Thursday, October 8, 2015

Jazz Runs The Rails

Jazz Runs the Rails

by Seah Greenhorn
(Poem with copyright)

A concrete core
as a diminutive Dante's den
tainted and feral--
a sordid tunnel world.

Stepping timidly, knowingly
or mechanically descending
into its burping belly

various ages, stages
of diverse activities
converging scents:
body odor
train fumes;

yet I slayed
the beast
bested, settled to rest
the butterflies

As skippy melodies fly
to staccato highs and consoling lows
tapping? Dirty sneakers, pointed leather toes
lowering upturned or covered noses.

Posed... me with she
a harmonious extension
of my body;

held once cradled weightless
while trains sped for hours.

Warm—her notes, spiting cold keys
a frigid metal frame
caressed by loving fingers.

Her returning sounds?
So smooth
though porcelain shines
and tinted lips
vibrate woodwind reed.

I sway effortlessly,
even gracefully,
with the melancholy rhythm

stay the moment
in this domain of ecstasy;
pure bliss

mesmerized by long alluring tones
via my sax
into an otherwise unearthly silence
of the underground's entails.

My senses soar
brain waves implore: More
for mere sheer enjoyment of heaven's release

the trills of songbirds
reverberating back to me
lyrical and ethereal.