Blues In The Night Poem by Angela Wybrow

It's after eight on a Saturday night;
The stage lights are lit, shining so bright.
From head to toe, he's adorned all in black.
Of punters to see him, there is no lack.
As the first notes flow from his saxophone,
The air is filled with a bluesy tone.
As the intensity of the piece begins to rise,
Lost in the music, he closes his eyes.
Some notes are melodious and sound so sweet,
While others are fighting to escape the beat.
Some notes are raspy, restless and alarming,
While others are silky, sensual and charming.
There are those which flow like a trickling stream,
And those which remind me of a tormented scream.
Some notes hoot and honk, they heave and wheeze,
While others drift gently as though riding on a summer breeze.
Musical magic, this saxophonist weaves,
And, a warm round of applause, he duly receives.