| 2003-03-31 01:57, by Julie Solheim-Roe|
A poem by Rocky Delaplaine
Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the children of God.
Blessed are the poets for they shall be called the unacknowledged legislators of the land.
Blessed are the jazz makers for they shall be called God's
trumpeters, blasting B natural, God's keyboard players, tickling high C on the ivories, God's drummers the healers, taking measure of our pulse, and God's bass players wailing B flat through the guts of a cat.
Blessed are Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, Bessie Smith, Billie Holliday, Ella Fitzgerald for they shall be called God's apostles, God's diplomats, and God's translators.
And their children, and their children's children will grow strong and mulitply and spread the gospel of jazzology over all the earth.
And when men hear jazz they will put down their swords, and pick up their saxophones.
And lovers and brothers, and nations that were fighting will tap their toes, and forget their quarrel. Blessed are the jazz makers for their ears are tuned to frequencies the rest of us can't hear and their vocal chords are a harmonic convergence and their music is played in God's juke joint and on God's radio station, and their music is God's radio station.
Blessed are the jazz makers for they carry the memory of mother Africa in their cells and sing her praises.
Blessed are the jazz makers for they bear the burden of the slave and the hope of redemption for the slave holder.
Blessed are the jazz makers for theirs is the voice of God whispering, laughing, sobbing, screaming, Wake up, take in my breath, love your body and the body of all things, listen to each other, work together, work it out, arise.