Best Saxophone Poems
If I could play the violin
I'd write a melody
euphonious to draw you in
and play my rhapsody
to bring a smile to your dear face
and calm the storm within
if I could play the violin
If I could play the saxophone
with timbre silvery
I'd paint a poem of pure tone
to laud your alchemy
for you turn iron into gold
and granite to gemstone
if I could play the saxophone
If I could coax an oboe's tone
a dulcet sound divine
to craft a raft for you to own -
a musical lifeline
when waves have knocked you off your course
when winter winds have blown
I'd play a soothing oboe tone
If I could sing a heaven-sent
anthem or hymn profound
I wouldn't need an instrument
when you feel nearly drowned
I'd whisper arias of hope
my mouthpiece, bow, and strings
are prayers for God to heal your wings
and soar beside as heaven sings.
In the midst of all this chaos
When frustration’s only grown,
Let us pause to stop and listen
To the lovely saxophone.
Adolphe Sax was its inventor
Back in 1846
And his instrument remains
One of musicians’ favorite picks.
Charlie Parker, Clarence Clemons,
John Coltrane and Kenny G
Are a few whose sax renditions
Have made music history.
So forget this doomed election.
Take a breath and clear your head
With the melancholy musings
Of a saxophone instead.
How I remember that song
Playing daily on the radio
Just a couple of notes
I’d instantly get shivers
And nothing else
Mattered around me
Seems I was barely twelve
I heard that saxophone
And masterful sexy voice
My knees would buckle
Realizing full well
I was hooked on a song
Praising the virtues
Of unfaithfulness and
Mystique of a love affair
I was swayed so
By that sax and sexy voice in spite of the
Unscrupulously questionable lyrics
Because really
There was nothing overly exciting
About a clandestine morning meeting
At some backwoods café
Yet that song still
Has its claws into me
And to this day
My heart skips a beat
As I buckle in spite of myself
At the charm of just a few notes
Realizing how powerless I am
Under the influence of that
Sly snake charmer
And it never gets old
There’s something
Quite magical about
How time stands perfectly still
For that one marvelously
Seductive ageless moment
Read on air by invitation ~ May 19, 2021 'WORDS & MUSIC'
AP: 1st place 2021, 3rd place 2021, Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on June 1, 2018. for contest POETRY FOR THE SAKE OF POETRY sponsored by JOHN LAWLESS - RANKED 8TH
I am emotional and romantic
flows as poetry to your heart
My saxophone love songs
is indescribably lovely
Feel the calm wash over your soul
as soft summer pastels
Listen … I don't wish to disappoint you
Be blessed with these positive vibes
sound of blues ripples on--
smokey tunes blowing hot
sizzling flamed mood...it's jazz!
sax notes intoxicate
swirling like coltraine's grind,
soulful trance whips my breath...
spice of night, weekend jives!
Jelly Belly had her sex with a saxophone
Up and down in pitch in perfect transposition
In melodic intervals
Jelly listens what he tells
"I put my dysfunction at your disposition".
The cellar is his bleak repose,
in concert with the cockroaches and flies;
there he wipes his runny nose,
toils the day long, sunshine tries,
insinuates through rough and crumbled boards.
Lessons can't assuage his conflicts,
the bottom of the pile, his heritage affords
no more, the atmosphere restricts
his breath. It leans against the wall,
a tarnished, dusty saxophone,
a measure of the time when he stood tall,
cadenzas blown with free and strident tone.
Author Notes
...inspired by 'Black Tambourine' by Hart Crane.
*********
Black Tambourine
The interest of a black man in a cellar
mark tardy judgment on the world's closed door.
Gnats toss in the shadow of a bottle,
and a roach spans a crevice in the floor.
Aesop, driven to pondering, found
heaven with the tortoise and the hare;
fox brush and sow ear top his grave
and mingling incantations on the air.
The black man, forlorn in the cellar,
wanders in some mid-kingdom, dark, that lies,
between his tambourine, stuck on the wall,
and, in Africa, a carcass quick with flies.
...inspired by 'Black Tambourine' by Hart Crane
**********
The cellar is his bleak repose,
in concert with the cockroaches and flies;
there he wipes his runny nose,
toils the day long, sunshine tries,
insinuates through rough and crumbled boards.
Lessons can't assuage his conflicts,
the bottom of the pile, his heritage affords
no more, the atmosphere restricts
his breath. It leans against the wall,
his tarnished, dusty saxophone,
a measure of the time when he stood tall,
cadenzas blown with free and strident tone.
Run, run from these dreams
That chases us into vagueness
And which allows us to tip toe into the blues of a saxophone.
skyscrapers are growing
bored into the sky
people are still going
without knowing why
streets are looking grey
as usual full of waste
we all are on the way
and feel somehow misplaced
world is loud and day is long
the city doesn't care
but suddenly i hear a song
and music fills the air
a man is standing there aside
and seems to feel alone
the place gets free the sky gets wide
and opens for the sounds of his saxophone
skyscrapers are growing streets are still grey
and between the man the sax and their melody
pressure and hurry seem far away
and all at once i feel free.
:-)
...inspired by 'Black Tambourine' by Hart Crane
The cellar is his bleak repose,
in concert with the cockroaches and flies;
there he wipes his runny nose,
toils the day long, sunshine tries,
insinuates through rough and crumbled boards.
Lessons can't assuage his conflicts,
the bottom of the pile, his heritage affords
no more, the atmosphere restricts
his breath. It leans against the wall,
his tarnished, dusty saxophone,
a measure of the time when he stood tall,
cadenzas blown with free and strident tone.
he came, his sword unsheathed
like his forbears in -deed
cutting through thickets of injustice and oppression
he plunged deep into
the hearts, and the heart of corruption
he came, a priest in lyrics robe
made an altar of music
he called forth saxophone
horns and drums did his bidding
lyrics, rhythm and harmony were his adornments
imbued with power of music
he cast off cassock of white lily thoughts
and embraced the gourd of black wisdom
necklace of cowries adorned his neck
he pulled down frontiers and fortes
of imperialisms and all isms
he lived Africa
bought and thought Africa
he died African....
FELA ANIKULAPO KUTI
The cellar is his bleak repose,
in concert with the cockroaches and flies,
it's here he wipes his runny nose,
toils the day long, sunshine tries,
insinuates through rough and crumbled boards.
The colour of his skin constricts,
the bottom of the pile, his heritage affords
no more, the atmosphere restricts
his breath. It leans against the wall,
his tarnished, dusty saxophone,
a measure of the time when he stood tall,
cadenzas, and his free and strident tone.
The cellar is his bleak repose,
in concert with the cockroaches and flies,
it's here he wipes his runny nose,
toils the day long, sunshine tries,
insinuates through rough and crumbled boards.
The colour of his skin constricts,
the bottom of the pile, his heritage affords
no more, the atmosphere restricts
his breath. It leans against the wall,
his tarnished, dusty saxophone,
a measure of the time when he stood tall,
cadenzas, and his free and strident tone.
(Note: written as if in the 1940's)
The sound floats thru the air
Like the blanket of the sun
A man playing a saxophone
Caught the attention of every one
And as he plays his music
Crowds gathered on the street
Some got lost in the melody
Slowly moving tapping their feet
He was tall with dark skin
And a smile like gently breeze
And as he accept the applause
In his heart he was please
He pockets was empty
But his heart full with love
And he was just a homeless
To me he was a gift from above
And I stand there enjoying
The music of the saxophone
My heart went out the this man
On the street with out a home
And as the crowd disappears
He collects the money from today
I said mister love your music
And there is something wants to say
I want to give you the keys
For my apartment on Broadway
Let’s go get something to eat
And you are no longer homeless today
He shakes my hands and said
I once had the stability of life
a house with a fence and garden
Then god call home my wife
My life had been left with misery
And all my pain just clutters
I hide away from the world
My protection was my shutters
She comes to me in a dream
And said don’t do it no more
Go play your music for me
So took my saxophone of the floor
Now I play my music for her
And will play it till I die
And it gives me a will to survive
Because she is listening close by
And as I lay in bed that night
Keep thinking of the words he says
The next day the crowd gathers again
To hear his saxophone plays