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