Under pressure the saxman starts to blow willing the notes from his mind to his fingers and then to the air Remembering the cocky changes the showmanship of scales, from the piano player, now beaming at him from the corner of the stage Your turn now , brother. Sing it now. Harder and harder, he blows a dizzying run up and down the length of the brass fingers squeezing, fluttering coaxing the sweet run of black hemidemisemiquavers, fifths of a blues scale racing around the world in eighty bars, over and over carnatic rhythm throwing the vibe into the smoke and noise of the room Like a bird beginning to fly first he imitates his predecessor And then , confidently, finding his space he flinches in pleasure as the stream turns into a flood Swinging like Mohamed Ali now sweet like a butterfly the sticks of the drummer brushing the crash, riding the ride The bass player, lean and tall watches his fingers carefully plucking the heartstrings of the double bass riping the low notes from the wood blue note heaven, baby I'm gonna blow the roof off this sucker , now hold onto your hats fellers it's big bang time let there be light let there be sound The stage lights are hot, sweat making his fingers slip Time to call it a night Don't want to anger the jazzgods by flaunting their gift A final flourish, then back to the chorus A sprinkle of applause Don't care , amen, hallelujah Seen the blue note heaven , baby At least one time tonight I can sleep like a man "Charlie Parker Knows" Stick on the old 45's And wind up the record player tonight we will dance in the moonlight to the sounds of the big band The kids will hunt for earthworms by the light of flickering candles And you, you fool, you will dance with me, like we did before we were old and thoughtful When the cornet player stands up to do his lazy solo we will swing by the light of the stars as if they were the chandeliers of the rich And the band will play Our secret song Over and over. n "Back Garden Boogie" JAZZ POEMS Sweet soulful song from shiny brass horn fingers moving like hydra as the notes sound high up to the heavens like butterflies hovering around the wings of a sail curved in the breeze pursed lips, brow furrowed in concentration , as cheeks puff in prayer air turns to gold and the wind sings along the memory of home the echo of jazz when Miles plays.... - "Miles Away" Aug 5th 1997 11:45 am Bibadubop skiddle skidaddle whee whee whee badu badu zibabapumnnuanzair oobie oobie ooooooh eebie eebie eeeeeeehh a tisket a tiskat I've lost my little basket diduna didunda badu badu badu badu -"Ella"