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: February 25th, 2025 16:28
- Comment from author about the poem: New video of me reading from my new book, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and Jump to the Madhouse, available on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/Its-Just-Skip-Jump-Madhouse/dp/B0DY4XDQYC/ref= This poem is a repost.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 44
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange, Teddy.15, Cheeky Missy
Offline)
Comments7
I thought it was the blues but if they play jazz sign me up. A really wonderful poem full of some really great lines. Well done
Thank you so much.
Wonderful poem, Thomas! 🙏❤️
Thanks.
You are most welcome.
Some great lines in this, very enjoyable read
Thank you.
You are very welcome
Jazz has always been in my life Thomas, in fact we are going to the Jazz Club tonight. We are going to see Fugue and Groove,
Andy
https://youtu.be/4iuEAeWG1Yw?si=FOy63b-K5Il9v4PL
Sweet. Thank you.
Strong write.
ty
Italy will never surrender 🤣 wonderful poem .
Lol. I thank you, sweet Teddy.
Ah, but how expertly you've rendered this as adroitly as heart could wish until one wishes to hug oneself after reading this exquisite exposé. Beautifully rendered with superb imagery and a teasing poignancy, thank you for sharing. I love it.
Thank you so much.
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