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.