Zumwalt Poems Online

Posts tagged ‘jazz’

Note from administrator

I’ts been a while since we have posted a new Zumwalt poem, but Zumwalt is alive and well and one never knows when one will receive something in the mail that we can post here.

Appreciate those that still follow this blog and in the meantime, will try to keep this site from completely vanishing from the google search engine by posting now and then.

For those that like music, there are a few pages on this site addressing that topic.  They aren’t easy to find, so I will call out one in particular: Must Listen To Music

The author that provided this page, believes that music is music, and that even classifying music as great, good, mediocre and poor is a worthless and impossible activity.  However, there is some music you should check out and this is what is listed here.

Whether you have heard everything listed or you haven’t heard any items on the list, you can do the author a favor and in your reply to this post, list music that you think the author should listen to.  If I just get one reply back, I will know this site is again attracting readers and can then maybe use this to entice Zumwalt to eventually provide another poem for us to post.

 

 

Beach Café

Beach Café

Chiming glassware
Lusty laughter and liquid murmurs
Midsummer night in Balboa
In the dream-dark
Charcoal curls spiral from the tables
Writhing arabesque and rococo
Like nomads’ campfires.
Detached
Sphinx-like
From a darker corner enclave
I survey the scene sucking my mug of java
Black and bitter.
The bartender
Grins through a wizard’s beard
Pouring, mixing, performing
For the waterfront gentry
While a waitress weaves a winding honey dance
With ball bearing grace bearing trays of beers
Through the clustered tables.

The locals
Burned and blonde
Gleam polished keyboard smiles
Brandish biceps and exhibit cleavage
Perched like cheetahs poised for game.
Or, Heineken in hand, they prowl in puka shells
Floral shirts and sandals
Sporting the seashore regalia
And predatory as the alligators embroidered
Above their hearts.

My focus withdrawn
I study the brown pit of my cup
Embarrassed by my suppressed, cynical envy
And my incipient paunch
Which spills below my sternum and sits
Like Signal Hill
Above my belt.
I spin theories about Their intellect or character
Judging smugly
But knowing, too
That the judgment’s just jive
And petty consolation
For my social shortcomings
A shoring up of a shaky soul
Discomfited by the competition and the game.
So I stroke my moustache
That drooping display of virility
And stay stoic behind an Agamemnon mask
Listening to an Aegean known only to me
Aloof and passive
As a walrus on an offshore rock.

The band
Back from break and beer
Slide into the electric haze
Tune up with playful foreplay before performing
Then splash emotion in the whisky illumination
The bassist
Measures out time like a beating heart, while
The drummer—a clock—
Clips it off
As the sax man belies his horn’s brassy brilliance
And cries the blues.

Behind the dancing tobacco curtain
I am anchored at my corner table
Cloistered in a turtleneck and straight leg jeans
An anachronism looking
For an age to join.

— Zumwalt (1978)