Saxophones Poems

Bones

A few articulate with humor and grief,
others are hinged
so that ears can hear each other.

Many bones are scaffolds
for vision, prayer and procreation.

One hollow bone hums in the throat,
it channels the smoky saxophones
of consciousness.

When death comes to nibble holes
into breastplates and ramparts
an osseous honeycomb of memory
forms caves,
cavities for disembodied thoughts.

Mind, of course, has always had
its own immortal bones and marrow,
and so even
the humble bitsy sparrow.

A Threesome in Sioux Falls South Dakota Josh Moore

Whisper is jealous of Josh's black leather boots and Katie's fur lined boots, so they have a threesome to make up for it. They frolic in the moonlight, playing the oboe, xylophone, and vacuum, drooling and spanking each other. Then, the platypus, jackal, and whale join in, hammering out a rhythm on the pajamas, racing the tortoise, and jumping the rabbit's tail. Suddenly, the clocks, magazines, and movies come alive, streaming dirty gray hounds, tungsten spigots, mothers' spleens, kidneys, and tonsils, and cannabis shouting at the moon. The saxophones vomit sand and the pianos strike Jacks, while clouds batter receipts and panty liners. Finally, the cantaloupe refrigerator seals the deal, and the night is filled with laughter.

City Limit Lights

In the city's limits at dark,
All the lights were in a glow
From corner to corner stood 
The brightness shimmered its shows.

It is something to view at night,
If you haven't been to the city before
Put it on your bucket list,
And go on vacation in New York,
Oh, don't resist!

The hustle and bustle that goes on,
Those street players performing
Whatever their art, craft, or music
They'll be doing some ameliorating,
Be sure they'll do it!

You'll hear the saxophones, 
And the brass horns to
Those series of strings bring them 
Blues players up from Blackwood Gorge.
The Mardi Gra is the city that lives.

Oh, those blues are playing,
Its echoes are from corner to corner
Those brass cymbals are swaying 
Like the slippery, shambling water 
On a tin roof when it's raining.

In Defense of Saxophones in Rock

I've got the lecture notes ready
I've got the examples 

Just blow what I'm telling you to blow
I am responsible for the resurgence of the sales of saxophones 

I unlock the doors of my car
By raising my right palm

You saw the crescent
I saw sod all 

You need a guitar player
Bass and the whole caboodle

But don't stop there
Get yourself some 

Man clarinets
And ear trumpets

In fact
Sack the band and 

Just have a sax on stage
And horn away

Nostril reeds and
Ostentatious bellowing 

I'll be your mouthpiece
I'll pretend to be from L.A.

Cringetown bottom burp

the cabin down below

sing me a tom petty tune
sing a bad company yarn
i've got my place in time
i'm set for the duration
i can't help falling in love
so take my hand, you've got 
my whole life too

some things are meant to be
isn't this one of them?
let's just go to the cabin down below
would it be a sin?
you know, i can't stop biting you
the back of your neck
your ample butt 
that spot behind your knee caps

i'd like that, an evening of lips on flesh
if not for my careless heart
we'd be there already and not
standing here wondering
let's just go to the cabin down below
close our eyes and find our way
to the cabin down below
you're simply awesome

no more love on the run
time to slow down
wait for the moment
dream of the moment
grab the moment
and take that walk
on the wild side

listen!  isn't that David Sanborn's Carly's Song?
there's no fear here
nothing but sweet saxophones 
and even sweeter sex
talk to me, tell me all the things you want
to find in your life
i'll be here, just outside the door
holding my heart in my hand


C2023 Thomas Lee Rhymes  February 14, 2023
(apologies to Tom Petty, and others)

story of the cockeyed mice

cockeyed mice played saxophones at the table
anyway, the loudest one does, the other we call Mable.
they scurry around as fast and far as they are able
stealing from the kitchen, the laundry room and stable.

cockeyed mice love to dance, dart, wiggle and sing.
we see them running in the corners of everything
there is screaming sometimes as they dash and zing.
the soft spoken mouse goes by the name of Wing.

Soaking Up the Sounds

He wished it to be  full of sound.
round about the way successful
collaborations are done.
Fun: done: and Right.
Sought of like taking the featured
artist's position and elaborating on it.
People still love rock, urban 
contemporary grooves
and soulful bassey pieces.The stigma
around marriage
seems to cause discussion.
Is it good news? The two lovers united:
or one lover and one willingful participant.
Or one eager and one uneagerly: but willing
to be. A new position appointed by the direction
of the evolution in sequence. from 
stranger to friend to lover
to fiancce?fiancé: then to wife or husband.
WeIrDO. than non be alienated through such
sequence.
Six saxophones
11 bass instruments
a rhythm section
the motif uses two classic guitars.
 A 1939 English Clifford Essex Paragon
and a  Bass Alembic Series
He Brazen I'm Kabosh
we are Kings of the Coliseum!
The Grand Inspector sings
and the
Brazen Serpent commands.
The Indirect passing reference.

Three Brothers Playing Sax

Brothers agreed on almost nothing
Except the sax, which bound them spiritually.
They came together to play at their mother’s funeral
She was watching, naturally, loving her sons

All three brothers kept their grief to themselves
Sharing no feelings, for it is not manly, right?
Their saxophones did their talking for them.
“Those are my boys!” Mom said to the angels.

Clatter of Bliss

Clatter of happiness fatten our ears with/
Spirited praises & glorifications.
Drums - alto saxophones - eject contents
Of heavenly beats & lyrics / Our feet know too many dance steps- As attestation to the lord
For the bell of another year jingle to our witness in glorious shape.
Hubbub of crackers strip the air off its scent - nothing smells  but A Roasted Pork Sausage
The "Gbo-a" of a new year sends concern to the weak health of old mama(s) & papa(s)
The outcry threaten the ears of little babies/ Revealing Toothless smiles to the multiple colors birthed by the awful crackers
With our happiness tonight - won’t God’s ears be deafened by our noise?

Dem Bones

Some float,
move on the diameter of a whim.
A few articulate between joy and grief,
others are hinged
so that ears can hear each other.

Most are scaffolds.
One hollow bone hums in the throat,
it channels the smoky music
of sub-conscious saxophones.

A few are honeycombed for memory
and procreation.
One is a cave for old mind-muddles,
it has a window view.

All the others
are flesh garbed trombones
that slide in and out
to unlock our whoopee cushions
with their skeleton keys.
© a day ago

Jazz 'N' Juice

                                         saxophones

                                   bluest notes intrigue

                                         one cool cat

Bones

Some are free floating
they can move on the diameter of a whim.
A few articulate with humor and grief,
others are hinged
so that ears can hear each other.

Many bones are scaffolds
for vision, prayer and procreation.

One hollow bone hums in the throat,
it channels the smoky saxophones
of the mind.

When death comes to nibble holes
into breastplates and ramparts
perhaps an osseous honeycomb of memory 
will form caves
for disembodied thoughts

and just maybe 
we will still be there,
to think them
as ghosts in some immortal marrow.

Come Back Little Sheba

barnum would have been proud
bulldogs in too twos
embraces for show
disks and dark booths
raw raws
scaffolding on saxophones
Scotland-yards of curtains
damp mermen
virginia     sweet william 
and dollar bills in
the greatest broken worth

July

There is no milk to be had
from this humid churn.
The air is obese.
A limping obstinacy
inflates canyons of heat.
The sun throws a leash of blood
around our necks.
Throats channel the smoke
of saxophones.
Over the dry prairies
a fiery mule pulls the sun.
We will burn lanterns,
listlessly watch catfish 
char on bleached docks.
We speak to each other
as if we were just a sigh
at the end of one more 
solar flare.

Under the Elms

When all our words have been spoken
whether in conflict or love
when we find ourselves under the Elms
holding the wrinkled hand of time in comfort
treasuring each breath as a precious flower
scented with the memories of years
     will we remember each moon filled night
when we embraced the ruffled hair of wanton dreams
finding warmth as we searched for honeycomb tongues
we found sweet and intoxicating when we wore the masks of lovers
dappled by flickering candles, lost in rhythmic orgasms of saxophones
mixed with roses and purple orchids dripping with the wine of paradise
      or will forgotten memories be our lot
drifting away with old silent eyes in realms of shades
that see only strangers and floating shadows
trapped in a fog wandering through our minds
      a wish, that we'd be warm in our reflections
as we sit under the Elms bound by the invisible sense of time
holding silent memories like a golden jewel
knowing our time is more passionate than our kiss
as we treasure each final breath of our love

7/4/19 contest Love Poems for Her

• Short Saxophones Poems
• Famous Saxophones Poems
• Best Saxophones Poems
• Read Saxophones Poems
• Long Saxophones Poems
• Saxophones Quotes