The Negro
With the trumpet at his lips
Has dark moons of weariness
Beneath his eyes
where the smoldering memory
of slave ships
Blazed to the crack of whips
about thighs
The negro
with the trumpet at his lips
has a head of vibrant hair
tamed down,
patent-leathered now
until it gleams
like jet—
were jet a crown
the music
from the trumpet at his lips
is honey
mixed with liquid fire
the rhythm
from the trumpet at his lips
is ecstasy
distilled from old desire—
Desire
that is longing for the moon
where the moonlight's but a spotlight
in his eyes,
desire
that is longing for the sea
where the sea's a bar-glass
sucker size
The Negro
with the trumpet at his lips
whose jacket
Has a fine one-button roll,
does not know
upon what riff the music slips
It's hypodermic needle
to his soul
but softly
as the tune comes from his throat
trouble
mellows to a golden note
Leave a guest comment (subject to review)
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
-
-
Big VIck
From guest VIcki Jones (contact)
This poem is very saucy. What a smart little monkey who wrote this masterpiece. This is also pretty kinky -
Deep...
This is such a deep and moving poem. I have alway heard of Langston Huges, but had never read any of his work until now. He must have been a deep and beautifully souled man. -
Deep Indeed
I do like the way the verses overlap and interact, compounding into the final verse.
Charley Noble -
very deep
-
impressive... the vivid or descriptive words... used to evoke the imagery and capture the emotions...
-
Awesome
I loved the way Langston Hughes put his stanzas and where his lines start and stop. I especially love the language in the first stanza, "dark moons", "smoldering memory". I think this poem shows how music can take away all trouble, and I find that to be true with myself also
Adding your comment:
1 - 5 of 5
