A big lark
Camarillo resident of sly deceptive innocence,
hardly anybody then that wasn’t your constituent;
altoist magnificent, you circled ’round the floor,
relaxation made you even better than before;
lark of Ornithology, the clouds yours to explore;
infinite in influence, habitually deplored,
excesses of living left you crashing at death’s door.
Prince of post-war players, all the others watched in awe
as your flights soared higher and you soloed without pause;
Reverend of Riff Raff and the King of Keys Perdido,
Ko-Ko still awaits you on the stage at gone Bloomdido;
even Quasimodo got down once he heard you blow,
realizing Moose the Mooche was closing out the show.
A big old-timer
Disney tunes turned into jazz,
artful player with pizazz,
variances in off times,
effervescent and sublime.
Brought about a campus thing,
really made the coeds swing;
unto him Paul said “Take Five,”
Blue Rondo helped both to thrive;
Eugene Wright and Joe Morello
completed a quartet mellow,
kept the beat while Desmond soloed.
Monk in the Mill House
The monk to the mill house
did hurriedly go;
he scurried, so worried,
to seek sanctuary
in some righteous blow.
Once in the millhouse,
he turned to a table,
the blow ride rewarding,
gratefully enabling;
incredible sensations
he’d never felt in robes;
his heart beat in fever,
his skin in welts rose;
his brain did ignore
the tingling in his nose.
“Is He for real?
Or is it just me?”
he wondered aloud
in a blissful tizzy.
Suddenly, no more
electricity;
the monk sat in silence,
dead player at his knee:
“Oh! That was Monk,
and Bird and Dizzy!”
A big red X
Jam-red hot pulsars burn into my ears
in death your digits stretch ‘way past your years
merman in exile, cry cold rainbow tears
infinite Axis from which you’ve no peers
Heaven and Earth, they did both pass you by
ever you wondered and still ponder why
never together, you weren’t satisfied
dry stone not knowing sweet Earth Mother’s eye
rise up like Jesus, show Elvis, show John
initiate us in the house of Beyond,
X-Man we treasured, so wasted, so gone
A big icon
Joking sad smoker, warm gun turned on you
often you said it would be your just due
Hold On, Tomorrow Never Knows what’s Yer Blues
No Reply left when the bullets ripped through
looking through a Glass Onion you did so much
Every Little Thing she did done double-dutch
now Magical Mystery Tour clearly revealed
New York the last home for Strawberry Fields
only thing left is your Watching the Wheels
Not A Second Time will we know what you feel
A big idol
Penny Lane days far away, no way you could Get Back;
Apple pie devoured by egg men lined up to snack;
Uncle Albert poising Admiral Halsey to attack;
Long Haired Lady and her Dear Boy never saw you pack.
Maybe I’m Amazed still at your strange Mull of Kintyre;
crafting Silly Love Songs not always your sole desire;
can’t drive Helen Wheels now on the Long and Winding Road;
awkward end to Helter Skelter that had to implode.
Ram On through your elder years in knighted dignity,
titled gentry count sheep in the Heart of the Country;
next time your Band on the Run perfects a new egress,
Eleanor Rigby won’t darn your socks or mend Jet’s dress,
Yesterday’s excess forced her Revolver to her chest.
A big significant other
Gnomes that sat with you knew All Things Must Pass,
even when Pattie became Eric’s lass;
over time, she found she was For You Blue,
returned to her home to say “I Need You.”
Guitar not weeping now, you’ve run your course;
equal to your mates, you were the Dark Horse.
Here Comes the Sun, so I Want to Tell You,
along Blue Jay Way, Piggies cannot fly through;
realization My Sweet Lord yours, too,
ragas and sitars could not that undo;
I’ve Got My Mind Set on You, It’s all Too Much,
so Long, Long, Long cigarettes were your crutch,
Old Brown Shoe leather left, your lungs done wrong;
now you can sing Only a Northern Song.
