Byrd
Within the hype of hop-head hitter's fear
Are bitter crystal lies of siren night.
The sight of city sounds will surface near
As frantic raging rhythms rise in flight.
And songs we play in honor of the horn,
Blue-blended notes and half-note incompletes,
Diffuse the blues to jazz where love is born,
Creating genius bound for easy streets.
The scintillated syncopated sound -
Dramatic Diogenic dreams so vast;
A vibrant vision vital and profound,
Improvisation purity, at last.
Another brother for the gutter dead -
Transcendent saxophone--your habit fed.
Copyright © Tom Mcmurray | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment