Rhythm of Change

Human beings
from a war-torn earth
show up to give life,
show up to give birth

To a sound of purity,
anger and rage,
to fly from the madness—
to break the cage

That threatens to rein
them, bring them to their knees,
when all they want is to reign
from the rooftops and trees.

These sisters of soul,
full of the Goddess within,
walk home bloody and bruised
by the hand of someone else’s sin.

These brothers of blues,
their brows creased in thought,
are whited-out of education,
graduating on what the streets taught.

The sexes are divided,
your gender an excuse,
combating racism
with more pain and abuse.

A man can blow his horn,
but a woman should whine.
Pulling him from his art
is your mission, ultimate and divine.

Eve pulled Adam from the garden,
or so we are told.
But if Adam was so pure,
his mind wouldn’t have sold

Out for a quick bottle
of cheap booze,
he would have laid on that trumpet
with nothing to loose

Because if jazz were the devil’s,
as the white bosses claim,
the devil would be here
to put the white man to shame.

And truth be told
I love the sound,
every rhythm and note,
heartbeat and pound

Of a drum that isn’t mine
to own
but is worthy of my fight
to let it be known

That jazz is a soul
you cannot contain
with the shackles of hatred
and a bloodied chain.

A musician is born
in every Goddess who walks
in fear of darkness
and a shadow that stalks

Her from around the corner,
so charming and smooth,
promising hope with
a voice to soothe

The hurt of generations,
yours and mine.
A musician is born
out of water and wine,

Blessed with an ear
for the notes of the past,
blessed with the courage
to make it last.

For Goddesses don’t give
life to easy blessings—
just blame it on a woman,
your trebles and testings,

She’ll hold it in her heart
and maybe one day a sax
because art will chop the
binary, not a knife or axe.

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