featured in Rumsfeld’s Sandbox

When Satchmo played
In the early days
Of a time that’s lost its youth

The rhythm of
Our God above
Shone bright as a golden tooth

The harpsichords
And ivory boards
In heart’s harmony did play

With the six-stringed lass
The brazen brass
And a chorus from Calais

‘Tis sweet the Muse
Who lights the fuse
Of a melody made from tears

And on that note
I’d like to quote
A man wise beyond his years

“Most folks go
Where nothing grows
With the music still inside

They never change
Or extend the range
And their song in silence hide”

When Elvis played
In halcyon days
When refrains had lost their jazz

We did the twist
Held stiff our wrists
And danced like a razzmatazz

first published in Small Brushes, a print journal.