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August 14, 2018
A Poem Today
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As the Pope of My Own Satori, I declare Jazz Ramadan.
Rahsaan was born High Summer, Trane upon the Equinox,
The West is now ablaze, this month the pinnacle (one hopes) of Hot.
A time to Fast, to make it Last,
A time to Swing, and clean your Thing,
Put down your Rock, and let it Roll.
My continued growth and flowering, a persistent giving up,
The old and gnarled rose blooms well, far into the fall,
‘till the name (oh Death) rings true, and then my friend,
That’s all.
I declare Jazz Ramadan, As the Prophet of My Own Awakening.
Too hot to eat, to old to drink, put on a record,
There’s (Summer)time to Think.
Portland OR, High Haze from Canadian Fires.