All That Jazz Poem by Jerome Michael Pindell

I hear the music of truth.
It whispers with a elephant's low rumble

Calling to the listening few.....to me....
To follow the syncopation,

Translating rhythms to inspiration
Harmonizing from the depths

Of creation to manifestation ahead of
The trumpeting mammoth's song,

Or Monk's hammering fingers
Pounding the keyboard, or the Bird's horn, bellowing bop.

Take a pause to dance and twirl
To inner rumblings to become a note

In a silent sky, riding lofty winds
Before dissolving into the unheard.

The music of truth is calling,
Taking wing to find a landing on dry ears.