Hoping For
Jazz
I am
Poet
getting high on Jazz’s fumes
Bitter-sweet
perfume of Blues and Indigo Moods
I am
The Will
I am
Just like
Alice & John
Seamless
and cyclic
Ecstatic
The end of
us and them is we
As Jazz
blends spirits colorlessly
But never
quite colour-blindly
I am
Neo-Classical
Jazz Experiences
Memories
of Plantation Lullaby’s
Pushed and
dragged so low yet still getting high
Not on
coke and sprites
Black tie
affairs or BBBEE invites
But on
life and stolen moments of lokshin style and ghetto jive
Jazz
Jonas
Gwangwa & McCoy Mrubata, Kuti Femi, Anikulapo, Seun, Fela
I walked
the smoggy ghetto passage ways
Nodding to
Moses Taiwa Molelekwa’s Genes and Spirits
Or Billy
Holiday’s Strange Fruit
Wailing,
Wailing and Wailing while swinging from these Southern Trees
For
reasons beyond us
We are
still singing those Weary Blues
Decades
after Sobukwe, Dollar Brand & Langston Hughes
Meditated
on Stillness, Freeness & Jazziness
The so
long, how long Blues
This Jazz
shit has made me forget to remember The Good News
Got me
walking the tight-line between the life we know and the death we choose
I am
The
Jazz-man’s tears appearing perpendicular to a broken note
Which is a
seed in the soil
Where grows
the fruit of hope …
The joy of
Jazz is the most omnipotent dope.
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