Rain
Pitter pitter pat pat
The Dame
Fouler than a sewer rat
Her game
Players fall at the drop of a hat
Her name
The broad doesn't even deserve that
I was just a sly guy
Wearing a trilby hat
Pistol stowed away
Glovebox, car, it was parked in the back
I hear the drums near the jazz club
Ratta tat tat
Miss Ella
She begins to scat
A sweebo bava doodee
Zeevo zavva zat zat
Trane's on the sax
Now how about that
Putting pen to the paper
Is Jack Kerouac
Bird bops to the beat
I hear Miles' horn from the back
Lady Day
Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered at that
Duke tickles those keys
The white and the black
What A Wonderful World
You know old Louis knew about that
Mingus is plucking them strings
Monk wasn't sharp, wasn't flat
Nat King Cole
Now that's one cool cat
I walk out, turn, to look back
Jazz is my lingo, cause thats where its at
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Noir
PoetryVenetian streaks, dark alleys, trench coats, smoking guns...you want that? Check out Noir, an anthology of poetry dedicated to ideas and time lost.
