My Not-Jazz Poem
My hands don’t find
Bobby Blue bland;
I’ve driven hours
over Miles.
My legs sure glide when
the trombone slides
and my eyes tear
when Louis smiles.
But I don’t poem jazz;
I just can’t poem jazz–
oh, I jitter
and I’m plenty bugged,
but can only riff old honkywonk
and snip a bordered rug.
I can listen till I’m Dizzy,
Muddy Waters on the brain,
But I don’t poem jazz–
I just can’t poem jazz
it’s just the way I am.
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The above is my non-jazz poem responding to the wonderful prompt by Gay Cannon on dVerse Poets Pub to write a jazz poem. My apologies in advance to anyone who finds the poem offensive or politically incorrect–it’s intended only to make fun of myself. Have a great weekend.
ManicDDaily 
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