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Outside Small’s in New York’s Greenwich Village (2018)

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Moonglow

There are two types of clubs
Highfalutin hoity-toity stuck up clubs
And gritty grimy dingy dank dungeons
I prefer the latter, for obvious reasons
Clubs must be weathered
Crackled paint & nicotine stained
Age-worn oriental rugs on stage
Vinyl booths with duct tape over the gashes
Illuminated in simple elegance – key lights – cinematic
Shining from above, a street lamp spotlight
Smokestacks ascending into the fixtures
Dust particles dancing in the smoky beams

An old fogey donning a fedora, belting it on the brass
Wee dee dee dee
Suave-mellow-warm-fluttering-flittering
Followed by a ta ta tah – ta ta tah – ta ta tah solo
that knocks me out
A ponytailed gentlemen with black bold frames
Setting the keys on fire, improvising on the spot
Glancing up afterwards, “Any requests?”
My lady howls out “Body and Soul!…My Funny Valentine!”
He spoils the crowd
with a medley made for us

Down in the depths, subterranean and cramped
No dress code, no cover
No snobby bathroom attendant

But these palaces of nostalgia, bygones
One by one, they fade
Resuscitated briefly, then snuffed out
Electric blue neon extinguished
Anemic silence outside
Timeless tunes trapped in your chambers
Only echoes of Ella as the glow dims
Farewell Moonglow

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Listen to Maurice Mickle read this poem

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Smalls

Live music deprivation, too many years
Certainly made me shed a few tears

The band beckons and the rhythm calls
All I want for Christmas is to go to Smalls

On the corner of 10th with dozens I queue
Stressed a sellout will make me so blue

Doors finally open, I barely make it in
Backrow seats with my tonic and gin

The show starts, life can’t get better
The power of jazz to unfetter

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Listen to Maurice Mickle read this poem

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Maurice Mickle is originally from Houston, Texas, but  currently resides in Bangkok,  where he teaches English Language & Literature at an international school. His hobbies include writing, photography, and live music. In his dreams he plays the sax like Dexter Gordon, but in reality he sounds more like a squawking novelty rubber chicken. One day he will make sweet licks on his sax…one day.

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Listen to the pianist Kirk Lightsey play “Heaven Dance,” in a September, 2021 appearance at Small’s, with Mark Whitfield (guitar); Santi DeBriano (bass); Victor Lewis (drums). [The Orchard]

 

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Click here to read The Sunday Poem

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