Jazz
Is my thing.
It's like
Zing
On a wing.
A sexual hiss
Of clarinet bliss,
And ring a ding ding
-My miss.
Jazz
The pizazz
Of a tinkling piano
Sprinkling
Cool love.
Above,
Heaven taps its feet.
To syncopating beat.
And that aching tale
So convoluted,
Escaping jail
From a horn that's muted.
New notes born
From every flute
That's tooted.
With laid back appeal.
Jazz
Is a symphony surreal.
At the piano
Two cool dudes
Duet the bluest moods.
As bitterness exudes
Across a smokey bar.
Some cat
Lights a cigar.
And is grateful
For what he has.
And that's jazz.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your poem swings. And that is jazz.