Jazz Poems
WALKING PARKER HOME
Sweet beats of jazz impaled on slivers of wind Kansas Black Morning/First Horn Eyes/ Historical sound pictures on New Bird wings People shouts/ boy alto dreams/ Tomorrow’s Gold belled pipe of stops and future Blues Times Lurking Hawkins/ shadows of Lester/ realization Bronzer fingers–brain extensions seeking trapped sounds Ghetto thoughts/ bandstand courage/ solo flight Nerve-wracked suspicions of never songs and doubts New York altar city/ black tears/ secret disciples Hammer horn pounding soul markson unswinging gates Cultural gods/ mob sounds/ visions of spikes Panic excursions to tribal Jazz wombs and transfusions Heroin nights of birth/ and soaring/ over boppy new ground Smothered rage covering pyramids of notes spontaneously exploding Cool revelations/ shrill hopes/beauty speared into greedy ears Birdland nights on bop mountains, windy saxophone revolutions. Dayrooms of junk/ and melting walls and circling vultures/ Money cancer/ remembered pain/ terror flights/ Death and indestructible existence In that Jazz corner of life Wrapped in a mist of sound His legacy, our Jazz-tinted dawn Wailing his triumphs of oddly begotten dreams Inviting the nerveless to feel once more That fierce dying of humans consumed In raging fires of Love.
BOB KAUFMAN
from Jazz Poems ~ Selected and Edited by Kevin Young
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