Anticipate the time, feel
Rhythm surging, rushing you toward
Your moment. Hands pulsing, keys
Slippery with sweat, one page
Away, tension swelling, lifting
The brass louder, a brief climax
Before silence.
It is here.
Your chance.
Simple at first, quarter notes, the bass
Comes back in, guitar comps
The changes, but you don’t
Hear. Your fingers quicken
Their dance, return to the ninth, again,
And again, fling up the scale, slide
Up a half step, now block
Chords clashing in delicate
Harmonies. Whip one final
Phrase, ease off the ivory, the moment
Is done.
Silence.
The audience forgot
To applaud.
Eh, so here's another poem. Obviously, more modern than my other attempts. To be specific, the only obligation this poem has is that it is precisely 100 words long. While here at my school we have pretty decent audiences, well-versed in knowing when to applaud and not, I personally know the feeling of spending your life's blood in the jazz solo and then being greeted by absolute silence afterward. Not a fan.
