Sultry bars and smokey joints were many scenes of his old haunts
Melodies and symphonies flowed like magic through his hands
"Hot Keys" was his given name by friends who sat with him at nights
He drew them near with balmy notes as they filled up thirsty throats
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The ivory keys he made his own, he was a Maestro in control
On his face small and neat, shone the spot light's melting heat
Neath an old battered hat, he smiled to greet friends he'd meet
A shy grin appeared at times on his beardless pointed chin
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Void of rings his fingers long writhed like a serpent's tongue
In the music's haunting trance "Hot Keys" did not cast a glance
Lost in worlds unknown to man, Hot Keys played his Baby Grand
Swaying to the rhythmic notes his body rocked back and forth
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Many were a teary eye as folks listened with great sighs
So enchanting was the sounds they appluaded very long
Tired eyes did not seek sleep 'til "Hot Keys" repertoire was done
Until the rays of peeping sun announced a new day had begun
copyrightŠ2006Irene
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In remembrance of all those
who lost their lives in New Orlean's
ˇ:*¨¨*:ˇ. tragic Hurricane Katrina. ˇ:*¨¨*:ˇ.
Through the years Pat O'Brien's Club in the French Quartera has been and always will be
an important part of New Orleans culture. Many excellent piano players have entertained
folks from around the world.