a bit o' jazz poetry

Bombs!
          Drop!
Snare head scrapes between
the shimmering tone of the ride.

Cutting!
Flowing.
Agitating the horns.
Inspiring the fingers that thump on the keys
of a mighty old grand at the left of the stage.

Thump!
           Drop!
Wood tips swell and roll on the canvas.

"Oop bop sh'bam!" They call all around.
"Pick up the horn and take it to town!"
Stick clicks hit til the music hits the bricks.

The horn invades, penetrates, impregnates,
then smooths it out, curing all ills with a velvet cry.
Hot blues boil into cool refrains.
Happy, swingin', sad, draggin'.

Trumpeter surpassed by none takes the spotlight.
A golden, resonant tone soars away.
"Bopweedoop beep bop skidoom bow!"
The upright string man shouts out loud.

The drummer chimes in with a "Skadoop bah!"
And the whole band blows for the roaring crowd.


Lay it down, smooth it out.
Bring it back up, let the trumpet shout!

"Bring it on home, take it to town!"
This is the way the music goes down.