March 28 2021
This here is Tommy Timmons
I’d play the way he plays.
I must lay my take because it only now makes sense to me;
As I listen to him now, I wish I actually learnt how to play the piano well.
I play ok
but can’t claim to be a player
though do consider myself a piano man- some affinity, whatever that may be.
Sometimes I feel I talk the way he plays
hopping through the syllables then alighting like chords back from lunar missions.
But somehow, Bobby goes somewhere else down there, at the keys, and I've been
listening all week but still can not figure it out.
S’posin’ I was to take up the piano- I’d do everything just like him
I’d take up smoking, between tunes lay on the stool
with the pack on my chest just to look cool
I’d dress well with a shirt and trousers, often hearing the rhythm not there.
I’d play until space conducted me a melody that collided the heavens with a hi-hat
and they would invite me to play in the roundhouse of Orion, and i’d play-
I’d play until I knew what it was that he knew, down there at the keys
I spend a lot of time alone, I create a little home inside myself.
I could be anywhere anytime really, and there’s nothing anyone could say to bring me
The world ahead of me moves slower when I wish it to.
From my home I watch with purpose and somehow see everything with ease.
Like how these plant leaves jewel glint like fruit pastels
how the ripple in the water could be fragments of the past
climbing out to shore
The wind through the tree’s blowing all it’s colours for Autumn, I into it blow my cold
haze out like an airport but down the path I am in my thoughts
I see myself, sometimes down that path.
I look happy, Like a friend I'm about to meet
In fact! Here he comes now
he’s looking so peaceful
I see him very clearly
in this sunshine.
I’m going to join him now
stroll down the path a bit
I met you that night
You asked why I would not dance
I took your hand, smiled
Where the people lay
The musicians come to play
No room for morning
In a place of peace and rest
boxed souls at the crypt
As sunlight brings life to the pavements,
A sky reflecting magenta across brick,
Climbing the steeple,
Pushing rays of colour through stained windows,
But underneath there is a burst of life,
Where a swarm gathers around crooked tables
Held up with practicality.
Tables many years older than myself.
Heads swinging to the oh so intriguing, hard to grasp rhythm
That floats from brass, key & breath.
Hands forcing glasses to parted lips,
Words bounced back and forth in a rally of conversation
Each overthrowing the next.
Now the rhythm overthrows the voices, lips lie still,
No hum from the swarm,
No sound at all
But the music that enraptures the hive,
Tranquil, interrupted for a moment by a buzz causing a wave of digital commotion,
A calling from my companion,
The single hush is offered from a once again parted lip,
The interruption is not remembered by my ‘bev’ swirling brain
As the tune has taken over my thoughts,
Mesmerising pitches not once imagined by myself.
The ticket sits in my pocket waiting for my hands to fumble upon it tomorrow,
Reminiscent over the flickering red glow,
Reflected in the iris of the man sat next to me.
We were equally glued to the spot barely letting out a breath,
As the melody grasped every speck of my attention.
Now stumbling home bound, gagging for the return.