| Subject: New! Poem! |
Author:
Holly
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Date Posted: 22:13:27 10/16/01 Tue
Hello hello hello hellooo
Echo echo echo echooo
Just kidding. I'm going to be making some changes around here now that the fog and cobwebs are starting to clear. For now, here's an attention-deficit-impaired attempt at a poem.
Samson and the FCO
Conch and squonk
at the Green Street Grill.
Special guest: Samson,
Because Mommy needs a night out,
I explain in my head
to all the arched eyebrows
wondering, I think,
why there's a baby here
in the devil's gumbo
of avant-jazz improv
with not too much smoke?
Besides, I continue,
chin out,
complex music
builds brain
and soul,
so please stop staring,
and they do.
But not thanks to me,
thanks to Django,
who has stepped out from his kit
and begun a dance.
That's one way to follow Timo's solo.
He really is better than Charlie Haden.
And Django goes on
raising eyebrows and ambiguity.
Is this a joke? I smell the wonder,
and Samson,
my son,
laughs.
Snorts.
Squeals
and raises his fist,
"Dai -ahh!"
(This means, "Light on!")
Django laughs.
And Jim Hobbs bites the reed and
squonks.
"Dai-AHH!"
Squeak squonk.
"Ahh-AHH!"
An elephant call
as Django dances faster,
Timo bears down on the doghouse,
and my son
little man,
little god,
creates dance
and bass
and light
and squonk.
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