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Image for the poem the trumpets they go

the trumpets they go


jazz poetry

the violin weeps
the piano trips languid
over black&white keys
the drums are hard
they shake us like savages

but the trumpet’s blast
comes with thunder & lightning
the mountain smoking

& I could make you
I could make you love me

it’s in the sultry music
that rips out dirty lyrics
it’s in the breathing
your breathing gets heavier, woman
you anticipate a private seduction
that leads you by the hand
to the center of your bad girl desires

& I could make you
I could make you love me

I wander, like a trumpeteer
playing one night stands
so many cities, under so many moons
from one bar to the next
one lonely lover to the next
but when I’m with you
it’s just you & me, baby

& I could make you
I could make you love me

but I won’t…



Written by JohnFeddeler
Published
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