Learn more about other poetry terms
░B░l░a░r░i░n░g░,░ ░s░e░t░t░i░n░g░ ░s░u░n░ ░l░i░g░h░t░,░ ░s░e░t░s░ ░a░b░l░a░z░e░ ░t░h░e░ ░t░r░e░e░s░,░ ░I░ ░P░u░t░ ░j░a░z░z░ ░o░n░ ░t░h░e░ ░b░r░e░e░z░e░
Not of voice nor an utterance. Not a coming into language, - but without words, primeval, - communication nontheless. Pure melody- sound conduit of emotions
Ever since I heard it I loved it start to finish It truely is for me
I often think of us as a time of day early evening, late July cherry trees swaying in golden hour light I float home with you every step a bit of music
Oh yeah, it's our music Good ole U.S. beats The flying of the piano keys The woo woo woo of the trumpet Then we got the sax--that birdie bugle And our bass, deep pluckings. We hear it in our elevators
I feel it again,The ferocious beating of calypso drums,Coursing through my fingers,Creating foul beings.These false shadows of which have burst forth from my skin,Have created a jazz band of sin.
When I'm feeling kind of blue Instead of letting these feelings down me I listen to Kind of Blue And when I close my eyes I feel the space around me
As you hear a note from the distance, what do you think it will be? It is a sound of balance, don't you agree? As you walk closer to the sound, you see a persond playing. It jazz all around
The warm blast of the horns, The high trills of the flute, Get me out of bed fater than a kick with a boot
MANMANkindBe Kind MANBe your kind of MAN
Play that trumpet all night long Move those hips side to side Let them black bodies swing with glee It's Jazz Sway your body to and fro Let your body move itself Throw back your head and let out a yelp.
Trumpet player played the blues His soul out there for the world to see But none take him seriously
What does it matter? This metaphorical island, this situation beyond comprehension The tension in realizing that there is one item you need. Rustling through the reed across the sandy coast
You, my dear, are the stone that sinks my stomach All the birds in the high trees of my thoughts come down to investigate the trouble you make, gurgling deep down in the depths of my mind
Staccato-ed and fleeting in full, the lulling beat somehow lazy hazily sauntering away honeyed notes broken on the pavement like sparkling glass glittering and useless, passing throaty smoke like cigarettes
To spill the anger burning inside, To caress the heart crying, To impede the endless thinking of mine, To prevent myself from dying. To cherish the precious memories made,
You work and it's for nothing You try and practice over and over Loving the keyboard like a child Touching it like a lover And it rejects you You spend hours trying to play
imagine the s
The cold, unforgiving bleachers Sat stoically that day, Catching tears as they dripped. An endless slideshow played, Showing a joyful boy Of only 10.
Notes. Not like the ones made of trees. Floats. across the air, through the keys. Jazz Pianists' fingers tell no lies, traveling through the White and Black Sky.
Jazz bar Ten to midnight Love Jones furniture Starlit evening with smooth jazz and a cocktail scented air we can both enjoy with our festive drinks. We'll be sitting at the booths
Portland sounds rainy Like sizzles in a jazz ride Raindrops burst with jazz
Only a little too late, to hear the cry of the clarinet, have my heart beat in sync with the bass, emotions match the call of brass, or so be serenaded by the sweet, seductive hum of the saxophone.
Dragged through the brink of extinction to a new introduction
Jazz has a voice, It speaks to me. As I sleep deep, Or as my feet take turns hitting the concrete street. In the Chi-town heat, when you’ve met all the folks you could meet; Jazz is the speaker.
There was once a jazzy song When heard would make you dance along We swung and we swayed We danced a soiree Oh how we loved that old jazzy song
Oh, Jazz, I won’t submit to your past form: You swing the eighths in many bluesy tunes, The awkward rhythm pains me to perform. An art that has seen quite a many moon,
The silence fears me, Softly, slowly growing louder,Nearly Reaching a low murmur, a hum, a buzz,Clouding the quiet as I make a sound,Out it comes. Thumping, kicking,
The sun is going down, but I don't mind the sun is going down, but I don't mind Kind people are hard to find so I,
With a Godly breathe he inhales the heavy, yet hollow whispers of the night siphoning the miniscule remnants of assurance loosely woven, each with its own cynical thread
Hear those trumpets scream and shrill Hear that bass so cool and chill Listen to the trombones sliding Back and forth and forth and back Listen to the saxes how sultry they sound
Every lyric is like a symphony.
The music begins and I get this little smile I haven't herd this type of music in quite a while The trumpet begins its bee boppin beat Everyone all at once is dancing in the streets
Her first night out as a flapper girl, And he was a man of the band. One thing they both had in common, They really loved jazz. She stood with her friends and swayed, To the rhythm of the drums,
I want to taste jazz on my lips as it swims through brass tubes and valves- I want its echo to call my name on a still night in July from a bar down the road.
(poems go here)
(poems go here)
When morning light cracks, my skull rattles to ear-piercing bebop saxophone Prize-fighter in the corner, crave the bell, you pitbull, crushed ankles will likely give out, useless things
I Am The Waves In The Ocean And The Roots Of The Trees. I am wind and thunder and rain. I am the image of my father, Kemet. I am soil and breath and soul. I am Africa personified. In the way I walk