It’s been many months since I’ve tended this blog, and there have been various reasons for this. The main reason is that I’ve been busy – with writing my first play, with growing my publishing business and with life in general. When you have three small children, time has a tendency to pass all too quickly.

I haven’t stopped reading or writing poetry, however. Some poems I have been writing specifically for a collection I will be producing, and others I have been recording on film (whether for posterity or for public viewing I have yet to decide!). More on these two projects at a later date.

For now, here’s a little something I wrote to get 2015 off to a poetic start.


A Visit from Satchmo

It was a surprise to find him on the doorstep,
Trumpet in hand, suitcase splayed open,
On our driveway, displaying his life
To the general neighbourhood.
We were torn between bustling him inside
And making a public announcement.
After all, our road had never heard the Jazz Me Blues swung so well.

But something was wrong, so Satchmo stayed with us.
It was over a week in the end.
There was music of course,
With me on clarinet and mad dancing from our drunken neighbours.
And there were conversations late into the night
Where our guest ate red beans and rice, smoked marijuana
And alternated between smutty jokes and something quieter.

And then he disappeared,
Without a warning or a sign.
We read in the papers that he’d had a heart attack,
Died in his sleep.
And then we knew that we’d heard him for the last time,
Playing his own funeral march,
New Orleans style.

Vicki Watson © 2015

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