Goodnight Sweet Jazz

The 2nd Door is closed.

The stage is empty. No

gut-bucket blues will wake

 

the dead. No piano shoes, no

red skirts aflare, no scrape

of the brush, no clink or shout,

 

no rush, no black ties to care

nor thigh to shy from share. No one

is aware where ghosts don't lean

 

insouciant with freedom come

no blue coat from no blue-eyed

stare. Nothing from the keys

 

that bell or horns that bask

in midnight's blare. Goodnight

sweet ladies and your jukejoint

 

swains who woke the sidewalk

taps knit together bye

the empty window, dusty chair.

 

Reviews

[THE BLACK SEAL]

I will give this one a good rating. it is very profound and i loved it. it has a nie dark ambience to it

[Pamela]

As an edit this poem is drawing on your skill far better than the first version I had the priviledge to read. Maybe the reader needs to distance themselves a little while as much as the poet? But what I mean is that you've better buried the internal rhymes inside the rhythm so that they appear as accents rather than exclamations of the metrical beat. It's much more muted trumpet playing Ms Jazzeline and I know you'll have it singing in no time.

[Tim McGovern]

Is this new?
Man I love the line breaks and the internal rhymes, that last verse about " woke the sidewalk"
is perfect.
And as with all your jazz poems it spits and sputters and swings to that crazy be bop beat.
You really must have been a sax player in another life.
Excellent piece
(insouciant?....nice word hehehe)
Namaste' Shemeh
Tim