My Jazz, My Elegy
Reet peteet
go the feet
in Silk Shiny Stockings
toe tapping
knee slapping
Dizzy's beat with Hendricks' words ...
the Poet Laureate of Jazz, dear Jon.
Feel the funk
laid down by Monk
sway with Bird's Just Friends,
those sounds that sear
through time and heart strings.
You'll never hear
another era as
syncopated as that of the Duke.
Gone Miles away now
on a Col' Traine ....
(please don't go)
with only a few left to know
the Strange Fruit sung out of
Billie's soul
whether Strayhorn or Holiday
they've all gone away.
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