Last night I dreamed a wild and bluesy sonnet.
I was not only with it, but in it and on it!
There was this blue-striped steaming hornet
Playing this humungus fuchsia cornet.
His name was Ornette the group a nonette.
I doubled flageolet. (My ax is clarinet!)
We played a cool set — two blues gavottes,
a blazing minuet by Georges Bizet transposed
from A! Then a taste of Beaujolais, devoured
gangs of crepe suzette, a stack of Lady Day with
VP Quinichette, a nip of Chardonnay, and
to settle it, a set of Sid Bechet! O lay!
Man, I think that I shall never see a blues that's sonnet
done other than by hungry, smoking hornets and in flatted B!
Poet RUSS TRAUNSTEIN lives and writes in Brighton, MA.
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