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Click hereLittle black pumps, cropped pants,
she walks a measured tred
clip clip clip down the avenue
like she's laying beat
for the bass line while Prez
paints her whole house in colors.
Nothing too bright, just way tasteful,
in careful pencil, drawn and shaded
with that small twitchy shift she makes
like key off key on key—
some baby jazz thing
that struts its own way away.
I'm left always watching from behind.
was going to try to pick out a favorite line but they are all too damn good-- the baby jazz has a sound to it that got me in synch. Thanks for the read, PoetGuy.
Neat poem with nifty tribute to a sublime tenor giant.
Most-read poem of the month is deserved recognition.
so this is the Famous PoetGuy that even brings anons out to vote 5's; kudos, here's 5, for what it is worth. Just one question. How do I read
clip clip clip is that
sss
sws
or something really bizarre like
wsw
or
sww
PS. this one is a little more believable and a lot less cliched than...
isn't always a shit head. Anonymous likes this poem. It has merit, unlike t he crap I give 2's to. Live with it you bloated egos that think you're poets. anonymous gives it a 5.
mesmerises the narrator. well, the beat and the view...
your subtle sound-work throughout has this thing happenin', dude!
oh, and thanks for the imagery *nods*