The Jazz Poet

There was once a fellow,

With a dab of dance in his walk.

He had a whisper on his lips,

And a wild rush of thoughts.

 

He riffed and he rummaged,

Wherever he would go.

He kept a tap sourced from nature,

To keep with the flow.

 

With a pen like a baton,

He conducted a symphony,

Making music,

From almost everything.

 

He beat on the walls,

And tapped at the leaves.

He assembled the birds,

And swung with the trees.

 

He was not afraid,

To ruffle a couple feathers.

He rippled the sky,

And kept spring in the weather.

 

He kept stars in a jar,

And muttered with the stream.

He was a jazz poet,

Whatever that means.

 

He riffed and he rummaged,

He’d waltz into dreams.

He was a jazz poet,

Whatever that means.

 

Advertisements

5 thoughts on “The Jazz Poet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s