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Jay Bradley

Rookie (Eschenbach in der Oberpfalz)

The Blues, The Jazz, The City


The city is jazz under neon lights
The jazz is blues stoned
And the city never forgets this
Like the heart never forgets to pulse
And the stars never forget to shine in the night
But it takes jazz to move it, to move it all
So the jazz is the beat that always burns
So the heavens continue to shine on and shine all

The jazz soothes the souls of the children
Though the city is old, the jazz is young
Thus the jazz, fast and heavy, radiates the city
She returns her to her ember glow in night

The city is high on the hill and low in the valley
She is the heart, the blessed nectar, the blossom shower
The jazz glows in prosperous tombs
She serves the crashing wave of the monsoon, to the city's bay, to the ancient harbor, across bold rivers, to lakes nestled in the safety of moors and battlefields, and sings to the forest and soaks the timber and every reborn city is cloaked in the fingertip of jazz
Since jazz destroys and creates, it is the fire, and so the smoke rises higher
Hark the newborn guff of jazz
The baptized funeral pyre

Hench jazz is the gospel, the good news
She returns though, always to the blues
Love the blue lady, her old cracked voice
The blues, the jazz, and the lady unite
To the bravery of her song she sang to the evil eyes of the Kodak dragon whose hair in the hiding bear under masks of hatred
The jealous lair, the haunt of despair
And jazz shines on, they can't stop her
The lady of the city sings to the farm
No choir can match the timbre of the lady
My first love,
She shines on for me when I am sad, through me in melancholy
And we join in joy, the lady sees all, feels all, and sings on
Rambunctious be the lady, the city, the blues
Who beat for hearts at night

From the slide trombone, the tut-tut-tut of the mighty snare
The brass milieu for brighter days and neon lights
The whimper
The whimper of the stand-up bass, who carries the beat, the jazz, the blues, the night
In your arms I am safe and sound, the sounds who hold me tight
And above all, upon the highest peak, the great black giants, the black hands and breath of jazz, food for the soul and fodder, who inspire all in the world
But the two giants upon the highest mountain compete for the night and walk away friends as we do
They too are the shine, the noble sheen, and while the lady sings, they dance, the boozers hound and prance, the lovers kneel and romance and the giants push the pebbles from beneath their mountain feet

Who knows how many souls the jazz saved, but I know she saved mine
The giants, trumpet and sax, and even the sweet other of New Orleans, a trumpet and voice, a demigod, and every other band and face and time
So the jazz soothed them too to be saved, as they played, we all played, and jazz shines for the night
And Jack drew the map in sketches, he saw the jazz, but the jazz sees all, and saves all who smile upon her because she loves all, but can only save those who hear her call because she is human
She is so human
She is the city of light of darkest night

But most of all I think on the lady
The lady is the city, sitting pretty, in a jam
The jam
The beat
The jazz
The lady
The city
The blues
Pushed forward by strongest beat, what a feat, and the children eat their meat
And meet those they should, the jazz rumbles on, singing the song, nothing wrong
And the lady smiles always because she is the beat of my heart, my soul
She blooms my flower
She waves my sound
She smiles
Smiles
The lady
With her cracked somber voice of the blues, the city, and jazz
She the great bell, cracked, she chimes for liberty, she chimes for freedom of the endless soul she saves
And the giants steamroll her, the angel ember young
And she flies in heaven where she belongs, singing for the city, the blues, the jazz
And love

Submitted: Friday, September 16, 2011
Edited: Friday, September 16, 2011

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  • Freshman - 1,419 Points Luis Estable (9/16/2011 7:52:00 AM)

    A bit long for my taste of reading this kind of poetry, but the work done here is good, and it makes me think of those days when jazz used to be kng; it still does in some parts of the world, but I think that it does not have the sting that it once did though there are still those who find jass a marvellous thing to listen to.

    You wernt at it for a long while, but that`s not necessary bad; all poetry does not have to be short; it can be like this one in length if done well, and I believe you didi well whith this try.

    The best to you now and ever! (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

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