Jazz Me Do

JAZZ ME DO

Memory splinters … Splinters linger on
Orphaned … Amputated … Alien
Earlier hellbent … Later bent
Like a banana
Like a tasty adventure
Up … Behind … To infinity and beyond

Like the neighbour who
Spotting the Buddha in the back garden asks
“What’s wit’ monk?”

Like a glance above wondering
In this boundless blossoming heaven
“What’s wit’ bird?”

What’s wit’ Bird?
Variations on a theme
Came a long long way to end up here
To land up here wondering
“What’s wit’ Miles
What’s wit’ all these miles an’ miles?”

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on March 23, 2018, in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 8 Comments.

  1. I really like this, Ben. Read it several times, each more enjoyable!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Hmm, Ben, a lot of rifts here.

    Liked by 1 person

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