- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Concrete Moon
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Jimmy Jangle played the tambourine
until you handed him a drum solo.
He tried to adapt, but,
adaptation and evolution
are different diseases entirely.
Now, he plays like some stray dog
crashing about in alleys,
banging on garbage cans
and chain link fences;
howling at moons.
When the sun comes up
James doesn’t switch back to
zinging the zils,
he keeps right on with his solo;
snapping snares,
banging that bass drum into Braille,
playing like a Juilliard hopeful
or a Back-Alley Blues player.
Crows croon at day, too,
but not like Jangle does at night.
- COMMENTS
Anonymousabout 16 years agoThe wind like a forlorn sax and the mumblings of oblivious onlookers as our strings. I love your music.
Anonymousabout 16 years agoGreat poem title. It's attention-grabbing and revelant to the text, being a line all on its own. I really like this poem. It has a lot of texture and interesting word choices, real character in the poem. Very good, thanks!
champagne1982about 16 years ago- in the written word. I love the sounds of this poem. I can hear the tinny clatter of those silver discs and how it carries us away through jazzy blues and bluesy jazz and all that jazz. Mentioned on the review thread in the Poetry Feedback forum.
