rush,
a tumble into arms,
or only the silent, careless way
things are lost
on the edge of a busy world?

But here it is,
waiting in the open air,
a tiny relic of running feet.
And isn’t it a kind of miracle
to be reminded, so simply,
how small we begin,
and how much we leave behind?

New Smyrna Beach, Florida

Where Directions Fray

The arrow leans without weight,

and the wall holds its breath.

Where you were going,

you have already arrived.

The folds remember light

as if it were a story
no one told,

the rust listening for something else.

Signs forget their names

and wear themselves down

into the silence you carried here
before you knew it was yours.

Nothing points,

nothing stops.

The way follows
itself
through you.

Peaks Island, Maine