Best Jazz Band Poems
I'll just step
very softly,
tip toe,
on this blank page.
My inner critic?
fast asleep!
Perhaps
I'll tap dance,
lightly,
while he snores.
For freedom
has a jazz band beat
...soon twirling dizzily...
Shhh!
The prison guard stirs.
9/27/2019
Yalto Poems Only Contest
Emile Pinet, Sponsor
once i had footprints as tattoos
the art was tasteless
the seed was a hateful hoax
once i had phlegm laced spit in every hair follicle
the gleam was unattractive
the roots were unbalanced and unevenly growing
once i had gnats fronting as a jazz band predominately playing dirges
the rhythm was a compulsive liar
the melody was basically a malady
then you came along
you saw me in all chapters of unkempt
you dried my tears
you gave me shelter
you made me pray with you
you Loved me to Wellness
now i am a better man
now i am smelling like lavender and vanilla
now my heart is richer than my many big pictures
now i know the true meaning of Prosperous Gratitude
now i know what it really feels like to be Definitively Loved
Now I Thank God and Give Him Praise For You.....
now i must go and get myself together and get ready
her funeral starts at 11am
her last words to me were 'You Blessed My Life By My Saving Yours'
Treasure The Pleasure Of God's Blessings......
When the music stopped for Dad
And Shorty McCormick’s Jazz Band
Played their last gig, his drum set
Was retired to our dank basement
His traps resided in an extra large
Black cardboard suitcase and soon
My brothers and I commenced
Drumming the life out of its quiet remains
Before long the solid beat of the remaining
Percussion instruments were rendered silent
And were finally sent out with the trash
I hung on to the last reminder of my father’s
Well warn drum set that helped him keep time
During his many solo jazz improvisations
Now with love I hold on to his tattered slapstick
The only rhythmic survivor, still ready to keep the beat
I love an old movie called "Some Like It Hot"
Two guys from a jazz band, had witnessed a plot!
Their lives might expire
from gangster's gunfire
They ran like the dickens without getting shot!
They're quick to leave town, while they try to compose...
With tricks of their own, before anyone knows!
With wigs on their heads
and lipsticks of red …….
They're wearing silk undies, and new pantyhose!
They land a new job... (Not a word to the wise!),
while dressed as two chicks, as an artful disguise
But surprise takes a twist
when they cannot resist
a marriage proposal, and a boat full of lies!!
Romance in the "20's" was stranger than not!
Bootleggers and gangster's would stir up the pot
The plot only thickens
The pace of it quickens,
when they find true love on a millionaire's yacht!
_________________________________________________
3/16/18
For "Favorite Comedy Movie" contest
Sponsored by Alexis Y
Surrounded by two rapid running shores
a concrete chain of buildings fill the skies
strong pungent scents compete with rapid scores
of pulsing sounds and screeching, crowded cries
iconoclastic beats and muted sighs
the City always wakens sleepy eyes.
We hail a taxi from a dirty curb
while subways rumble, sweating underground
and ride the hustle through the shifting herd
torrential rains quite suddenly come down
they slap and streak the windows all around
as raindrops distort faces that surround.
A plethora of sights spread like a feast
from Broadway shows to High Line paths that span
Hudson River’s architectural peaks
roof top restaurants, a classy jazz band
we disappear into museum land
then sink to sleep, a true, devoted fan.
To venture into life’s mosaic streams
is to taste and embrace all that it means.
Written on 5/21/2019
Legato. Smooth, slow jazz ballads.
The type where you play each note as late as possible.
The type that holds beautiful memories.
The type that will have you unaware that
Your foot is tapping to the beat of the soft drums,
The connected sound of the melody, and easy tone.
Before you know it, the beautiful sound will bring a tear to your eye,
Making your subconscious softly whisper,
“Encore, Encore”.
This is the type that lets you sit back
On a cold winter’s night, sipping on a rich
Chocolatey cup of hot cocoa, listening to the
Sweet sound of a jazz band playing a ballad
That brings so many wonderful memories back to you.
Legato. Smooth, slow jazz ballads.
The type where you play each New York rooftop as full
And as powerful as possible, but as quiet as a mouse.
Imagine sitting close to a lit fire place.
It’s snowing outside and the house smells of gingerbread cookies.
You’re all snuggled up in your favorite blanket
Reading your favorite book.
As you’re sipping on your hot chocolate, a song comes on.
A special song.
A song that makes you cry as it plays.
It’s called Bye Bye Blackbird.
As it finishes, you stare into your mug and see your reflection.
You see someone full of tears and you realized it’s yourself.
You’ve never felt so sad yet happy
At the same time.
It makes you wonder what life is really about
And whether or not you should continue to live in it.
But you quickly remember that as long as you have jazz,
Everything will be alright, and that’s a fact.
Most people can’t enjoy it. Most people don’t like it.
Most people say it’s outdated, but I guess that’s fine
Because my brother I’m telling you,
This is right here is jazz.
As the tides roll in the salty smell,
I stand by the sea and know all is well.
For the sound of the waves and the twilight sky,
Calms my soul, and knows peace is nigh.
And the reflection of the moon in the sea,
Makes all the darkness inside me flee.
And the sound of the crickets inside my head,
Makes me feel like I'm back in bed.
They entertain the turtles, slugs and sand,
Them in their little cricket jazz band.
Then, the feeling of wet sand on my toes,
And the smell of the sea flowing in my noes,
Then I see the glow of morning over the horizon,
And peace fills my soul, the sun is rising.
Then the cool sea breeze fills my hair,
And as I look at the sky, I know dawn is near.
Then slowly, the crickets stop.
And the moon and stars begin to drop.
Soon the sky will fill with light,
So kiss goodbye the starry night.
Kiss goodbye the stars and moon,
For those white peppered flecks will be gone soon.
And as the darker sky turns to gray,
You must soon get ready for day.
Your stirring within me seeks liberty,
instruments of your release, versatile:
the human voice, guitar strings, piano…
orchestra or jazz band.
Accompanied by long hours of practice
your company, is strangely addictive;
No matter how I try to set you free,
you're there in my heartland.
O, fuel of my soul's best expression,
you energize my mind and emotions.
Moving me to tears, moving me to praise,
how? I cannot understand.
edited, April 5, 2017
While writing about the History of Jazz Music in verse , I got the idea for composing this
fictitious poem ! I hope the readers will like it !
Harlem Blues !
Lingering perfumes float through the night air ,
Life was a drudgery for him and no one cared !
With neon lights blinking and flashing every-
where !
The jazz band in the saloon played a soft tune ,
And the lady there sang the blues and also
crooned !
Now the solitude of the night gets to him ,
As he drops down into a corner seat where lights
are rather dim !
Signals the waiter as he lights his cigar ,
And orders a large whiskey and soda , having
come down so far !
He remains enthralled by the lone singer’s
voice ,
He must spend this ‘blue night’ all alone , -
since he had no other choice !
The singer now comes pretty close to him ,
And he could see her white teeth dazzle and
gleam !
But when he looked into those dark eye lashes , -
Sad memories form the past before his eyes
flashes !
He had been a clarinet player of some renown ,
But his wife couldn’t tolerate its piping sound !
His habit of playing his pipe at mid-night hours ,
Made her to desert him for their marriage had
gone sour !
The blue notes in the saloon soon comes to an
end ,
But the music goes on simply to entertain !
The singer now invites this loner to her room ,
He accompanies - trying to forget his loneliness
and gloom !
She pours out two drinks in her upstairs room ,
And places his head gently between her bosom , -
Which makes him to swoon !
The ‘blue notes’ still plays on in his mind ,
It is then when she pulls out a clarinet form
behind !
Seeing him surprised - she laughs out loud ,
He stares at the clarinet with misgiving and doubt !
“Don’t worry darling I had met you wife ,
She had shown me your picture and told me about
your life !
From my childhood days I had loved the clarinet ,
It turns me on before I go to bed !
So play the pipe gently as I get into my slip-on ,
And we shall make love right into the morn !”
He picked up the clarinet and played ‘the blues’
so tender and so light , -
The music echoed through the lonely Harlem
night....... !
- Raj Nandy
New Delhi
Return to Forever,
a seminal eclectic jazz band of the seventies
My teenage years,
my rebellious years
I loved that band,
for more than their unique brand
of cosmic musical forays
No, listening to them separated me from my teenage peer pack:
they liked listening to formulaic cookie-cutter pop,
I preferred zoning out on cutting-edge fusion jazz
Fusion was a cool sound,
rock melding with jazz
Rock would pump you up
Jazz would mellow you down
I thank Return to Forever
for slowing a raging hormonal teenager down
Allowing me to become more cerebral,
raising my consciousness higher and higher off the ground
Their music made me feel like I was a regal space prince,
who possessed his own cosmic minstrels
Royalty has its privileges ...
standing apart,
being special is a gift
It's soul pioneer art
Return to Forever instilled in me the mind of a muse;
creative genius unfiltered, exploratory ventures untethered
Freedom to expand the mind was treasures found of a spiritual kind
Return to Forever,
even their name had a mystical appeal
Return to Forever,
their music prepared my heart
for the lonely days every man apart
must one day live
Smooth jazz playing
on my car radio.
Finding myself reluctantly
bobbing my head along
to the constant rhythm
of the mild funk.
Reminding me of
long car rides with dad,
and being subjected
to The WAVE radio station
94.7-- The Soul of
Southern California.
I’ve now tasted death
and pop a stick of
spearmint gum
into my dry
annoyed mouth.
Thoughts of
unpleasantries
invade my emptiness
and, presently,
fill me with regret.
Over this song
or other things?
Or maybe both.
Missing my dad
but wishing the WAVE
no longer existed--
maybe it doesn’t.
I blame you…
writer of
poetry challenge
for this noise--
the torture on my ‘drums.
I need to lie down
until I’m fine.
Will I ever be fine?
Who even listens
to smooth jazz
anyway?
Dad did (funk spazz).
Jazz Band…
Jazzercise…
DJ Jazzy Jeff…
Jazz it Up…
Utah Jazz…
and All That Jazz…
Cool Jazz…
No Jazz for me.
Still, I miss you
dad—
and The WAVE too.
*I wrote this poem on April 11, 2021, as part of a ’30 days of poetry’ challenge. This was day 11 and the prompt was: Tune in to a radio station you don’t normally listen to, and write a poem inspired by the first song or message you hear. The song I heard was called “Dinner is Not Over” by Jack Stauber. Read the poem and take a guess at how the song made me feel.
He's King of the Home
in his high chair and gown,
taking his feedings with
dreams of being' downtown;
his jazz band was playing'
he'd blow and he'd sway;
he remembers those times
like it was yesterday.
Sneaking drinks from old Joe,
playing cards in the back,
going upstairs with Lil
so he don't lose the knack!
He's behaving himself,
but he ain't forgot tricks
he learned in the mean streets
as King of the Sticks.
*******
...for all the old jazzmen
Of all the colours under the sun,
Pink must be my favourite one.
That's why cherry blossoms score
high, they bloom outside my door.
Lilies also come in pink.
Their scent is divine I think.
So I plant them where I can see.
Outside while I'm in having tea.
On my table in my porch.
Delicate pink orchids now bloom forth.
Pink pansies on the piano stand.
In front of my ceramic jazz band.
On my deck, pink roses overflow.
From a bush planted long ago.
Such a girlie colour pink.
The one that makes the boys wink.
Once there was a really tall, jolly fisherman
Who had a slightly crooked nose, named Dan
Dan, the ever-Jolly fisherman came from Japan
And loved to show off his gigantic left hand
that helped him play the cymbals in a jazz band
He played cymbals better then anyone in the land
And though Dan didn’t have a long attention span
He thought up good ideas quick as a laser scan
Working one day on his new worm smelling spray can
He yelled, “Holy Fish Fry” I need fish for my brand
then suddenly he thought of a crazy, zany plan
He would crash his cymbals, Oh! So loud and grand
And all the fishes would jump right into his frying pan
But these little fishes knew how to do the cancan
And instead swung over the pan just like Tarzan
The fishes then sailed away on their green catamaran
Our Jolly fisherman was sad, so wrapped up in an afghan
Then ate his way through a whole pie of toasted pecan
After which the Jolly fisherman did then demand
Fishing with cymbals would forever be on a ban
So away he went to the beach with his entire clan
To lay on his fishnet towel all snug in the hot seaside sand
Telling jokes about fishing while he worked on his tan
He laughed and laughed, because he’s Dan, the Jolly Fisherman
9-1-2022
A Jolly Fisherman Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Monorhyme style of rhyme
Sometimes late at night, I think of where they all went.
For those left behind, my thoughts are now sent.
Are the streets paved with gold, do they sparkle and shine?
Can you still get a steak dinner, and a nice glass of wine?
Is the music country and western, do they have rock n roll?
Maybe it just depends on each heart and soul.
Will I get to go fishing, for some walleye or maybe trout?
I’m really looking forward to seeing what that life’s all about.
Will everyone just pray in white robes where they stand?
Maybe there’ll be a piano, and a good old jazz band.
Since we’re made in his image, I wonder if heaven will be fun.
I guess we’ll find out when it’s all said and done.
For now, I’ll be thankful, for each and every breath.
I’ll enjoy every sunset, right up to my own death.
I will do my very best to honor God and be a good gent.
Sometimes late at night, I think of where they all went.