The Spoon Player (1/2) By Maurice Fairfield

(1/2), (2/2).

The name on the skin of the bass drum Was Blackshaw's Storyville Five And the board leaning up at the door of the pub Was promising jazz that was live A slight exaggeration for the Storyville Five were not In the class of the bands they copied And no one could call them hot But they did their best with what they had And the records they'd aped from their youth And sometimes they didn't sound so bad Though to tell the honest truth They'd done the tunes so often They were playing in their sleep And their efforts at playing the classics of jazz Might have made a purist weep Well the teachers and social workers Who made up the bulk of the crowd Were sipping their halves of lager All that their pay allowed And the evening looked to be set on a course For its mediocre norm When the door flew wide and a flurry of wind Stirring the dust like a gust of storm

All eyes were turned on the open door But the man who was standing there Was a bit of an anticlimax He was meek and a little bit square And he wasn't exactly shabby And he wasn't exactly smart And he waved to the band as he found a chair And waited for them to start He settled down and looked around As the band played a couple of tunes Then he fished around in his pocket And pulled out a pair of spoons They were battered and old and limp in his grasp As the band played a ragtime song And the stranger rattled the battered spoons And started to play along The purists who analysed each note Began to mutter and frown They said the guy who was sitting in Was a tiresome drunken clown They thought that spoons were a cowboy thing No place for them in jazz That they didn't play spoons in New Orleans Though they very probably had

But he played along unobtrusively And after a little while It dawned on the listeners sitting there That the man with the spoons had style His supple hands became a blur And the bored and boring throng All of a sudden became aware He was kicking the band along The rhythm section's beat was crisp The cornet's tone was clean His phrases chimed in a classic mode And the trombone's growl was mean The clarinet played a supple strand Of melody rich and warm They were a different better band And blowing up a storm Well they couldn't keep it up too long And they were beginning to flag They paused for a spell to pick a song And the stranger's voice came clear and strong "Finish with Tiger Rag" They played it cautiously at first But soon they hit the spot And played a rich and complex jazz Controlled and tight and hot

Continued...... Next Page (2/2)

Copyright ©2006  Maurice Fairfield

Poetry - A Poem For The Eternal Thinker By Shep

	I'm thinking of things like a bird on a branch And wandering, pondering lost in a trance Of wishes and dishes, fishes on land Planes in the sky and that man I can't stand On what colour Mac on my back I should wear And if Schmegal eats seagull with grizzly bear Of why we see spectres Read more...

Poetry - Hot Date (For Better For Worse) By Katherine Horrex
	Seated in the restaurant with a pleasant Window view, brown eye to blue And not really conversing, What with it all being covered already, But sort of rehearsing the motions: Work is a pain, I've a meeting tomorrow- Respectfully phatic Read more...

Poetry - Faith, Hope And Charity By Maurice Fairfield
	I loved a girl named Hope and she was pretty faithless I met another called Faith and she was pretty hopeless I got involved with Charity (she wasn't very kind) And what with all the three of them it really blew my mind Maintaining my tenacity but feeling broken hearted I met a bird named Chastity Read more...

Poetry - The Interview By Katherine Horrex
	So superficial in the supermarket interview room after arriving late, she asks what name I prefer to go by. "Katherine," I say, because I turn irate when abbreviated by people in suits, their faux matey-ness making me cringe. "Right then, Kath!" she says, Read more...

Poetry - November Bride By Laura Fry

I once was a girl who thought she knew best Until her true love was put to the test And what she'd thought to be great left her less than impressed Take me home I admit I was wrong, you were right all along And humble pie tastes much Read more...

Poetry -The Trial of Charles Roberts By Lee Cassanell

	Dead little girls, God is watching Dead little girls, Papers cry. The torment of realists, Unending The teardrops of Mothers, Read more...

Poetry - Fake Plastic Socialist Poets By Joe Hakim

Bleating like sheep, repeating the same old tired shit over and over again. Like a washed up nightclub singer doing requests, you beat on your chests in a rhythm I've heard    Read more...

Poetry - Coffee In Plastic Cups By Shaun Heesom
	In a railway station buffet I thought I'd had enough Of dim lit lamps and smelly tramps And coffee in plastic cups We sat there for hours Before last you went away We spoke of dreams and desired themes Read more...

Poetry - Loafer Party Conference By Patrick Henry
	The Loafer Party Conference meets at Muckcluster Railway Station: No more dodgems or donkey-rides at some seaside soft option. Rail buffet sandwiches curl sadly, or else in contempt the way Prescott's lips snarl like a pit-bull; The Guardian of his Party, Prowling roofs nightly, scaring Read more...

Poetry - War Hero By Nikki Sheppeck

Don't pity me, Don't ask me why ? Don't judge me on my circumstance, Don't feel the need to hold me tight, Don't pay attention to my plight, Don't be so harsh, I had no choice. My doubts convict my very soul.    Read more...

Poetry - Here Comes Another Daydream By Sean Davey

Here comes another daydream, You're here, I see your face! I feel a poem coming from inside of me The words slip into place. I focus on your lovely smile, To an artist, what a prize! It's then I have to look away,    Read more...

Poetry - The Undiluted Genius Of Arnold Schwarzenegger By Joe Hakim

What the hell are you? Billy, get to the chopper. See you at the party, Hauser. Let off some steam, Bennet. I will terminate obesity in all    Read more...

Poetry - The Law's The Law By Del Abe Jones.

	We forgive too many crimes And we say that it's okay Go ahead and break the Law We don't mean them anyway. They're enforced when they suit us Or we'll pretend we didn't see Read more...

Poetry - The Dog Ate My Lottery Ticket By Beth McGann.

	The dog ate my lottery ticket So I turned him into a rug Made his teeth into a necklace and his bollocks into a top pair of earrings. oh, no, it wasn't a winning lottery ticket, I just couldn't stand the dog. Read More

Poetry - The Girl Who Brought The Shopping By Shaun Heesom
	The girl who brought the shopping Through wind and rain and snow Was more of a friend than I realised And I was less of a friend than I know For a time we were good mates You could say we were close for a while I went to her house and she to mine Read more...

Poetry - On Beginning To Recognise Moss By Beth McGann.

	I've had my dog for a year and a half now I love her to bits (as they say on Jeremy Kyle) But she's not the brightest spark in the funeral pyre She can't pass anything without sniffing it first She's petrified of missing a morsel (We call her The Hoover; I'm going to Read more...

Poetry - Family Fortunes By Mike Watts
	My sister Susan is dead. My parents too. They're both buried With dad's lot, where mother's on top For a change. The second to drop One gin-filled evening, I was there As she bounced off every stair. And later, to ease the grief Read more...

Poetry - Thoughts Broken Like Glass On A Pavement Outside The Pub By Joe Hakim

I don't check what they are before I take them just throw them into the back of my mouth like a giant radioactive lizard from a comic book eating the general public    Read more...

Poetry - Perfect Flower, Love and I Missed You 3 Poems By David Morris

	When you're with someone A person you care for deeply You can't imagine anything else You have the undeniable feeling. I can't stop thinking about her Enjoying the time we spend together This whole thing is an experience Read more...

Poetry - A Day To Remember By Del Abe Jones.

	Anniversary is not a proper word To mark the meaning of that day And now, five years from that date Is not nearly far enough away. Too many families and loved ones Still feel that pain down in their soul From the Towers to the Pentagon Read more...

Poetry - High Summer In A Field By The A1079 By Beth McGann.

	The sungod has pulled the day's tinderbox-taut Until they slow down And stick. Like great white mirage-stones waiting to be snapped like a brittle bleached bone, So each stolen move of air Read more...