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
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