Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Sorceress of Jive


Lift your neck and pound the keys,
raise the bells of brass,
drums that knock me to my knees,
and conjure up my past.

In my cradle, music slept
like sound surround, rocking me,
cuddling me with Dixieland
and blues and jazz and harmony.

Trombone laughing, Grandpa led
a whole procession by my bed,
screwed his eyes up with delight
in Satchmo, god of all things bright.

Dad leaned in with trumpet high
to softly wail a lullaby
and such a lucky babe as I
had music in my cradle.

Everybody raised their voices,
uncles, aunts, cousins, me,
quartets, choirs, solos, choices
long forgotten, history.

Wondrous keyboard, rocking rhythm,
squealing brass and joyful noise,
phantoms forming, now they stand
playing with you in your band.

Who are you to pound out ghosts?
How is it you know my heart,
rocking me in memories and
rolling me to silent tears?

Lift your neck and pound the keys,
raise the bells of brass,
drums that knock me to my knees,

and conjure up my past.

1 comment:

  1. Love this tribute to your Ohio people. Such sweet images and the sound comes right on through. I heard it, truly, I did. PF

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