Clash!

A football spinning in spirals flows,
waves of a crashing cymbal float.
Chick-chick sounds with the hi-hat,
a shot on the rim of the snare.  

I sink into the ruffle of brushes,
tight with the bass.
Switching flanks like boys  
on fields of play.

Blue notes bend - off beat, back beat.
Could you pass me the ball please?
I bathe into its belly,
in the warmth of ebony.

Sing!

Let’s plunge into the mouthpiece,
into the stutter of reeds.
Through the tube of the target man,
to the spitting of chant.

It breathes right through me:
the joy of passing sound  
in the forwards feet -
get it back, pick up speed,

to rephrase the melody.  
Diphthong. Saliva I become:
triphthong, sweat on skin,
the swift shift of fingers -

from note, to phrase, to slap.
Blend of Arab tongue
and Indian flavor, bob style chat,
ad lib talks and free jazz.

Hush!

Pure sound painted
by this unity, from the heart -
in the strumming of strings,
in the striking of sticks,
in the sliding of screams...

Jungle Boldie.

© Jeannine Valeriano 2009