Let Go, Kid

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A piece of beat poetry I wrote for my creative writing class. Filled with allusions and references to my favorite jazz musicians and songs.

Submitted: June 11, 2010

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Submitted: June 11, 2010

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Let the soft jazz fill the night air,
As Sinatra lulls us into reveries come fly with me.
Mr. Ellington plays us off to sweet tunes,
Letting the crashing waves of the sax carry us away to New York, New York.
 
Birds return south for the winter.
You know how I feel, don’t you?
Let the music carry you
To me.
 
Screw the other girls,
They’re parasites, Kid, clinging to you for dear life.
Sucking the happy from you, they revel in your unease.
 
For God’s sake, Kid,
Just let go!
Just let me love you, or whatever the hell this elation is called!
 
I’ll appreciate those witty comebacks.
You’re pompous attitude,
I’ll feed it.
Forget the other girls.
 
Like Mrs. Fitzgerald, it don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing, Kid.
It’s all or nothing here.
 
Mr. Bublé’s got the right idea: save the last dance for me.
Call me irresponsible, I call it fun.
Come play, Kid, let the beats carry you to me.
 
Why the apprehensions, Kid?
Mr. Louis Jordan understood, it’s as simple as a question.
Is you is or is you ain’t my baby?
 
That’s it, Mr. Armstrong, bring that kid this way.
Permit these tides to pull you in.
It’s just such a wonderful world when we’re together.
 
Don’t let these 300 flowers wither.
Miss Miller, lend me a hand with this Kid,
‘Cause these flowers are ripe for the plucking.
 
Pray, dream a little dream of me.
 
Can’t you see, Kid?
We’ve got much more than a mere kiss to build a dream on.
 
Why is it that I get a kick out of you?
Make that kick mutual.
Since I tire of this temptation
Just be mine.
 
Nothing more,
Nothing less.
 
This brandy’s rusting in
That diamond glass you’re sipping from.
 
Mr. Cooley, Mr. Davenport, I need your help.
This kid’s giving me fever.
It’s just so hard to bare, Kid.
 
The heat’s causing madness.
 
Don’t let this be the story
Of the gal that got away.
I need you here with me, Kid.
 
It’s just too bad I haven’t met you yet.
 
This flood of tunes,
I’m losing myself in the blues.
Don’t let me rise from the deep without you.


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