Varna International Jazz Festival – A Poem

I promised in an earlier post that I would share the poem I wrote about last year’s jazz festival. Well, it is now no longer a work in progress, it is a finished piece. Herewith…

We gathered in the courtyard
of the old museum,
aficionados of the genre, 
in appearance if not in knowledge.

The moon slowly dipped 
below the roof line,
as a seagull, late for home,
flew overhead.

Bright banners proclaimed the festival
of which we were now a part,
an audience sharing and appreciating the music,
sometimes randomly applauding subtle
shifts in rhythm or key 
that not everyone noticed
(Including me).

The seagull became part of the show,
a rhythmic flapping of wings
as the beat man was lost in an embrace
with his contrabass;

gliding as trumpet and saxophone
melded into one,
in perfect harmony,
as smooth as the honey your breakfast toast;

and a final flutter of wings,
as a blur of frantic piano fingers
reached fervently for the finale.