This poem was originally published on 26 July 2016.

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.