Into The Night Poem by Kewayne Wadley

Into The Night

They dismissed him as dumb
Just another Negro with a shaky hand.
A stringy goatee
his shirt half tucked
A dark hat leaning to the left side of his head
That hat seemed like it was made for him
Covering dark gray wool
He went from club to club longing for acceptance.
They misunderstood the croon that old saxophone had to offer.
Many laughed
Musicians kicked him from the stage
Chasing him with drum sticks
Chastising the way he looked
They didn't understand the impediment coming from that horn.
His sound fell on deaf ears.
Cigerette ashes blown stray in the wind.
He came from a grudgeful womb
His father nowhere to be found
He once wrote a letter to heaven but heard no reply
Nothing more than a junkie
Feigning for a hit they thought
shooing him away discarding him as if he were nothing
Telling him to never come back.
Words he's heard even from mama.
He played a chord higher than most
It often screeched when it hit it's peak
An orgasm of sorts
His fingers well versed
Far beyond their years
Full of vigor.
The nights dreaming at the old train yard
They paid no mind
Shooing him away as if he were a fly
He never made it past the first set without disfigured faces
They labeled him an outcast
Fueling an fire unseen behind those blue laced eyes.
Tall, lanky he searched for a place to belong
Arms swinging between the ladder of the sidewalk.
Everywhere he went was the same
Often alone with the echo of songs in his head
A redemption of light casting through shadow
He had to get them out. Some place, some how they had to be heard
Soon he had nowhere to go
Barred from if not all, quite most of the clubs he knew.
If not there, there was an alternative.
One no one thought, at least he thought.
A moment ripe with opportunity
I'll get them back.
Break bad if they'd like I'll get them one by one
He waited the night after
Before the club became packed
Tarnished saxophone in the dull moon light
He grabbed an old bucket and sat outside a few inches before the entrance of the club and began to play
He played that horn as loud as he could
Drawing any listening ear that walked past.
The stars shone bright, awakened by the sound of that old saxophone crooned.
Those fingers played with all their might
Gasps of air flowed continuously into that horn
Hips rolled
Arms swayed
Others stood in a sophisticated fashion
Many stopped and watched
He gained so much attention that the club owner came out in awe
Watching those fingers work as the devil.
Sweat beaded down his forehead, he paid it no mind
Dried memories of past thoughts
Shirt soaked in sweat
Those fingers worked like the devil
That old sax screeched mellow and smooth
Calming down in a mellow lullaby
Outplaying the musicians that shooed him away from outside the club
An incredible sight to witness.
It wasn't long before the other musicians came out with their instruments
They began to play but his saxophone played the longest
Ushering him further into the world of addiction
Jazz riffs played smooth under the cool moon light
Following his lead they tried to play but couldn't keep up with his style
They grew frustrated as the same disfigured faces looked upon them in disgust
Telling them they needed to go back inside
Mad, they sat in silence until he was done.
Once finished they clapped
they stormed him with admiration waiting to know more about him
They asked his name
He kept silent standing up from his bucket
The club owner walked up offering him a job
to be the band leader replacing the old one that shooed him in the first place
spreading all those nasty rumors about him
He kept quiet walking off into the gleaming stars of the night
Following the row of street lights into the sound of the train that rung from afar

Monday, March 7, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: blues,jazz,liberation,life,music,victory
Kewayne Wadley

Kewayne Wadley

Groton, Connecticutt
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