The Muse

(An International Journal of Poetry)

ISSN 2249 –2178

 

Volume-3                                                      DECEMBER -2013                                           Number-2

 

Jazz de Opus

 by  Charles  F.  Thielman

 

Carrying spurs of transit staccato,

I retreat to here from driving city bus,

yellow brake-squeal turns, ear-drum lanced.

 

Hair-trigger sidewalks prepped for war,

lined with saplings.

 

I retreat through thick wood doors,

long fingers thrumming bass,

blued drinks slaking August throats.

 

My lists of angry speeches left to simmer

as guitar burns a mirror of fire, piano smoking.

My back relaxing into the sways

of this good time crowd full of color.

 

A bronze jazz woman broils a love song

and spoons it out, musk sauce

brushed into marrow.

 

All of us down for this cool balm,

spooning jazz into full canvas throat

straight from soul onto scotch burning ice.

 

O, she throws her full indigo song

into the rhythm thrummed floor,

fingers snapping all here,

all here,

 

and the specific names of trees

ease into murals of shade,

into murals of our children

 

                                    holding their arms out,

                                        waiting for doves.

  

 

 

 

 

 

A Transient Flange of Light

by  Charles  F.  Thielman

 

Ice clink on smoked glass,

happy hour sax flying

with no faith in the ruins,

 

bass laying down a full heart flush

as a thousand bats wing-brush

ciphers across a dusk-bruised sky.

 

Out there, the heat blurs thought

as the war gospels of the snake-bit roll

 

gutter to gutter, narrowed souls backstroke

over shallows in a city half-full of sharks.

 

The bartender slides an edge-beveling tonic

into my left hand, brass glints and cymbals

shimmer in blue light. Jazz sauce applied,

 

after work crowd in full sway,

conditional easements granted.

 

Trumpet cry rising up to oval

a transient flange of light

 

over drum skin, liquid

flutter of hot piano,

 

a thousand bats wing-brush

ciphers across a dusk bruised sky,

one common hue brushed on through ache.

 

 

With you.