Poetry And Jazz

Her clothes were outrageous

Her hair was many colours

Her work was radical

And so were her ideas

She said: "This is brilliant!

This place is heaven!

On a score of one to ten

I'd give this place eleven

It kicks you up the ass

And it fires you with ambition

I often used to feel

As if my life was just a prison

Now I realise

It isn't quite that bad"

I was invited to an exhibition

A little while ago

To an art gallery in Paris

Where she has a studio

She looked sophisticated

She was wearing a bronze tan

And she had sold all her work

For some outrageous sum

And I looked at her

And I started laughing

I said: "You're supposed to be an artist

You're supposed to be suffering"

And she just smiled back

And she pointed to this painting

Of a young girl around which

She'd written out this poem

She'd shown me once

Called "Poetry and Jazz"

"My name is Angela

I am twelve years old

I've given up on working hard

And doing as I'm told

I see a child psychologist

Who's spotted in my head

A recipe for delinquency

Or something just as bad

But I'll fight

For my independence

I see the world in another way

To my teachers and my parents

My priorities are different

And my life is not as aimless

I am not disruptive

I am not dangerous

I've risen on purpose

Like poetry and jazz"

She said: "It's hard for me to explain to you

The brightness of the light

I can still remember when my life was like that

A real and painless beauty

I remember as a kid

When I thought that I knew everything

And in a way I did"