This morning's writers group photo was of a saxophonist in a smoky club. There were three prompts. I kind of ignored the first one and then incorporated it into part two. Part three ties them together.
The overall themes of the writing session were: awareness, wonder, empathy
Saxophone
1.
Saxophone playing,
Jazz notes rising through the smoke filled air,
Climbing higher
and higher.
Filling the room,
Filling ears, hearts, and minds.
Notes and emotions
Soar,
Swirl,
Rise,
Fall.
He wants to play forever.
But he begins to end the solo
as the piano cuts in.
The saxophone fades out
The bass and drums
continue
their rhythmic support,
Booming,
Shuffling.
Thump, badum, da, da, da, dum.
Boom, swish, clap.
Saxophone resting
then gently joining again,
Waiting for the climax
when all the instruments
will play their story,
And then silence.
2.
After the show,
the saxophone player
sits backstage,
Wiping the sweat from his face,
hands,
arms,
Listening to his bandmates
critique each other,
applaud each other.
He tries to relive the moments on stage
when he felt so alive,
he could feel his true story being told.
A knock on the door,
He wonders who has come.
Surely no one looking for him.
He came to this city alone
and has lived only with music
since getting here.
A voice.
A voice he hasn't heard
since he slammed a door
and drove away
as fast as he dared.
A voice.
A voice he has heard every day of his life.
Hesitating,,
Waiting for him
to turn around,
to look,
to speak,
to acknowledge.
His bandmates' voices fade into nothing.
He lifts his eyes,
stares at the ceiling,
And cries.
3.
Since he first picked up
that magical piece of brass
He has been able to speak,
Listen,
Learn.
Since he squeaked that first note,
he has felt it.
I live for music.
Music is life.
Later he learned,
Love is music
And music is love.
He now knows,
Music doesn't judge,
Music doesn't hate,
Music heals,
bonds,
reaches lost souls.
He thinks,
I am music.
Music is me.
