Oh I remember that August night
Jazz club was raging
Us two dancing
With me touching
And holding you close so very tight
Your eyes and your hands never left mine
We swung to the beat
Despite the heat
Still on our feet
The sweet smile on your face was sublime
Walked home after our very first date
Moon lighting the way
Watched your hips sway
Was a great day
Knew from the first you'd be my best mate
I wake now from my afternoon nap
And cry myself hoarse
Dreaming of course
Years from the source
You've died and left me in life's sad trap
How well I recall that summer night
Jazz club was swinging
We were singing
Then were kissing
Holding each other so very tight
Image found at https://rbkclocalstudies.wordpress.com/2013/02/28/jb-at-the-jazz-club/
Note. The last verse shows that his memory is not quite the same as it was in first verse. Such is the penalty of getting old and forgetful, so he could be very much like me! I did invite my wife when we first met to the Jazz club I attended; as she sang in a light opera group she looked horrified and said "No thanks", but I did see her perform in Iolanthe and other classical performances!
What else am I doing?
ReplyDeleteI just noticed this on your blog.
Now I am going to check out what it is.
Classical musicians love jazz.
I don't know any who do not.
The thing is you can't play both professionally because of the different genres which require different techniques. Classical music is very disciplined.
Nice poem,
Take care
Get better soon!
Lovely nostalgic poem Robin
ReplyDeletemuch love...
life sad trap..filled with memories and what might have been.
ReplyDeleteThese sad memories that stab the heart. At least the memories warm us...for a time.
ReplyDeleteWow! This is naked vulnerability:
ReplyDelete"I wake now from my afternoon nap
And cry myself hoarse
Dreaming of course
Years from the source"
I feel myself waking into this poem. I am moved. I wonder if my aged father has sweetness like this when he drifts? I wonder if he cries at what is lost?
I can see that couple, eyes fixed on each other - then see him as he wakes from a dream of the one he misses. Sweet, Robin.
ReplyDeleteA very sweet poem, as always. Memories please but haunt at the same time.
ReplyDeleteA very bittersweet poem Robin. Such lovely memories.
ReplyDeleteYour eyes and your hands never left mine
ReplyDeleteWe swung to the beat
Despite the heat
Still on our feet
Pleasant memories of yesteryears with a loved one will always live on!
Hank
Ah....first dates, usually awkward, and full of laughter.
ReplyDeleteI love the jazzy nostalgia, Robin, but such a sad ending.
ReplyDeleteWith advanced years come the sorrow of losing those we love. You express it so beautifully. It is good we have memories to treasure and revisit.
ReplyDeleteThat night in the jazz club was precious when it first happened, and even more precious as a memory many years later, in the years of bereavement.
ReplyDelete"I wake now from my afternoon nap
ReplyDeleteAnd cry myself hoarse"- Death, always hits us like a ton of bricks and if we feel deeply and pay attention it becomes a wonderful memory.