A poem about the jazz concert experience

Bryan, visionary top chef, flicks

his hands, pointing, directing

in time with the sautéed hiss

of the metal brushes on drums

and the pot lid clap of symbols

as notes run,

frantic chefs in a kitchen

chopping, nearly colliding

in a mad dash

from counter

to counter, igniting

a fiery flash.

Photo by Jens Thekkeveettil on Unsplash

Chords boil up from a dark soup

of voices, churning and stacking,

aroma ascending.

Bryan ladles them on

a steaming platter and slides them

down the counter to Jon,

who serves up “the truth”

to a hungry group

and it manifests under violet light:

a hot, sweet, savory night.

I paint with words. My daytime canvas is K-12 digital curriculum. At night, poems. I try to share the beauty of authentic moments.

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