Black Poetry : Thelonius Monk (Vibes of a Blue Monk)


Well-Known Member
Feb 1, 2006
(718) BX (540) VA (843) SC
College Student with supporting jobs
Thelonius Monk
(Vibes of a Blue Monk)

See it happens every time I get the blues,
My foot gets to tapping fingers snapping, off and on beat to jazzy salutary tunes,
Mayne, when I get the blues I feel like moaning, so I find some companions to spill my woes with,
I sit and stroke those ivories until they and I cry in spiritual harmony,

Boy who you tellin, I stretch out across and beat my drama home,
All the while feeling each drum roll and cymbal crash in my bones,
Mamamamamamy sorrows seem to float away with every quarter eighth and solo that’s played,
Each (A flat) and (C sharp) chord strikes a nerve,
Then my feet get to banging in unison on the floorboards,

See these strings are the things that your mama and papa times dealt,
Music so good it’s heartfelt,
To no specific culture or generation was it set,
No words can capture the feeling,
All I can tell ya is that is a passion,
A passion that explodes in your soul,
Reminiscent of Sir Duke and his band rubbing elbows,

It flows, just flows, through your lips as you make that sax-o-phone sang,
Let it be your woman and you its man.
Stroke that slender lady, push all her buttons, hit all the right spots,
And I guarantee you the crowd she’ll shock!

Whenever I get the blues, those base notes pulse up my spine then shiver back down,
So many stories are told, tightly interwoven with the melodies that sash shay by,
The instruments speak and scream to one another,
“Can you pick up Trumpet what I’m laying down???” pumps the cello,
“Sure” that baby screeches “Lets Dance!!” ,
Keep the lights low step out into the indigo,
Hold your partner tight as we swing and dip all night.

A smooth deep voice steam rolls over the band passing on a bit of knowledge.
“See America is a salad bowl, but the Jazz Club we’re the melting pot,
We gotta lil, rent due, can’t pay my car note,
Broke as a joke, need me some smokes,
Home life’s a mess, oops got some cologne on my dress, lipstick on my collar,
Got myself in a pinch, seasoned with I can’t stand my job please save me,
Topped off with it’ll be a miracle if I make it to the first!
See the mellow crew brews this social stew,
Giving the people connectivity and a revived hope to look forward to.”

The band makes it move, and over takes the speaker,
Letting the croons of Dizzy Glipsie slide in smooth,
The great Satchmo that follows puts me in the mood to mimic Ella,
(skip dibbity doo bop bah, scaa in da, dabba dabba do at da, scaa bubba bop be bop bah, . . . . . . . . . . . . .. )
In the middle of my living room.
The storm clouds may gather and the rain pitter patter,
On my window panes,
But no gloom, resides here.
This ole Juke Box is my release therapy,

When ever I get the blues. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Copyright ©2007


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