Joe Bonamassa



It was what he did

between the notes

How he filled the space

between the sound

Standing in the oil painted light

Accents of color

Bouncing off cymbals

and brick walls

As he stood

In the resound

Of sound.

His hands hung

in loose recoil

Vibrating from the stroke

Truely limp and disconnected

From the slick back haired musican

Metal sunglasses slid

To the point of his nose

He stood

And he waited

For the sound

Between the notes

to fill the hall.

Its what he did

Between the notes

Like a breath

on hold

A precipace

not crested

That made me wish

For an easel and palette

The pinks and the golds

And the black figure

in vertical repose

Listening to his sound.




Author's Notes/Comments: 

We saw Joe Bonamassa this weekend

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Sassylass's picture

I certainly

enjoyed this

Poetry is passion,imagination & soul mixing together....



phil_carcione's picture

Loved this one.....good job!

allets's picture

Don't Know Joe

but the tribute was exquisite - nice write - :S



djtj's picture

Dont know Joe

 Thank you Look into his music. This is my favorite song of his. Awesome