Miles Davis turned 85

The jazz man's needle
hits the grooves
with a blow to the horn
undressing ladies with his melodies
making the men enviest
of his brass
with one mesmerizing solo
he makes the crowd feel lost
the only thing they know
is the glass containing
an adult beverage is their's
the walls the lights the ambients
belongs to the jazz man
who is now taking encores
the crowd yield miles


LOW TIDE
last day of summer
the sun was setting
which was the source of the colors
purple yellow and orange
like in a vincent van goh painting

the night was beginning its reign
the only light starting to show were the stars
and the fiery red cherries on cigarettes
providing a cloud of smoke
which stood above couples sitting on blankets
the stench of love and hate was in the air

there was a jazz band on stage dishing out their hope and fears
spoon feeding the crowd like babies in a high chair
with every new note,it was a wound being healed
it was like the music was saying, "Yeah I've been there."

I was entranced with every piercing melody

the trumpet reached new heights
of dissoluted paradise
the saxophone bled contentment
and the manic drums piano and bass
brought back the past like a slap in the face

the jazz band kept playing
and I couldn't catch up
then suddenly STOP
the members on stage smiled at each other
with a deep breath
there was a sound of a lone cymbal (Tt Tt TtTtTtTtTt Tt)
a wave of horns started to build
as it peaked they roared
engulfing me with everything that was clear
then it broke and carried me away