Sunday, February 26, 2023


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 playing, 

Jazz notes rising through the smoke filled air,

Climbing higher

and higher.

Filling the room,

Filling ears, hearts, and minds.

Notes and emotions





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


    their rhythmic support,



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.


After the show,

  the saxophone player

  sits backstage,

Wiping the sweat from his face,



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.


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.


Since he first picked up

  that magical piece of brass

He has been able to speak,



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,


  reaches lost souls.

He thinks,

  I am music.

  Music is me.