OLD MAN POEMS
Jazz gathering in darkness over the farm,
Waiting for morning’s icy mirror.
Looking for the moon, you only find
A cloudy glow like a death shining back through,
Tranquility’s price, and you dig
How the horns hover around the melody,
Your heartbeat, death’s dance.
You look one more time for the moon
And find it in the paint thinner finish
Of peaty scotch, an icy amber mirror,
Jazzy death’s dance, tranquility’s price.
Wonderful, as always.
Raw, simple, and sad. Really evocative!
Wowsa! Incredible poem, Tim! Jazz, scotch, moon, death. What a powerful concoction.
I can’t help loving those hovering horns . . . the image is perfect!
Ducky, just ducky! Love it!