He will not come to breathe me back
redeem me with the kiss of life
will not place practiced lips on the sharpness
of the vibrating reed held in the
hard grip of the embrace of dry lips
pulled inward over teeth and tongue
in tight control of sound
notes trapped in the tarnish
of dormant dirt layers, in stains of neglect
in the dull smell of ancient metal polish
in mute dead air, stagnant with unplayed notes
waiting in the stilled dark throat waiting
for practised fingers once deft, now stiffened
for the scare and blare of blatant jazz
or cold songs of melancholia pierced with grief
the loss of music.
Poem inspired by Arthur Mitton and written by his daughter, Yvonne Mitton
We hope to receive further information from Yvonne in order to place an obituary page to her father.
Arthur Mitton 11/05/1923 - 06/12/2016
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning we will remember
them. - Laurence
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• Last Modified: 13 July 2017, 19:16 •