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An ongoing series designed to share the quality of jazz poetry continuously submitted to Jerry Jazz Musician. This edition features several poems on John Coltrane and Billie Holiday, as well as nods to Bill Evans, Chet Baker, Archie Shepp and others…
Thanks to the poets…and enjoy!
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Adapted photo of John Coltrane/via Wikimedia Commons
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The Jazz Ship
Tonight, the ship swears on a stack of stars:
a jazz club adrift between Orion’s belt
and Cassiopeia’s throne, where notes scatter
like meteor dice, vanish into the dark.
The brochure promised ascension:
brass under bourbon light,
air thick with cologne and regret
a scene steeped in sepia,
nostalgia over crushed ice.
On stage: a sax curled in velvet, waiting,
a double bass sighing in its sleep.
They were gods once, hands long turned
to stardust, improvising galaxies from chords.
Now: silence. Disappointment sidles in.
An iPad on a barstool stands in for the band.
James, tux borrowed, charm rented,
leans into My Way, chasing Sinatra’s ghost
through speakers that forgot how to swing.
Later, when the track hisses to static,
a woman shows the Cruise Director
how to fold an origami crane from the menu.
His fingers fumble—then wings,
then something like flight.
Menus bloom across the room:
paper saxophones, paper drums
a band conjured from napkins and ash.
A spoon taps glass. A foot finds the beat.
Someone hums a low blue note.
And for a moment, something descends
not memory, not magic,
but maybe a minor god
of mischief and timing,
tuning the room just enough.
This is jazz:
the echo that lingers
after the gods have gone.
A low blue note slips into the stars.
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by Rodney Wood
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Jazz World
in this dark room we wander
through the cloud of smoke
the incense and perfume
to reach a hand that lifts the burden
the sound of freedom from what is certain
here we touch the physical soul
and drink the blood from our savior jazz
who walks among us and lives within us
we are not here and yet we are
we do not live but yet we hear
and this is the purpose all men desire
to warm the flesh, kiss and caress
merge and submerge in a liquid sweet
I will press my lips upon the piece
gently let it sing to me
now upon this covered mound
silk and satin blows in from the east
harmonious band gathered for the feast
and we shall not be disappointed
vibration rains down upon the crown
and we shall raise the glorious flag
in a world where no man be forgotten
and like no woman be forlorn
no infant crying to be born
the keys to the 88 kingdoms discovered
the unveiling of the golden horn
an autograph for the curious lover
in a world of jazz we become one
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by Joe Kidd
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Lady
The lady with gardenias in her hair
is wearing a white blouse w/ Fleur-de-lis
and a bamboo skirt.
Behind her are the musicians like a woods
w/ swaying trees, trumpeter branches high,
saxes of drooping leaves.
She leans towards the piano supporting
her, with drums and bass.
Her singing is soft, gentle, persistent
against the wind.
She is that rare flower that blooms in the dark;
she is that rare animal at one with the night,
a creature of kindness, giving us light.
Her song becomes a whisper well-made,
delivering us to an ancient, archetypal plain.
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by DH Jenkins
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Lady Day
Near end of her life, her voice
was shattered by life’s vicissitudes.
Nonetheless, she could elicit heartbreak
and insight and plant them in the souls
of listeners. Her lovely face was haunted,
her eyes at sea on a ship of their own,
yet bone deep pain, and a grasp of humanity’s
failings, gifted her with an ability to set
a room on fire with passion, burnt love,
and a path toward astonishing wisdom
amidst the grief and overwhelming loss.
The Lady was the voice of the blues.
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by Michael L. Newell
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Bill Evans and the Worker Bee (Interplay)
she watches him play as
he is lost in a flood of lights
he loses himself in the melody
he is arched over the keyboard
in his trademark lean; she wishes
she could distract him, wishes she
could show him, music isn’t the only
food he needs; artists are never happy
they carry the world on their shoulders
like Sisyphus, and never truly enjoy their
success; artists don’t think about tomorrow
when there’s only today, and he looks at her
fingers swollen and numb, calling
on god, to give him lightning in a bottle, so
he can take her smile, and turn it into daylight…
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by Erren Geraud Kelly
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Call and Response
curbside jazz:
Maxwell Street
taps and yaps
in a loud throb
end to end
heart to heart
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~
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late afternoon
the woman
by the sink
swings slowly
to a low
bass
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~
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evening walk
boggled
by brassy jazz
blaring
out of a passing
Mustang
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~
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second-line dance
a chorus
of bodies
stomp
on their
shadows
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~
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home party
the shack
shakes slowly
loosing itself
in the blues
of rain and thunder
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by John Zheng
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From A Laptop Jim-Jam
During a mid-morning rambling scroll
I happened on Mister Jelly Roll
Antiquated though still sounding grand
Delivered by a high stepping Ferdinand
Tunes stomped out so Black Bottom golden
Chops from King Porter to Buddy Bolden
Played hot with frenzied syncopation
Forming an instrumental stimulation
To seek a hybrid variation
Further looking then landing on
An ornithological paragon
Stylish when wearing Little Suede Shoes
Fusing old hues into fresh new blues
Popping life between sheet music chords
Creating eternal audible rewards
Coming with a tease of such velocity
Bewildering the innocent with such capacity
And often shadowed without being nefarious
Is the non loquacious distinct Thelonious
Who captured remnants of Mister Jelly Roll
Turning them into a dissonant boil
Angled melodies with twists and shifts
Flatted ninths and flatted fifths
So now’s the time for a tonal bracer
I’ll take mine Straight, No Chaser
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by Terrance Underwood
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Charles Mingus Trees
When the leaves
fell off
as arpeggio’s
autumn sepia
blew freezing shrouding
arco string bar lines—
four four dominion
recalls when seed
summer hit your soul
with astounding
youth sanctifying “oh, yeah”
the green time was
blue times man
soaking up spring water
young stripling stop time
finding your way
in black man loam
to frame the largest
blue note branches
with your girth
you shaded and
demanded growth from
dolphy, knepper, richmond
plants growing within
your sprawling roots—
then straw grass age
drained energy sap
like after a forever orgasm
you a tribute now
got no earthy home…
among goliath wind strums
winter soil received you
big bass
note limbs diminished
a hollow den within amen.
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by Daniel Warren Brown
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Archie
polyrhythmic
Afrocentric free jazz
like Archie Shepp
on The Magic of Ju-Ju
boisterous squawk
existential!
when I talk this way
you’ll listen
if you’re not too
bourgeois to hear
shrieking
experimental
just call it mental
stretching out
no borders or restrictions!
take me back to mystery
camaraderie of vision
a rawness
that envelops me
saxophonic squall
come tell it all
howling
growling!
radical sax
jazz shaman
oracle
no limits
in an innerspace
connection
in a world unduly distracted
by complexion
come dig this Afro-funk creation
& who called it a precursor to all
that is punk / rocking?
cascading notes
the squall
& the squawk!
the howling
saxophonic ju-ju
hear those Yoruba
talking drums!
& what’s
been stolen
can be retrieved…
……………..Sorry ‘Bout That
if you find it impossible
to believe
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by Connie Johnson
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For John Coltrane
a saxophonist creates a whirling world
of wild wind carrying extraordinary
sound above and beyond listeners
he is alone with his instrument
in the midst of fellow musicians and
a stunned audience whose minds feelings
and imagination soar beyond all they had
ever known this is music beyond dance
beyond mere skill beyond the limits of a group
this is melody rhythm uncharted regions of sound
that raise listeners to their feet this is music that
sails beyond prayer the saxophonist has discovered
how to inform sound with blood sweat tears and hope beyond
mere reason when his music ceases aching silence reigns
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by Michael L. Newell
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Coltrane 5
Cool blue in cold blankets
Cold as kerosene in baskets
………………the death and still air
The rush after caskets
Alabama red and green
And red again
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by Michael Edman
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Diablo Wind
…………….For John Macker
we walk Diablo Canyon …………………wind inside the wind crystal wind
………………………………………………………………………from black volcanic rocks
………………………………………………………………………….slow pulse of eternity
………………………………………………………………………………..eternity in the rocks
& then it blows …………………………….the Holy Ghost
…………………………………………………………………..the Holy Ghost
………………………………………………………………………words our soul into existence
…………………………………………………………………………..leaving us speechless
……………………………………………………………………………..diablo space magnified
……………………………………………………………………………….the rebirth of Voodoo
…………………………………………………………………………………lit up like the crystal skull
…………………………………………………………………………………..we’ve been searching for
……………………………………………………………………………………..since time was a zero
Diablo wind blows …………………………….stars & feathers & snakeskins
…………………………………………………………………….supernovas in our womb
………………………………………………………………………enraptured moonblood
………………………………………………………………………..hummingbird’s breath
………………………………………………………………………….on your mother’s lip
……………………………………………………………………………sipping nectar
Diablo wind blows …………………………….taking our Holy Pain away
…………………………………………………………………….wind inside the wind crystal wind
………………………………………………………………………..from black volcanic rocks
…………………………………………………………………………..slow pulse of eternity
…………………………………………………………………………….eternity in the rocks
& the desert wind blows …………………………….a love supreme
………………………………………………………………………………a love supreme
………………………………………………………………………………..a love supreme
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by John Knoll
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Body and Soul
My heart is sad and lonely, my mom sang
from the other side of the room, accompanying
Joshua Redman, whom I was playing.
And I had the naïveté to ask how she knew
the words (my parents not known for jazz),
but she looked at me just as quizzically
and said it was famous during her girlhood,
and it became her surprise that I knew it.
And her voice quavered on like Sarah Vaughan.
Why haven’t you seen it? I’m all for you
body and soul. I didn’t understand her strength
and its limits as much as she deserved.
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by Chuck Sweetman
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Bird of Paradise
Taking a walk through my thoughts,
I happen upon the call of Parker’s Bird of Paradise,
It’s opening call stopping my mind in its tracks,
Suspending me in its song from moving along,
I stay, mesmerised by its movements,
Splashing me in splendours of colour,
Gracefully imploring me to move on.
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by Anthony Ward
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Xenochrony
Charlie Haden’s bass can make crystal
shiver, these walls back themselves into a
corner.
And beneath October’s stumble
is Ponty’s violin burning a
fresher orifice- czardas or
lullaby.
An unprecedented arrangement of
whispers and assaults; the depth
perception from McLaughlin’s phallic
guitar perpetually arousing polished fossil
clues.
Spiral and deplete
Desmond’s disposition- a dry
martini on blue coaster, two
olives.
Sprawl with Merrill’s subtleties
in black and white, a snow
angel’s rounded free edges
glistened and enlightening;
terpsichorean enigmas
improvised, a woman’s
nipples there where all
those endings be.
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by Rob Yedinak
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New York Gospel / New York Jazz
“Nina Simone or Mahalia Jackson?”
She asked me. “I love them both,” I replied.
“This is a deadly question; it kills decency.”
We were walking on West 24th Street toward
5th Avenue, the Millionaire’s Row, feeling the
heartbeat of the city as a song. Is this the way
the heart behaves when it’s alone? It wants to
be alone, for this reason we can feel the happenings
miles away, knowing that if I were you; I’d listen to
my loneliness making myself more aware.
After centuries of quietness, we agree with the truth,
that’s the way of listening, yet some evenings we
don’t answer the phones, someone else will answer,
please speak to me, kiss me in silence, your kiss
will say more, the moonlights in January, tell me
about your expectations, we are detached with
the memories finally.
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by David Dephy
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I Have No Rendezvous in Amsterdam
…………………For Chet Baker
Forgive my late arrival,
I have no rendezvous in Amsterdam
& I have taken no late-night trains
To walk along the Emperor’s canal
I have taken the strain & came
All the way from the land of bongos
That bang all night long, steady but not verbose
I wander from bar window to bar window
Every forlorn joint was blue with blues
Sometimes I stopped to stare, sometimes I didn’t
Solitude was my companion,
The only one I could count on
I came to look for you Chet Baker
After I’ve had it all and lost it all
I came to look for you Chet Baker
And there you are blowing your horn,
So sweet, so cool, so careworn
You are not a tramp,
You are a trumpet
Reverberating through corridors
Of solitude and virgin dolor
You are a blazing torch whose daylights
Have been beaten out by a bad job
& all you sing is “Born to be blue.”
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by El Habib Louai
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Leon Hefflin Sr: The Vision
Newport
Monterey
Playboy
you’ve probably been to an
outdoor jazz festival or two
but did you know
the first outdoor
jazz festival
was created
by a Black man?
no jive!
in 1945
Leon Hefflin Sr
with no precedent
or blueprint / turned
a dream into reality
chafing against Jim Crow’s
abnormalities / he saw the
influx of Black folks into Los Angeles:
Central Avenue / Little Tokyo / Bronzeville
& Watts / & Leon Hefflin Sr had a vision:
JAZZ as a way to cement race relations
at Wrigley Field
in South Central L.A.:
one blue note / one melody
one improv / one harmony
one polyrhythm at a time
who said activism
couldn’t be sublime?
all races / colors / & creeds
at the Cavalcade of Jazz! & who’s
on the line-up? : Louis & Ella
Count Basie & Nat “King” Cole / Ray Charles
& Sarah Vaughan / Perez Prado & Frankie Laine
Anna Mae Winburn & her All-Girl Orchestra /
Roy Brown & His Mighty-Mighty Men…
Lionel Hampton! ………….Almost causing a riot on
Flying Home… Flying Home… Flying Home!
& just to add a little extra sheen / don’t forget
the Cavalcade of Jazz beauty queens:
Tina Thomas & Jeanna Limyou
is there anything jazz can’t do?
for 14 years:
………….the Cavalcade of Jazz!
…………………..swinging thru
……………….breathing life into
…………….raising our glass to
………….giving credit
…….where credit’s due
all praises due
to Leon Hefflin Sr:
emissary / entrepreneur
impresario / visionary
for JAZZ
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by Connie Johnson
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Half Note
he played
the half note
known tight to him
saved close
like the ice cubes
in his drink
as the moment
spread wide
over smoky lights
twisting among dancers
with heads raised
releasing the spell
to be blessed
and absorbed
within the spirit
of jazz
feeding the sound
of sway
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by Roger Singer
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Xavier Cougat
called late to replace
an ailing sideman
only a moment
to check tricky spots
before showtime
up-tempo opener
trumpets blaring
saxes wailing
congas, timbales, bongos, cowbell
lay down an infectious beat
as Charo oozes onstage
sliding her mink coat
slowly to the floor
revealing a slinky gown
scooped low in front and back
flashing so much skin
prancing in front of the band
it’s hard to catch all
the rhythms and repeats
flying by, trying not to miss
key changes and coda jumps
working the crowd in Spanglish
she fishes a cigarette lighter
from deep in her décolletage
leans way over to bestow it
on a bald man in the front row
who turns beet red
the lowlight of the evening
a French horn soloist
does an Elvis routine
playing Ipanema of all things
swiveling his hips
sinking to his knees center-stage
Cougat later asks me to stay
the rest of the week
the pianist confides
I must have done OK
the boss fired last night’s sub
before the show even ended
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by Tim Maloney
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The Vesper Room
It’s like a thousand people
have just left the room,
that’s what Pete Hamill said
when Sinatra died.
When they found Jude’s body
I didn’t say much
of anything. I was too hurt,
too angry. I remember you said
about your father, when it was clear
there would be no stopping
the inevitable,
you asked why not order
the good whiskey for once. He smiled
at you and said, Why change me now?
Mary Oliver wrote, Oh to love
what is lovely and will not last!
Tonight I am remembering everyone.
This raised glass of the good stuff
overflows with forgiveness.
Enough, maybe, for us all.
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by Kristofer Collins
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Daniel Warren Brown has loved jazz (and music in general) ever since he delved into his parents’ 78 collection as a child. He is a retired special education teacher who began writing as a senior. He always appreciates being published in journals and anthologies. At age 72 he published his first collection Family Portraits in Verse and Other Illustrated Poems through Epigraph Books, Rhinebeck, NY. Daniel writes daily about music, art and whatever else catches his imagination.
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Kristofer Collins is a writer living in Pittsburgh, PA. He is the Books Editor for Pittsburgh Magazine and co-curates the long-running Hemingway’s Summer Poetry Series with Joan Bauer.
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David Dephy is an American award-winning poet, novelist, essayist, and multi-media artist, with a Master of Fine Arts degree, evaluated by the Globe Language USA. The founder of Poetry Orchestra and American Poetry Intersection. Poet-in-Residence for Brownstone Poets 2024-2025. He was exiled from his native country of Georgia in 2017 and was granted political asylum in the USA immediately and indefinitely. His family, beloved wife, and 9-year-old son joined him in the U.S. after seven years of exile in 2023. He lives and works in New York City.
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Michael Edman is a writer from Oklahoma. He finds inspiration in jazz songs such as Coltrane’s “Alabama” and Sidney Bechet’s “Si Tu Vois Ma Mère.” When not working on poetry, Michael enjoys writing short stories, and he’s currently putting the finishing touches on a first novel.
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DH Jenkins’ poems have appeared in Jerry Jazz Musician, Kelp Journal, and The Ekphrastic Review. His new book of poetry, Patterns on the Wall, is available on Amazon.com. He lives in New Zealand.
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Connie Johnson has multiple Pushcart Prize nominations for poetry. A California-based writer, she has authored Everything is Distant Now (Blue Horse Press) and I Have Almost Everything (Boats Against the Current). In a Place of Dreams, her digital chapbook (containing audio readings/personal narrative), was published by Jerry Jazz Musician. Click here to view it.
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Erren Kelly is a three-time Pushcart nominated poet from Boston whose work has appeared in 300 publications (print and online), including Hiram Poetry Review, Mudfish, Poetry Magazine, Ceremony, Cacti Fur, Bitterzoet, Cactus Heart, Similar Peaks, Gloom Cupboard, and Poetry Salzburg.
Click here to read “Under Quarantine” — COVID-era poetry of Erren Kelly, published by Jerry Jazz Musician
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Joe Kidd is a published poet and songwriter. In 2015 he released the CD titled Everybody Has A Purpose, and in 2020 published The Invisible Waterhole, a collection of spiritual and sensual verse. Joe is a member of the National & International Beat Poet Foundation (USA), Angora Poets (Paris France), The Society of Classical Poets, and 100,000 Poets For Change International. In 2022 he was appointed Beat Poet Laureate of the State of Michigan 2022-2024. He was recently recognized as an Official Poet of the Government of Birdland. Joe was inducted into the Michigan Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in June 2017.
Click here to visit his website.
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John Knoll’s poetry books include The Magic Vessel, Wrestling the Wheel, Ghosting America, Elevator Music for the Dead, Opera of Virus, Hummingbird Graffiti and Black Mesa Blues. Knoll has performed with jazz and rock bands. John Macker and Knoll collaborated on Black Wing, a CD. Joe Speer and Knoll co-wrote and performed two plays: Palm Sunday and Central Casting.
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El Habib Louai is a Moroccan Amazigh poet, translator, musician, and assistant professor of English at Ibn Zohr University in Agadir, Morocco. He is a contributing member of The European Beat Studies Network. Louai has been awarded the Aimee Grunberger scholarship by Naropa University to participate in the Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics creative writing program, and his work has appeared in several literary magazines, journals, and reviews.
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Tim Maloney is a musician, author, and retired arts administrator living in the Hudson Valley, whose poetry has been published in Bare Root Review, Fortunate Traveller, Ilya’s Honey, Leaflets, Muskeg Review, Poetry On and Off the Wall, Red River Review, Silver Birch Press, Syncopation Literary Journal, and The Talking Stick.
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Michael L. Newell lives on the Atlantic Coast of Florida. His most recent book of poems is Passage of a Heart. Click here to read “What is this Path” – a collection of poems published on Jerry Jazz Musician
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Dr. Roger Singer was in private chiropractic practice for 38 years in upstate New York, and served as a medical technician during the Vietnam era. Dr. Singer is the Poet Laureate of Old Lyme, Connecticut, and has had over 1,070 poems published on the Internet, magazines and in books, and is a 2017 Pushcart Prize Award Nominee. He is also the President of the Shoreline Chapter of the Connecticut Poetry Society.
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Chuck Sweetman is a senior editor for december magazine. His essays, stories, reviews, and poems have appeared in such places as Verse Daily, Brilliant Corners, River Styx, Poet Lore, Black Warrior Review, Jerry Jazz Musician, and Notre Dame Review. In addition to chapbooks, he is the author of a book of poems Enterprise, Inc. (Dream Horse Press).
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Terrance Underwood is a retired Gas Turbine Package Engineer whose career offered opportunities to work all over the world. A devoted jazz enthusiast, his first memory operating a mechanical devise was a 4-speed spindle drop record changer for his father’s collection of 78s.
Click here to read Proceeding From Behind: A collection of poems grounded in the rhythmic, relating to the remarkable, by Terrance Underwood
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Anthony Ward chooses to write because he has no choice. He writes to get rid of himself and lay his thoughts to rest. He derives most of his inspiration from listening to classical music and jazz since it is often the mood which inspires him. He has recently been published in Jerry Jazz Musician, Synchronized Chaos, Literary Yard, Mad Swirl, Shot Glass Journal and Ariel Chart.
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Rodney Wood worked in London and Guildford before retiring. His poems have appeared recently in many magazines. He runs a monthly open mic. Last year he went on a World Cruise and wrote a poem a day as part of the 100 day project. He blogs at https://rodneywood.co.uk/
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Rob Yedinak’s previous publishing credits of over 20 years ago include Hook and Ladder, Lucid Moon and Medicinal Purposes. He has only recently started writing again because of certain inspirations, but against his better judgement. He writes vignettes fraught with neurosis, perversion, noir, contrast, relief and an occasional inside joke only the author would laugh at.
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Jianqing Zheng is the author of The Dog Years of Reeducation (Madville Publishing, 2023) and A Way of Looking (Silverfish Review Press, 2021). He teaches at a historically black institution in the Mississippi Delta.
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Click for:
More poetry on Jerry Jazz Musician
“My Vertical Landscape,” Felicia A. Rivers’ winning story in the 69th Jerry Jazz Musician Short Fiction Contest
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