the trombone ballad of my Mama Dear.
On the twenty-ninth of October in 1945,
she oiled and greased and prepared to slide
into seventh position, a very long stretch.
Could this ten year old make it?
Of course!
You bet!
Her Dad taught her to play arpeggios and scales
which gave way to ballads and marches and reels.
Orchestral arrangements she handled with zeal
which morphed into solos giving every listener a thrill.
She played marching and sitting and riding in wagons
and she always kept time
her slide never was draggin'.
Mama loved playing music and music loved her,
if a new group was forming, she'd give it a whirl.
Big bands and concert bands, she played in them all
but what I loved most happened when I was just small.
She put us to bed ostensibly to sleep
and out of our bedroom stealthily she would creep
to the hallway, the living room
where promptly she sat
and warmed up her trombone with nary a blat.
What delightful music
Mama coaxed from that brass!
It soothed and relaxed and never was crass.
To the sacred sound of hymns floating through the air
off to sleep I would soon be
with four four time and a flat here and there
drifting off to such sweet melodies.
For well over seventy years she's been playin'
from gospel, to Dixieland, and jazz
but the music I loved most to hear on that bone
were the ones that she practiced
and played in our home.
When I laid in bed
as quiet as a mouse
and listened to Mama playing
reverent music to God
sweet ballads fit for her King.
- T Deffely
November 05, 2016
