[Harp-L] haiku-ode by a dirty dozen dream stealer - the 3 day plan

[scott gold <scottgold@xxxxxxxxxx>]

List,

Ben's inclusion of my little tale about my happy experience with the Dirty 
Dozen Brass Band in his Planet Harmonica Blog - and his challenge to me to 
write a haiku on the event - has forced me from retirement and dig out my 
fountain pen for a haiku-ode which i dedicate to my friend, Ben Felten.

to wit:

haiku-ode by a dirty dozen dream stealer - the  3 day plan

day one
standing in line to buy an overpriced ticket....
later, with tropical sun directly overhead,
DDBB cd and air/con blasting in car
whilst tooling along bayside
offsets and smooths the pain. . . . .

day two
drinking three too many jack & cokes,
waiting for the band to start....;
and start, they do---
so much brass, so much brass - all over the place.
they are sweating everywhere and they have barely begun -
the horns themselves are filled with sweat:  winter in the tropics.
and the feets  --- they are moving now and they don't fail me now.

later, by happenstance, drinking yet more
jack & cokes, but now with the horns.
moving from club to club with the biggest little trumpet there ever was
eclipses the moon - and my sight.

anyone/everyone/allone
who is in earshot
falls under the trumpet's spell
and the moon is forever forgotten
for the nite.

day three
waking up nervous before coffee
coffee soothes the nerves.
it is 11:45 am.
and, the temperature is rising..  ..  ..

later is gig time, and it's more of the same.
only more so, so much more so.
7 persons who can play what they want when they want how they want
and swing at ALL times.
every ear is in bliss-state.
except mine, whose name is suddenly called to the stage
by the Masters.
the spell is broken:  where is the frickin' moon when you need it?

dutifully to the stage the amateur marches, like the doomed prisoner to the 
hangman.
but.....the joy is everywhere, the Masters have nothing to prove except:
it's all about the music.
their smiles lift my soul from anxiety to nothingness,
and i am in heaven for a brief moment thanks to
the Magnificent 7 and their kindness.

but there is no time for reminiscing now - the trumpet will not be quieted
and off into the tumon night we go - in search of more clubs, more 
instruments, more ears,
more dancing feet that were not failed now.

the sound of an Eb harp safely and neatly tucked in front left pants pocket,
as my ears wisely focus on the SOUNDS that abound.


-sg
tumon bay