Poem for The Oliver Jones Trio at the Jazz Bistro 11/24/2016
Poetry is Jazz, the words we don’t say.
Missing beats and rhythms of fractured minds –
Playing the tunes that hang between our words
But the truth is, nobody listens to jazz anymore.
*
Rhythm, deviation, improvisation.
Squeeze tight, the world slipping between fingers
If you want for want for want, don’t say words.
Nobody cares about our missing words.
*
Poets and players matter to nobodies.
For life is about the notes we don’t play.
Should I say, everything will be okay
*
Repetition, rhythm, meter, scale.
Sifting in the dark, old scratches sing sweet,
In tune on page, nobodies have it all.
*
Nobodies care about the missing notes
Nobodies’ got about the words we didn’t say
Repetition, improvisation, end.
