Blue eye as the color of the sky.
Rainbow hands that wrap around.
Looks as if he has a dire lie.
What he has in his hand is what he found.
Mouth wrapped tightly blowing it to shreds.
Not believing on how these sounds come out.
Making the audience showing their heads.
What the sound of jazz is all about.
Original Poem:Fog
by Carl Sandburg
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then, moves on.
My poem:
Red Apple
By Jon Beikirch
The Apple sits
with a fat belly
It stays in place with no legs,
with no mind
then it, gets eaten
Poem Project.>
Sablan Bruni 2009, __www.BruniJazzArt.com__
Blue eye as the color of the sky.
Rainbow hands that wrap around.
Looks as if he has a dire lie.
What he has in his hand is what he found.
Mouth wrapped tightly blowing it to shreds.
Not believing on how these sounds come out.
Making the audience showing their heads.
What the sound of jazz is all about.