Read Poems by Winter Childers

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Echoes of 52nd Street

Echoes of 52nd Street
In the beginning was the Word . . .
_______ Ahh, listen to his gentle jazz, this quiet bit of razzmatazz, a classic string of notes in time, yet timeless, interspersed with rhyme, like Coltrane calling on the ‘phone to tell you of his favorite things, or Bird’s bent bebop when you’re all alone, it echoes 52nd Street. But it isn’t Bebop. It’s not the cool. It’s not even the birth of electric cool. It’s a brand-new jesus come to jazz, with classic bits of razzmatazz, and quiet strings of notes in time, interspersed with timeless rhyme, like Coltrane calling on the ‘phone, or Bird’s bent bebop when you’re all alone, it echoes . . . 52nd Street.

Copyright © Winter Childers | Year Posted 2018


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Date: 8/23/2018 12:56:00 AM

Winter, welcome to Poetry Soup. What a sweet melodic poem! It sounds like it should be set to music. Love the word razmataaz, thank you for using it!

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