Not blues in twelve ( Poem )

 Poem 

Not blues in twelve

but there is joy

and pink champagne,

the maker’s music

trading eights

in syncopated synergy

from Dixieland to Rock ‘n’ Roll,

and here the cornet-master

leads in tones

a trumpet cannot blow.

The sidemen nod their harmonies,

engrossed;

their music coursing

through an energy of swing;

piano-player’s fingers

dancing round the tune;

a lover’s touch

caressing melody from bass;

and sax, deep throated tenor

shouting counterpoint

above the drums’

percussive ricochets.

Not blues in twelve,

but upbeat late

and shimmying

like Sister Kate.

The cornet-master

blows

an emptiness away.