Chess in the
afternoon sun.
Jazz floats over
the silky couch.
Backs ache, while
hearts break.
Bishop takes knight,
and France falls again.
The masks are all
broken under the
cerulean blue skies,
while she eats berries,
and smiles in her
pink polka dot dress.
The pawns are all smug,
and queenie's on the rag.
Italy surrenders, and from
the grave, Charlie Parker
still hammers home
those soft amber notes.
I can smell her heat, and
I think they play
Jazz in hell.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 20th, 2024 20:20
- Comment from author about the poem: Check out my book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, available on Amazon.com
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 15
- User favorite of this poem: Teddy.15.
Offline)
Comments5
Intriguing write!
Thank you.
Very beautiful as always
Thank you so much.
Jazz is everywhere Thomas.
Andy
Yes it is.
You must have met Dante and a few others I suspect such as Bukowski himself. I cannot help but be pulled in by the Italian surrender phrase, hey they got it back though. 🌹 Always a pleasure to read.
Thank you so much, Teddy.
Two things
First I enjoyed it
Second I’m still trying to get around it. Love the polka dot dress. I play chess at a competition level but the long games kill me
Thank you, my friend.
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