So music does not exist outside of bands?
Only guitar, drum, and bass, can make the sound of song?
Is not the city the heart of jazz?
No? Let me show you.
The heart of the song is thudding feet
As thousands of people walk in the heat,
Their voices rise like the crash of a cymbal.
The sirens sound like the wailing sax,
The street peddlers the high pitched trumpet.
The thudding bass are the trains and trucks
as they go rumbling by.
A hurricane comes, waves crashing down.
The feet that were fluid now stumble and fall.
The sirens wail louder, but the beat it is gone,
and the trains and the trucks fade into silence.
The bars are there but the notes are gone,
My song is left incomplete, I can go to another city
but the melody will not be as sweet.
So I stay and I wait for the first lonely step
that signals the beat to begin.
What is that I hear? Can it be true?
The beat is slow and steady.
A call comes forth! A siren wails!
The song comes back anew,
If you stand on the tallest roof,
The song around you swells,
Not the sound of modern jazz
But the song of life returns.
Wow! This is awesome! I can see that you put tremendous thought into this poem and I can appreciate that. Not only did you show that the world creates music all around us, but you also put the extra thought into comparing those sounds to the ones actually created by the instruments. Fantastic job!
ReplyDeleteI really enjoyed the progression throughout this poem. The noises grew stronger, with more consistency, and then a voice of exultation occurs later in the stanzas, as if I final cry. The industrial setting is also very interesting, I found myself curious about the time period and the subject, but overall really thought this was well thought through.
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