Ode to Mr. Johnson
There are certain sounds
That lift spinning around
Yet some like good jazz
That has
A primal sway
No wonder some say
Stay
Away
From the dirty devil music
Emanating from that den
Of smoke gin and men
Women
Sultry

Spiraling
Swooning
Swirling
Sullen at times
Nothing clouds yet clarifies the mind
Like the perfect blend
That sends awareness on the unique trip
Whatsoever is on the lip
Or tongue
To be young
Again
Perhaps a road split
Try a trip
Down the missed
Road of misspent youth
Sitting on the roof
Watching stars on the first night of fall
The music can send to places so far
so far visioned never seen
meaning to
someday
for now stay linger in the stillness
yet wash afire
with flashing desire
as saxaphone cascade like beckoning fingers
no singers
just bass drum kit
only live will do it
justice
felt in the hips
even on the tips
of these fingers
the sound lingers
even after the set
it just doesn’t get
any better that that
the cat
who flows
drifting through the crowd like a ghost
up close
the suit is thread bare
yet his flare
for fashion
his gift

his passion
his eyes sparkle an impish twinkle
complicated as it is simple
nothing in this world
so good
as live jazz.

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