The blues. 
        
A dark room, swaying bodies, cool cats –
  
                
the melancholy notes of a jazz band.
  
       
Saxaphone.  Melting away the stresses of life.
   
      
My mind sways to the swanky beat,
        
          
Taking my thoughts to a relaxing place
                                      of indigo. 

Fresh, alive, youthful!  
       
I can conquer anything.
  
                  
Nothing can stop me,  
no one will tell me “no”    
     
I feel like shouting,
  Capturing everyone’s attention      
   
I am capable.
Freedom pulses through my veins.       
  
A sweet fragrance wafts around me –
  flowers are brilliant, 
                            the sun is sizzling. 

Anger.       
  
The threat of danger
 overwhelms me. 
        
Defeat, frustration – 
my mood is black.  
                 It contaminates everything around me.     
    
The cold rain slips into every corner of my being.
                   Hope unravels. Everywhere I turn – dismal,  
                          
the dreary cold is there.
 
        
Will there ever be warmth again?
          
        
Emotions CLASH  within me.
 
                           
I just want simplicity.
   
                         
I just want peace.
  
                          
I am lost in a vicious spiral of conflict.
 

A song whispers across the air  
       
filled with sorrow,
  
                
proclaiming to an uncaring, unknowing world
     
                       
the loss of a mother, sister, daughter.
   
      
Life continues to swirl.
  
       
The song begs that she not be forgotten
 
                 
her death a plea for life to change,
  
                          
a chance for generations left behind.
  
       
The mournful tone reaches out
         
          to the walls of a concrete soul.
     
                       
Is anyone listening?
     
                       
Will change ever come?
 
             
In the distance
   
                     
the courageous dare  
 
                                    
to hope.
               

An effort in poetry written in response to listening to music from Harlem. 

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About cakboliv

Born in Cochabamba, Bolivia to wonderful missionary parents, Howard and Maxine Morarie. Grew up in Bolivia, both in a remote jungle village

3 responses »

  1. Rob says:

    Successful effort. I like!

  2. optionalg says:

    rob… stop kissing up.

    nice staggered prose… like e. e. cummings or something.

    i am in the room snapping my fingers sister friend

  3. marie says:

    bravo, you put me in the room, listening to jazz or better yet, the heart-beat of jazz. i love that it takes courage to hope. love your stuff sista.

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