Archives for posts with tag: jazz

When you take the A train, be sure to tip the conductor.
Hear that? … a song of the caravanserai drifts in from the desert —
listen how the front row, all brass and horn, the back row
rhythm and bass, are nothing but the keyboard beneath
that plays in a sentimental mood as if that hue of indigo
can be summoned just like that. Sophisticated, lady
he laid the foundation of cool and made modern new,
like it was just before a kiss, the very first time.

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“Humbly, I am the river.”

Counterpoint doesn’t cover it,
unless you rag, spackle, boogie it
with the barrel roll, classical riff
set free, dodge right, dodge left,
Mayor of Dodge City, all 88 citizens.

Always, the spring of life is melody.
You return from your extended tour
to show us the rag and the bone,
ebony and ivory, the house and
how you make it a home —where the
music is built, how you make it
into a jazz, more than jazz, the jazz;
others named it — you proclaimed it.

vibraphonic ecstasy
limit of harmony
pound on the upholstery
remind me you know
what of ebony and ivory
essential time of the stream
ineluctably, serenely, meanly
map the motion of bop a wopwop shoobop
insolently, insouicantly, hip-cat-o-
doh-ray-mah, Mr. Jam for me
where does the bop in shoowop go
after the show s’what I want to know—
what I got to know this cat explains patiently
disappears behind his curtained smile
signs Mysterioso.

Oh, so, you’re jiving me.
I knew that.
s’Cool.

someone to be proud of
someone who makes you proud to be around a piano
a round of piano that walks you through it
walks you through it, runs you through it,
takes you through the work out and out to its beyond
someone who makes you proud to be part of it, someone
defining deifying dynamic breakers of infinite
rhythm, geometry, bowling the spheres across the Platonic
ideal of perfect lawn framed by formal marbles
arches, fountains, artfully built grottoes and caprices
transports you to the meaning of the new land
someone to be proud of, someone who makes you proud

name your river
I’ve played it

When you take the A train, be sure to tip the conductor.
Hear that? … a song of the caravanserai drifts in from the desert —
listen how the front row, all brass and horn, the back row
rhythm and bass, are nothing but the keyboard beneath
that plays in a sentimental mood as if that hue of indigo
can be summoned just like that. Sophisticated, lady
he laid the foundation of cool and made modern new,
like it was just before a kiss, the very first time.

“Humbly, I am the river.”

Counterpoint doesn’t cover it,
unless you rag, spackle, boogie it
with the barrel roll, classical riff,
set free, dodge right, dodge left,
Mayor of Dodge City, all 88 citizens.

Always, the spring of life is melody.
You return from your extended tour
to show us the rag and the bone,
ebony and ivory, the house and
how you make it a home —where the
music is built, how you make it
into a jazz, more than jazz, the jazz;
others named it — you proclaimed it.

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