Rhythm And Blues Poem by Harry Biosah

Amidst clear blue sky
Under swaying rafia palm,
The wise, bald, grey old man
Picked up his antiquated guitar,
Made himself comfortable
In his easy chair,
Then placed his guitar
On his thigh...
He was clearly exhausted
From the long weary journey

The frenzied, animated crowd
Looked up expectantly, fired up
By the intransigent coloration
Of obdurate, perkish sharks
Cast upon the light rays
Of the deep, blue sea
They said, play us a song old man-
Perhaps, some heavy metal or hard rock?
The bald, grey, wise old man smiled,
And nodded his head
His tired eyes were as emotionless
As the distant grey sky
He took time to adjust his keys,
Carefully, and deliberately picked his spot,
Then, gently, but powerfully struck a tune...
It wasn't a discordant tune
Nor were the keys misapplied;
It was a well articulated and sculptured tune


The expectant crowd surged forward,
Listening intently for some
Heavy metal or hard rock music,
But, ...it was blues, not heavy metal or hard rock;
For that was all the wise, bald old man,
Knew all along...
That was what he has always played
All his life-blues
Just blues!
He was not a fan of heavy metal or hard rock music
The wise, weary, bald, old man finished playing,
Gently layed down his antiquated guitar,
Then, quietly closed his eyes