verse
Just East of Vine
A Poem by Ry Kincaid
The dance of the drumstick on
oversized ride cymbals—that
is the jazz just east of Vine.
The bass starts his walk, trumpet
skips right beside. Three sirens
scream loudly, just east of Vine.
Kick drum bang sing
Shot riff curse swing.
Bird blew to New York, well east
of Vine. Then death blew him back.
We be proud, Charlie Parker.
The smokeless bar (now)—smoking
Scat strikes us cats. Can this be
the jazz that’s just east of Vine?
Summer/Fall 2008 Poetry:
FEATURED POET: FIVE POEMS by Arlene Ang
THE EDGE OF THE WORLD by Jeanette Lee
ACTIVE LEARNING by Fred Jacobs
1946 by Steve De France
WHAT WE DO ALL DAY by Matthew Savoca
WHEN YOU WERE GOOD by Laurie Granieri
(Editor's Choice)
LOVE WITHOUT SEX by John J. Petrolino
III
DELIVERANCE by P.C. Scheponik
YOUR TASTE STILL LINGERS by Sarah Pace
AUTUMN by Cody Boyko
ETHEREAL by Arielle Hader
JUST EAST OF VINE by Ry Kincaid
SILENCE. by C.J. Opperthauser
BREVITY by Yi Dong
CRACKED CEILING IN A NEW ENGLAND COUNTRY HOUSE
by Juanita Torrence-Thompson
