Derek Walcott
Castries / St Lucia
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The Glory Trumpeter

Rating: 3.0
Old Eddie's face, wrinkled with river lights,
Looked like a Mississippi man's. The eyes,
Derisive and avuncular at once,
Swivelling, fixed me. They'd seen
Too many wakes, too many cathouse nights.
The bony, idle fingers on the valves
Of his knee-cradled horn could tear
Through 'Georgia on My Mind' or 'Jesus Saves'
With the same fury of indifference,
If what propelled such frenzy was despair.
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COMMENTS
Kayode Are 09 September 2018
A haunting portrayal of a time long gone, in despair, yet swilling hope.
0 0 Reply
Ahmad Shiddiqi 09 October 2008
lovely! could you read and comment on my poems too? thank you.
0 3 Reply
Robert Louis Dummett 19 December 2007
A wordsmith paints haunting images.
2 1 Reply
Yee McGee 28 April 2021
All around me are familiar faces Worn out places, worn out faces Bright and early for the daily races Going nowhere, going nowhere Their tears are filling up their glasses No expression
0 0 Reply

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