Long Jazz band Poems
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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
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.
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.
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
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
I think he comes from the Tangerine Sun, she said.
I wondered about this, but she added his name was Tedd.
He’s cool and suave, debonair, fancy, gloriously bright and keen.
I think he’s a star of some kind, a consort to their queen.
I had to see this runway type of an alien guy.
Don’t question my instincts; please don’t ask me why.
He sauntered up to me and asked me to take him to our king.
I told him that I would but his lazars he could not bring.
He put down his weapons, and sauntered toward me in a swishy way.
I wondered what he would be doing to us by the end of today.
He did not make small talk, preferred to sit in silence, being grand.
I asked if he wanted anything. He said “yes, a jazz band.”
So we brought out the band, and they gave him a taste.
Of what our music sounds like. He began to twist at his waist.
He boogied and two-stepped and began hopping around.
He radioed the mother ship “come on down, I have found….”
A wonderful planet that loves orange, and is jazzy.
A place where we can swim, dance, play, and be snazzy.
A bigger ship landed, and fancy aliens came out.
Being fancy and noticed, is what they were all about.
walking through life as as a black person,
the world needs to understand
we rock with a rhyme, we bop with a beat
we jive like a jazz band
we improvise on the fly
we adapt to any situation
we can spit a rhyme in real time
and connect with a combination
we can create out of chaos
we can take trash and turn it into treasure.
we can see beauty in the midst of bedlam
and turn dissonance into sounds of pleasure
to journey through life as a black person
we march to the beat up our own drums
we always have a song in our hearts
we are musical phenomenons
we are the deepness of the base
we are the sexiness of the saxophone
we are the smoothness of the violin
we are the richness of the trombone
we have the versatility of the piano
we're the lead guitar that gives the melody
we are the trumpets in life that blow
with much power and intensity
we are the rhythm, we are the rhyme
we are the harmony
we are black people journeying through life
with a musical propensity
so keep shining, keep grinding
keep moving with all that jazz
because walking through life as the black person
just means we have much pizzazz
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.
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......
On the bayou, molded brick streets
circle docks of wooden backbones stretched
into black water, limbs sunk into seaweed
now catchalls for rusty abandoned fish hooks from
the "one that got away".
Old cement plateaus boast of jazz band days
when the water carried notes against the summer buzz
Insects, air dancing with a thousand eyes,
strung lights of pineapple gold glossed in evening ripples.
You in my arms, swirling in the shadows,
on the grass dance floor, no shoes, no socks
and nothing spoken in haste.
This was the beginning of life. The beginning of love.
From this day forward, the bayou took note of our names
Two of the many, unspoken, engraved on glass bottles,
and sunk to the bottom of the black water,
never to wander from home.
In our deaths, these bottles will rise to the surface
with puffs of stale air
and the bayou will finally cut them loose,
floating them out past the collapsing docks,
past the first bloom of love and life,
to sea.