21 jazz poems on the 21st of June, 2026

An ongoing series designed to share the quality of jazz poetry continuously submitted to Jerry Jazz Musician.

In this edition…An eclectic mix of poetic styles and subjects display a collective love for the music and culture at the core of this creative community.

As always, thanks to the poets who participate in this growing community…

Enjoy!

Joe Maita

Editor/Publisher

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Andrzej Barabasz, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Waldemar Kurpiński

Tygmont Club,; Warsaw, Poland, 2004

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Quality Bootleg

Enough of the everyday
for just a few minutes
clasping
not a hand to my ear
but a bud above the lobe –
a soundtrack
to play out my walk back –
with pocket change percussion
history unfolds
like ancient music sheets scribed
by the lost jazz leaders –
brass barrages
sitting in the strings
all instruments
flowing in notes
like good conversation
so smooth
playing off one another –
those who can’t understand
just stay silent –
it’s all a mausoleum in the mind,
a time capsule
carefully preserving the past –
playing for all those
who missed out
all those years ago
but hope
to still catch the electric
burn with the sound
even if the stage
is a cracked concrete sidewalk
with a humming
city-post spotlight.

by Chuck Harp

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Roads

traveling
this place
and the next
feeling lost
while running
out of shadows
in the chest
of night
remembering
unfinished fires
and tattooed
broken hearts
covering imperfections
while learning
from wounds
knowing finally
jazz is a gift
and every town
looks the same
after midnight

by Roger Singer

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Ancestors

the call & response of it
solitary / loner jazz heard
percolating on these
city streets

you’re my chosen soundtrack
found at a brick & mortar / independently-
owned bookstore

are you Octavia to me
or Gwen? / James Baldwin out
on a literary limb & back down
to Earth again?

up and thru
this feels like some subtle sax
should be in the background! / feels like
improvisation is the order
of the day

blessings & grace
power & / fear inter-
changeable / silence
& timing

a time to let go
to free fall into
awareness

…………..o ancestors!
I feel like you know
………………& validate
all of the thoughts
in my head

I read you
I cherish all
that you intended
to say

By Connie Johnson

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Kinda Blue Redux

The turntable turns
before anyone checks their blood pressure.
What are we talking about here? Let’s not
be too hasty in our wig-and-robe approach
to assessing all humans and most situations.
Comeuppance comes once in a blue while,
when the screen door slams and someone’s
clogs clack along the hardwood floors
mother waxed yesterday, and announce
that a situation has arisen. A situation
so grave as to not be describable. Ham
it up, why don’t you, is the statement
needed to address the heated overindulgence
of imagination. We have seen nothing
and we have heard nothing, but we feed
on your music much as the blue whale
uses its baleen plates to filter krill
from the ocean. If you let the tune touch
your soul, your soul will thank you.
If you tap the tassels of my Tiffany lamp
I will tell you not to touch my property.

by Sal DiFalco

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Softly Swing

Hammock couched
Tensions ease
Rope cocoon
Coupling trees

Playlist poised
Breezy rest
Natural sway
Smooth–as Stan Getz

Mellow pitch
Tenor sax
Soul evolve
Psyche relax

Softly swing
Floating spry
Sure emerge
Hip butterfly

by Mike Mignano

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Surely Not

I thought I would know what was jazz
But then, I heard that clarinet playing
Stranger On The Shore by Acker Bilk
A treatment that was never expected
Somehow, lodged in the mainstream
And a popular chart topping success
Yes, the melody was clear and pure
Yet with his soft jazzy interpretation
Never risking calling it easy listening
Although so few categorise it as that
But sorry, the bowler hat didn’t help

by Howard Osborne

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Hawk and Hat

Just as Count Basie conquered New York
Kansas City conquered the Hawk
Having been the father of the tenor saxophone in his twenties
By his thirties the old Bean was competing with the Young Lester
All gruff and growling masculinity against Lester’s smooth style
That harsh Hawk call against the passive passerine song
Hurrying on in a rush, dissecting harmonies to see what made them tick
Lester taking his sweet time with his tender ephemeral ghost notes
Hiding his discontent under his Pork Pie Hat
Hawk having to take his off to him to him giving up the precedent
Before taking flight to Europe only to return more fluid
While Young took up the Presidency with his First Lady Day
Both their styles united together with the harmonic improvisation of bebop.

by Anthony Ward

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This Sonny Still Sustains

Several of those
I communicate with
inform me they happened
upon Mr Peterson & Mr Harris
in an ivory key conversation
flanked by stemmed orchids
in the Myriad Garden
at the Final Arms Hotel
blissful tones tumbled out
tossed behind a fired display
from one Mr Stitt

poised slender
going full Cleveland
leaning curved
clef-like
an alto horn held
in extended embrace
adds shapely
imaged lines
to rhythmic effect
a pure jazz profile
for a Sonny that some
dismiss by claiming him
dressed in Charlie garb
though nothing could be further

see around the Hotel
he wears his own
garments exuding his
style & a tone spread
by an expansion
of the sonic

earfood nourishment
grown from the inside
never to fuse with
what is often served
beyond Hotel grounds
conjuring this chestnut response

when the Music makes it
which came first
the Yardbird or the Egg
means snap!

Oscar and Barry
continued feeding
Sonny’s profile burn
listeners were seen
warming open palms

by Terrance Underwood

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I Mean You…

The redhead who wets her fingertips
With lemon juice, who closes her
Eyes and loses herself in a litany
Round midnight her melody falls
And calls me, a bright Mississippi
The nimble fingers fingers channeling
Monk, a reheaded genie, I hear a
Voice between the keys, like ruby
I hear your song, your melody carries
Me through the night, an epistorphy
Paints a portrait of you, lingering
In my mind, all day long

by Erren Geraud Kelly

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Take Ten

I can imagine,
at some point,
a moment
of sarcasm, perhaps,
Desmond, with a wink,
saying, “Time Out.

Five ain’t enough.
Let’s Take Ten”.

Kay begins,
softly tapping out
a beat, then
Desmond comes in,
riffing on the sax,
while Jim Hall
strums some soft,
sweet notes.

“The Senator”
rhythmically joins
and I feel myself
drowning in
a euphoria of jazz.

by Russell Dupont

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Saxophone
(after Silent Jazz, Zhang Peili, 1995)

In a white room on a white linen tablecloth
a handsome brass sax waits.

Its bell has icy shades of blue, its edges
a flower open to the wind.

Two of its lower valves are eyes; the sax
curves back, ready to take the stage.

And suddenly it’s Dexter Gordon blowing
“Love for Sale” down midnight streets,

Or it’s John Coltrane blowing that “Blue Train”
taking us along with it.

Or it’s Charlie Parker’s alto sax
sun glinting off and its white hot light—

The moon falling over the mountain of night.
The sax is the jazz instrument like that moon,

And we wait in a jazz club for the tinkling of
glasses to silence, and we contemplate:

Then the sax and its player take us down a delta
to the gulf, sublimely setting us free.

by DH Jenkins

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Harvest Blues

Boozed and confused
like a weary farmhand,
the red-faced moon

steps into the bayou
near a country juke
to bob in the humming

of autumn wind
whooping and scooting
across cotton fields.

Boozed and confused
like the red-faced moon,
a weary farmhand

steps to the juke
when autumn winds
whine out the blues

carried by the voice
of Muddy Waters
deep with an echo effect.

Boozed and confused,
the moon swings
through fleeting clouds

while the farmhand
totters out the juke
near the stagnant bayou

that absorbs the moon,
the swooping wind
and the whining blues.

by Jianqing Zheng

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Jazz Dance Inspired by Blueberry Hill

It keeps going through my mind
Vroompa roompa roompa roomp
Like some dark dance thought rhythm
Vroompa roompa roompa roomp
Old two-shoes in the spotlight twisting
Vroompa roompa roompa roomp
With his philosopher in high heels smiling
Vroompa roompa roompa roomp
Oh lord, what she knows, come to me
Vroompa roompa roompa roomp

The soft summer night, the moonlit trees
Na Nana na na na na na Nana na na

Our lips met and kissed, the duopoly
Na Nana na na na na na Nana na na
Explained in my ear, the running mates
Na Nana na na na na na Nana na na
Should be made to disappear, in the air
Na Nana na na na na na Nana na na
Guy Fawkes for the fucks, I swear
Na Nana na na na na na Nana na
She whispering, and I held her so dear

Na Nana na na na na na na na Nana

Yes, the soft summer night, the wrap around breeze
Vroompa roompa roompa roomp
Do wah

by John Kendall Hawkins

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Barge

Finding my balance or making my way
……………between rusted sculptures
on the deck of a barge lacking sea legs
……………an unintended exhibition of works
on a docked vessel
……………becomes my chance to pirouette
a running figure on a windswept flatboat
…………………………a mythically desperate performance
like a jazzman playing on a deserted street

by Geer Austin

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Back on the Street Again
(for my favorite Dixieland street band)

Tuba Skinny wails; its sound flies up
and down the streets of New Orleans;
passersby find themselves dancing
with abandon; they forget where

they were headed, as they grow
ever more intoxicated by cornet,
clarinet, trombone, guitar, banjo,
tuba, washboard, and a singer

who seems to have time traveled
from the twenties; hey man,
hey woman, stop and listen;
life soars in these musical precincts;

even the wind blows with a Dixieland
rhythm, papers lift off the ground, swoop,
soar, and jitterbug down the street;
the whole world has decided to flip,

flop, and fly, and this ain’t no jive —
life is a dance, as long as Tuba Skinny’s
music entrances the passing world;
whoa, daddy, whoa mama, let your feet

fly, your heart sing, joy can
be found in everything.

by Michael L. Newell

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Old Me

Heading west
under grey clouds,
furrowed like
brain matter,
i think of the reflection
staring back at me
from the train’s window.

That old man
is not me.

Over the rumble,
She speaks of someone,
“our age, big. Like you”
and I catch her look,
wondering if I noticed
her choice of words.

A tune pops into my mind —
Keb Mo’s Old Me Better —
I stare back at the echo
of my face, and decide,
yes, I like the old me better.

by Russell Dupont

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All that Jazz

As I take my seat to feel the beautiful sounds coming from his saxophone,
I knew immediately this was the place that I belonged.

Music soothes the savage beast in me,
so vibing to smooth jazz sounds is as sweet as can be.

Hearing the trumpet blare its notes and the piano keys being stroked, makes me feel like I could give a few keys a poke.

Jazz is a part of our generation, our heritage and homage to the past,
I believe with all of my heart that Jazz will surely last.

As I take my seat to enjoy the sweet sound of jazz,
I feel that no other genre could ever surpass.

From the sounds of the past to the newest styles we here today,
I know that in my heart, Jazz will always remain

by Sharron Collins

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Buddy

Sleight of hand
A living, breathing
Optical illusion
Down stroke
Tap
Up stroke
Repeat
A hummingbirds’ wings
Flap in the wind
Stunning, cunning
Nothing to it
Now you see it
Now you don’t
In layman’s terms
Quick
A trick
Your eyes deceive you
Single stroke roll
Meets stick control
It’s in the bounce
Without an ounce of effort
When wood strikes skin
Momentum lingers
Thumb and fingers
Join the fun
Three or more taps
For the price of one
Copy this cat?
Just like that
Twenty years
On a practice pad
You’ll have it down pat
The Moeller playbook
On steroids
A left hand to die for
A buzz roll like no other
The right lick
At the right time
Mister Rich
Took no shit
From anybody
And that’s a fact
How many drummers
Can say
That
Rough on his crew
On himself too
Keeping the miracle
Of jazz alive
His claim to fame
Artie Shaw, Harry James
His own band
A complex man
Kind to Krupa
On others
Sometimes rough
To be frank
Sinatra and Buddy
Had their issues
One bandstand
Not big enough
His throne abandoned
The critics will
Find another
They always do
They will come
And go
But in the end
There’ll be only one
From Vaudeville to Vegas
I give you the greatest
Mister Humble
Traps the Drum Wonder
The one and only
That would have to be
Buddy

by David Nemerov

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bluestone cuts (notes unpacked)
from the jimmy giuffre 3&4, new york concerts 1965; Elemental Music, 2014.

how long?,
silence’s
prelude,
then

light
on:

lives
airing
only once?

the
blue
stone,
what
less
could
he have
made of it?

the ghosts
split the joint,
one can only follow
faint traces to the source –

the verve of the atlantic?
just a suggestion, the
breeze in the
reeds

clarinet,
swallows
listen: wind
blown, the
harmonic
veil

the painter
studying
the
bell,
the
Word
carries
no weight here

iii

for years the lonely loft
above the empty gestures
the audience expects
to greet with its
usual dry
rain

cutting floors
from under us,
minds suddenly un-
mattering (all those
vast halls unpacked!
), the stream at last
no longer traffic,
all those hard
drives’ far
cries
!

atomic, the canvas
resonates with
us? for years,
on tour

in his
house,
turning
the church-
bells to jazz –
galilee blues,

no firm ground,
steps brush
wind on

water
,

by Sean Howard

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Later Days

Dim light lifts the darkness from the sky
Silence is broken by a peacock’s cry
As one readies purpose for the day
Desire to hear a double bass play
Strung timber crafted shapely ornate
No earthly sound can duplicate
Matched with eighty-eight piano keys
A subtle harmony to quickly please
Then add the sax breath for a tenor blend
Its cool tone a dividend
Brush a drumskin with a bristled slap
Switch to sticks to snare a tap
Such is the music of the spheres
Still prominent after many years
A soothing essential from the fray
As modest light turns dour gray
Clearing the blues from the sky
For the darkness declared by a peacock’s cry

by Terrance Underwood

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‘Aspettando’/After the Rain

‘Rain-sounding aspen’
So the Roman poets sang
Three thousand years ago

An aspen leaf upon the tongue they said
Inspired an eloquence exalting
Those about to tread the Underworld –

Permitting them safe passage and return
As heroes crowned with aspen
Bright green leaves transforming into gold

Whispering their breeze of ‘buried treasure’ –
Where have they gone our reed-men
Of lyric jazz once teeming earthly-bright?

Sight and sound of aspen
Convert to contemplation
Seasons we imagine persist beyond all time

Now incoming clouds accumulate
Changing atmosphere may seem mesmeric
The aspen sound lament and lullaby

by Bernard Saint

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Geer Austin’s poetry has appeared in Poet Lore, Fjords Review, Main Street Rag, BlazeVOX, Neuro Logical Magazine and others, and his fiction has appeared in A/U Magazine, the podcast A Story Most Queer and elsewhere. He is the author of Cloverleaf, a poetry chapbook (Poets Wear Prada Press). He lives in New York City.

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Sharron Collins is a multi-award-winning author with an unwavering passion for the written word. She has a diverse range of genres — from heartfelt children’s books to soul-stirring poetry, reflecting both her versatility and her commitment to reaching readers at every stage.

Click here to visit her website

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Poet and storyteller Salvatore Difalco lives in Toronto, Canada. He is the author of five books including Black Rabbit & Other Stories (Anvil Press). Recent journal appearances include Cafe Irreal, Fictive Dream, and E-ratio. His short story “Bluesette” was the winning entry in the 67th Jerry Jazz Musician Short Fiction contest, which you can read by clicking here.

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Russell Dupont, poet, artist, novelist, has published in the albatross, Spectrum, The I, For Poets Only, The Anthology of South Shore Poets, Re-Side, Oddball, Jerry Jazz Musician, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Rye Whiskey Review, Last Stanza Poetry Journal, the new post-literate, DADAKU, One Sentence, Verse-Virtual, Lothlorien Journal, Pick-Me-Up Poetry, Poetry Porch, Concrete Formalist Poetry and the Northern New England Review. He is the author of three novels: King & Train, Waiting for the Turk, Movin’ On; a collection of short stories, Norman Mailer Walks Into a Bar; four collections of poetry: Winter, 1948, Establishing Home Plate, Jazz at the Point and One Foot in Front of the Other.

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Chuck Harp is an award-winning LA-based writer who has published poetry, novels, comics, and has had scripts produced. When not writing or working with his art collective, Katcheen Tongues, to create musical poetry projects, Chuck writes about skateboard culture for multiple media outlets.

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John Kendall Hawkins is an American freelance writer currently residing in Australia. His poetry, commentary and reviews have appeared in publications in Oceania, Europe, and the US. He is a regular contributor to Counterpunch magazine, and a former winner of the Academy of American Poets prize. He’s working on a novel.

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Sean Howard is the author of seven books of poetry, most recently Overlays (Gaspereau Press, Canada, 2025). Sean’s poetry has been widely published in Canada, the US, UK, and elsewhere, and featured in The Best of the Best Canadian Poetry in English (Tightrope Books, 2017). Sean is a peace researcher and anti-nuclear activist, and adjunct professor of political science at Cape Breton University.

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DH Jenkins’ poems have appeared in Jerry Jazz Musician, Kinds of Cool—an interactive collection of Jazz Poetry 2025 (Unsolicited Press), The Ekphrastic Review and The Wave, Kelp Journal, as well as in Ocean Poetry Anthology 2024 (Kelp Books), Ocean Poetry Anthology 2025 (Kelp Books). For many years he was a professor of Speech and Writing for UMUC-Asia, living and working in Japan and Korea. While in residence there, he received the Bylee Massey Award for a project in the Humanities, as well as the Drazek Excellence in Teaching Award. He now 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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Mike Mignano, retired Ocala, FL. Hometown Ithaca, NY. Interests include: history, travel, guitar, choral singing, nature walking, viewing sports, theatre and poetry.

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David Nemerov, 75, has been writing poems for a little over three years. His subjects are whatever comes to mind. Along with the poetry he moonlights as drummer with an affinity for Jazz, Blues, Zydeco, and whatever catches his fancy.

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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 his poems published on Jerry Jazz Musician

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Howard Osborne has written poetry and short stories, also a novel and several scripts. With poems published online and in print, he is a published author of a non-fiction reference book and several scientific papers many years ago. He is a UK citizen, retired, with interests in writing, music and travel.

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Bernard Saint is a U.K. poet who has published in U.K. and United States literary magazines since the 1960’s. He is a regular contributor to International Times. His most recent book is ROMA, published by Smokestack Books. He worked as a therapist and supervisor in the U.K. National Health Service in psychiatry and in addiction recovery.

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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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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. In 2024, he was nominated by Jerry Jazz Musician for a Pushcart Prize.

Click here to read Proceeding From Behind: A collection of poems grounded in the rhythmic, relating to the remarkable, by Terrance Underwood

Click here to read his collection of poems “With Ease in Mind”

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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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Jianqing Zheng’s recent poetry collections include Dreaminations (Madville Publishing, Jan 2026) and Visual Chords (Broken Tribe Press, 2025). He’s also coeditor of Conversations with Michael S. Harper (University Press of Mississippi, 2026). He has received three poetry fellowships from the Mississippi Arts Commission.

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Click for:

Previous collections of “21 jazz poems on the 21st”

Information about the book Kinds of Cool: An Interactive Collection of Jazz Poetry, Vol. II (featuring women poets)

The Sunday Poem

More poetry on Jerry Jazz Musician

Poems on Charlie “Bird” Parker (inspired by a painting by Al Summ) – an ekphrastic poetry collection

“Where the Music Wasn’t Allowed,” Jane McCarthy’s winning story in the 71st Jerry Jazz Musician Short Fiction Contest

More short fiction on Jerry Jazz Musician

Information about how to submit your poetry or short fiction

Subscribe to the (free) Jerry Jazz Musician quarterly newsletter

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