Tuesday, August 13, 2013


I suppose

If I were better with words

a wordsmith maybe

I could describe the sound


Crafted and carved wood against brass would be like

the first rain

falling upon a parched window


keys once made of ivory and mahogany

sound as footsteps on old and cracked city sidewalk pavement

some mostly young ones dance

avoiding the life persevering through said cracks




the same youth in the life carving a path for their own roots

as they are told of their own


The older ones

take a moment to be still

to hold a note

to hold their breath

to feel the vibration

enjoy life

until the note has passed


How could one explain the voice of a bass




It is the rumble of a trolley

the heft of the slow moving train

the uneasy but understood movement of the subway platform as it is arriving

but has not stopped.


the depth of its pitch causes feet to be ears

one’s chest becomes a resonating chamber


The chirps

The caws

The song of the metal birds

nothing quite like it


Words mimic the notes

vocals mime the tone


the horns


they fly


If I were better with words

I could tell you what Jazz sounds like




I don’t think I would


The words and melody are already there

for interpretation

for explanation

all I could really do is give you more




I wouldnt even if I could tell you about Jazz


id say one word



© Christopher F. Brown 2013


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