Sirocco Sounds

Soft sand cradles me 
in its infinite shifting and settling.
Rolling waves sing a lullaby 
of fish and Narwhales, 
of boats and sailors and lives lived.
My ears fill with its quiet screaming. 

The first notes of a jazz saxaphone 
come sweet on the Sirocco 
that slowly slips along my back 
and neck, 
a lovers hand stirring flesh and mind to finer things. To sweeter things

The street band blow fluid life 
into the warmth of salt scented air. 
Sound with power and cursive edges, 
waves that break on ears 
in a sweet living beat of drum and voice 
of sax and horn. 

Music born in speakeasies and bars 
now played from a harbour wall. 
Notes pure enough to skip through 
and soar on, colour the corners of
minds that sway in time to living sound.

And a voice, young and sweet 
an instument perfected on the street 
that answers to the voice and soul 
of jazz with pizazz and flair. 

A fusion of old and new. 
Jazz and Flamenco. 
Detroit meets an Andulucian beat. 
Spanish Harlem in Corralejo 
where the Sirocco blows 
warm and sweet.

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

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