Who would have guessed it?
One day in the year
A celebration of knickers
And all underwear
Who would have thought it?
A day that will see
The gala for boxer shorts go
All crazy party!
Who’d have considered
A lingerie fete
For it’s National Underwear Day
In the United States!
To contextualize this you might like to follow this link
Ladies’ underwear advertisement, 1913 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
We have a strong tradition of jazz in our family going back the generations and are fortunate to be surrounded by some of the best loved jazz tunes every day playing through the house on either piano or brass. This poem has tried to syncopate the beat that is jazz whilst attempting to define this much loved genre of music that gets the toes tapping, the emotions racing and souls uplifted. Written in a simple 4/4 metre, try reading it by emphasising the second and fourth ‘beats’ or syllables to get in the mood!
Syncopation
The novel beat
Improvising
Out in the street
Where rhythm flows
Where notes complete
The jazz we love
A sound so neat
A genre born
In southern state
Of USA
Yet did relate
To African
Music and vibes
Combining blues
From native tribes
And swung notes with
Polyrhythms
The restless sound
The beat of drums
With blast of brass
Piano bright
That jazz that does
Not sleep at night
Spontaneous
Vitality
The beat that taps
The toe through me
Sonority
Great razzmatazz
Innovating
The sound that’s jazz
Jazz with Nic Jones courtesy of Ben DJ Photography
Oh feel the planet’s salty tears
Consumerism rife
That calculates for profit each
Unique human life
From childhood prodigies who are
Pushed and pulled to be
A tower of dollars mounting up
And stars for all to see
To women walking on the streets
All clad in skimpy clothes
For men to buy and use at will
Prostitution to expose
Or the slaves of inner Africa
And human trafficking
For wealth and riches to amass
A trade so damaging
And children working on the street
In Southern Latin parts
Risking abuse for little gain
Such impoverished hearts
Plus gambling, alcohol and drugs
All sold for pots of gold
To those who’s cravings buy them out
Their lives deprived and sold
Lest murder, wars not to forget
Corruptions of the soul
The depths of tears that spill for all
Consumed from pole to pole
What is peace
If it is not more than that inner sanctum
That state of knowing
That sacred sense of calm, safe, secure, stability
That rests in the heart of mankind
Peace – the friend of sanity
The heartbeat of concord and harmony
That reconciles us to ourselves
In armistice with each other
A truce with life
That is Peace
en: Peace dove icon. es: Icono de la paloma de la paz. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Ginz&Tonic 