Come Blow Your Horn
Poem By Dorothy (Alves) Holmes
He puts down his regular ax, his saxophone,
And begins to blast away on his shinny new thing,
He closes his eyes, fingers flying and we start
To grove to sweltering sounds that carress our ears.
Give the drummer some!
Play drummer! Play!
Whoa, bass man, whoa!
Let us catch up!
We are going crazy,
Grooving to your melodious noises,
We uncoil to your sound,
You'er making us high man!
You'er making us high!
Strum bass man, strum!
Your fingers eating away on steel strings...
Drummer, you set our brains afire!
I don't know the name of the tune,
But, hell, who cares!
Beat us until we die of pure pleasure!
(April 29,1978/Joe Clarke Trio at 'No Fish Today'
Club on Eutaw Street/Baltimore, Maryland)