JAZZ
Sounds as if it could - pace the street
by a lassitude of reed. Foreboding,
roadside stands where collards and
sweet potatoes were grown to be sold,
and hands exchange both sweat and money.
From Coleman Hawkins to John Coltrane
amazed sounds reinvigorate the morning border.
'We are like this,' they say, 'we are morning-glory
bashful beautiful stalwart midwives from Minton's
to Basin Street and back, St. Louis Chicago cotton fields
and prison holds of gallow ships and African slaves
stretched forth by their captivity to sensify and then
poison your long-wicked and white man's world.
Off-track wrong key low-key blue note
jazz world Art Tatum fire!'
Sounds as if it could - pace the street
by a lassitude of reed. Foreboding,
roadside stands where collards and
sweet potatoes were grown to be sold,
and hands exchange both sweat and money.
From Coleman Hawkins to John Coltrane
amazed sounds reinvigorate the morning border.
'We are like this,' they say, 'we are morning-glory
bashful beautiful stalwart midwives from Minton's
to Basin Street and back, St. Louis Chicago cotton fields
and prison holds of gallow ships and African slaves
stretched forth by their captivity to sensify and then
poison your long-wicked and white man's world.
Off-track wrong key low-key blue note
jazz world Art Tatum fire!'
1 comment:
LOVE IT!
Yur new fan and fellow poet,
Valerie G.
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