Tag Archives: Jazz

a sense

I’ve opined so to watch the sun recede
and stayed as stars emerged and glint to greet.

I’ve sat for time entranced by waves of foam
on soft white sands, and time, the lull my own.

I’ve pondered over rhyme and reasons why
these wordish things that come and go descry

the foundling sense of who I am to be –
in poet stock or simply my esprit.

A manner like dear Blossom could invoke
as hip, thunderstruck, or just a joke.

And I, with rights to be who as I can,
will write or sing the song like this began.


Going forth from dot to dot,
and lines to sect, and textured plat
– I feel her form in jazz – all that
time, melodious tone and scat.

And though the curve she’s wont and apt
to slide and clutch, her eye for voicing
taut and slack.

The tremble that I feel is naught
set side by side her ending thought.
And once the silence lingers hot,
Is she the pattern that I seek, dare not?


There is little left
of thread that ties and undulates
through fabric’d whys.
The whats have gone the wayside now
with time – the when –
don’t ask me how.

This never was infinite string
-ain’t what it used to be,
this thing that stitched my words
in canvas, starched and mended-
just as December ended.

So, with anew, fresh double cloth
the patterns swirl
without the gloss and keep me warm
in thoughts subdued
of music,
sweet – the words are true.

Standards (a villanelle)

The piano chord was out of tune,
and during All the Things You Are
lovers kissed in the smoky room.

The singer’s skills I could not impugn
Yet on The Coast of Malabar,
The piano chord was out of tune.

The night was lit with a gibbous moon.
When you wish upon a star,
lovers kissed in the smoky room.

Melodies to which couples spoon.
Makes no difference who you are,
the piano chord was out of tune.

Embraceable you, the ladies swoon
Glasses set on the polished bar,
lovers kissed in the smoky room

The songs, they ended far too soon
I left the player a pourboire.
The piano chord was out of tune,
lovers kissed in the smoky room.