Blues, The Mississippi Way!
Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson,
Fats Waller, a'sweatin' at his piano,
Bo! You know Bo?
You don't know Diddley without Bo!
W. C. Handy, in a park in Memphis,
Frozen forever in stone, Trumpet in hand,
Eyes fixed on that Mighty, Muddy
Mississippi River, frozen for all time...
Soft, undulating hips swaying to the
Moaning, anguished notes of a horn,
Black eyes smiling at my tormented longing,
Teasing me with a smile and a glance
Over tender shoulders...
That River, awash on the banks,
Over the banks, bringing in black mud,
Rich, alive, flowing ever southward,
Flowing to its Delta home,
Teeming black dirt, pure white cotton,
Red hot jazz, and Blues...done right...
Souls, crying in the dark nights,
Lost, alone, hurting, forever in pain,
Longing... Begging...
Calling from the Riverboats,
From the shotgun shanties,
And the cotton fields,
From the bars and the juke joints,
Sweet notes, and blue,
Pouring into that soft, warm southern night...
From downtown Main Street to Natchez Under The Hill,
From downtown banks to the riverbanks,
From downtown mansions to the riverbank shanties,
From downtown highroads to the riverbank byways,
From downtown birthplaces of the rich and famous
To the riverbank birthplace of the music of a nation,
The blues will take you in, and tell of your heart's pain,
Or comfort you, like a motherless child...
Hearing the cries of the hurtin', hungry children,
Or the late night wail of the Midnight Flyer train,
Right on time, not stopping, passing through,
Leaving home, and wife, family and babies,
Going away...far, far away...
That train, dragging her cars behind her,
Northward, maybe to Detroit city,
Or Chicago...always away,
[...] Read more
poem by Scarlett Treat
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
