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	<title type="text">Poetry</title>
	<subtitle type="text">Johnsinclair.us - The official John Sinclair website.</subtitle>
	<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://localhost"/>
	<id>http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise.feed</id>
	<updated>2021-02-16T10:40:43Z</updated>
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	<entry>
		<title>sing the song</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/845-sing-the-song.html"/>
		<published>2006-02-09T11:09:23Z</published>
		<updated>2006-02-09T11:09:23Z</updated>
		<id>http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/845-sing-the-song.html</id>
		<author>
			<name>John</name>
		<email>johnsinclair001@hotmail.com</email>
		</author>
		<summary type="html">&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&quot;sing the song&quot;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  sing the song a-&lt;br /&gt; gain, we are gaining on it, &lt;br /&gt; looks like every day now&lt;br /&gt; the sun will shine a-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  gain, the seasons&lt;br /&gt; change, the seed with-&lt;br /&gt; in the woman&lt;br /&gt; swells &amp;amp; grows to&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  live within us all, &lt;br /&gt; the seed within our earth&lt;br /&gt; is the seed of all life, &lt;br /&gt; all song is in the air, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  the seasons change again, &lt;br /&gt; the song will change, &lt;br /&gt; our lives will change, &lt;br /&gt; the changes will move us&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  as the music moves us, we&lt;br /&gt; raise our lives to the sun&lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; sing of it, sing change, sing&lt;br /&gt; the new year in, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;i&gt;it is ours&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;i&gt;detroit&lt;br /&gt; december 16, 1967&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  music by john Coltrane&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</summary>
		<content type="html">&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;&quot;sing the song&quot;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  sing the song a-&lt;br /&gt; gain, we are gaining on it, &lt;br /&gt; looks like every day now&lt;br /&gt; the sun will shine a-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  gain, the seasons&lt;br /&gt; change, the seed with-&lt;br /&gt; in the woman&lt;br /&gt; swells &amp;amp; grows to&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  live within us all, &lt;br /&gt; the seed within our earth&lt;br /&gt; is the seed of all life, &lt;br /&gt; all song is in the air, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  the seasons change again, &lt;br /&gt; the song will change, &lt;br /&gt; our lives will change, &lt;br /&gt; the changes will move us&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  as the music moves us, we&lt;br /&gt; raise our lives to the sun&lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; sing of it, sing change, sing&lt;br /&gt; the new year in, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;i&gt;it is ours&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;i&gt;detroit&lt;br /&gt; december 16, 1967&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  music by john Coltrane&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</content>
	</entry>
	<entry>
		<title>I Talk with the Spirits</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/844-i-talk-with-the-spirits.html"/>
		<published>2006-02-09T11:08:18Z</published>
		<updated>2006-02-09T11:08:18Z</updated>
		<id>http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/844-i-talk-with-the-spirits.html</id>
		<author>
			<name>John</name>
		<email>johnsinclair001@hotmail.com</email>
		</author>
		<summary type="html">&lt;br /&gt; &lt;strong&gt; I Talk with the Spirits &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt;after Rahsaan Roland Kirk&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    The hand of John Coltrane&lt;br /&gt; seems never to have stopped &lt;br /&gt; guiding his family,  &lt;br /&gt; says Leonard Feather, &lt;br /&gt; quoting Alice McLeod Coltrane&lt;br /&gt; in the &lt;em&gt;Los Angeles Times&lt;/em&gt;, July 25, 1982: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   Just two or three years ago&lt;br /&gt; there was a definite conver-&lt;br /&gt; stion with him, &lt;br /&gt; while I was in a meditative state, &lt;br /&gt; on the subject of life&lt;br /&gt; after death, &amp;amp; living&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  in the particular existence&lt;br /&gt; that he&amp;#39;s in. I noticed&lt;br /&gt; that he did have an instrument &lt;br /&gt; it looked something&lt;br /&gt; like a soprano, but much&lt;br /&gt; longer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &amp;amp; larger &amp;amp; he was&lt;br /&gt; quite absorbed&lt;br /&gt; with looking at its structure. &lt;br /&gt; I asked him,  Do you think&lt;br /&gt; about Earth life?  He said, &lt;br /&gt; &lt;em&gt; not much. &lt;/em&gt; I said, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   Do you consider&lt;br /&gt; that you might prefer&lt;br /&gt; living on Earth&lt;br /&gt; as opposed to your life&lt;br /&gt; in the afterlife?  &amp;amp; he said, &lt;br /&gt; &lt;em&gt; No,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       I wouldn t prefer&lt;br /&gt; living on Earth.  So I said, &lt;br /&gt;  Really? Not with all&lt;br /&gt; the acceptance, the&lt;br /&gt; recognition, the fame?  &lt;br /&gt; His reply was, &lt;em&gt; I prefer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   the Spirit&lt;br /&gt;  life&lt;br /&gt;  to the way&lt;br /&gt;  life&lt;br /&gt;  is&lt;br /&gt;  on Earth &lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt;Detroit&lt;br /&gt; August 1982&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</summary>
		<content type="html">&lt;br /&gt; &lt;strong&gt; I Talk with the Spirits &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt;after Rahsaan Roland Kirk&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    The hand of John Coltrane&lt;br /&gt; seems never to have stopped &lt;br /&gt; guiding his family,  &lt;br /&gt; says Leonard Feather, &lt;br /&gt; quoting Alice McLeod Coltrane&lt;br /&gt; in the &lt;em&gt;Los Angeles Times&lt;/em&gt;, July 25, 1982: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   Just two or three years ago&lt;br /&gt; there was a definite conver-&lt;br /&gt; stion with him, &lt;br /&gt; while I was in a meditative state, &lt;br /&gt; on the subject of life&lt;br /&gt; after death, &amp;amp; living&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  in the particular existence&lt;br /&gt; that he&amp;#39;s in. I noticed&lt;br /&gt; that he did have an instrument &lt;br /&gt; it looked something&lt;br /&gt; like a soprano, but much&lt;br /&gt; longer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &amp;amp; larger &amp;amp; he was&lt;br /&gt; quite absorbed&lt;br /&gt; with looking at its structure. &lt;br /&gt; I asked him,  Do you think&lt;br /&gt; about Earth life?  He said, &lt;br /&gt; &lt;em&gt; not much. &lt;/em&gt; I said, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   Do you consider&lt;br /&gt; that you might prefer&lt;br /&gt; living on Earth&lt;br /&gt; as opposed to your life&lt;br /&gt; in the afterlife?  &amp;amp; he said, &lt;br /&gt; &lt;em&gt; No,&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       I wouldn t prefer&lt;br /&gt; living on Earth.  So I said, &lt;br /&gt;  Really? Not with all&lt;br /&gt; the acceptance, the&lt;br /&gt; recognition, the fame?  &lt;br /&gt; His reply was, &lt;em&gt; I prefer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   the Spirit&lt;br /&gt;  life&lt;br /&gt;  to the way&lt;br /&gt;  life&lt;br /&gt;  is&lt;br /&gt;  on Earth &lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt;Detroit&lt;br /&gt; August 1982&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</content>
	</entry>
	<entry>
		<title>Vigil</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/843-vigil.html"/>
		<published>2006-02-09T11:07:05Z</published>
		<updated>2006-02-09T11:07:05Z</updated>
		<id>http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/843-vigil.html</id>
		<author>
			<name>John</name>
		<email>johnsinclair001@hotmail.com</email>
		</author>
		<summary type="html">&lt;br /&gt; &lt;strong&gt; Vigil &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;em&gt; implies watchfulness. &lt;br /&gt; Anyone tring to attain perfection&lt;br /&gt; is faced with various obstacles in life&lt;br /&gt; which tend to sidetrack him. Here, therefore, I mean&lt;br /&gt; watchfulness against elements that might be destructive &lt;br /&gt; from within or without.  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    John Coltrane&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    There are forces that will move against you&lt;br /&gt; even though the world is yours. You must watch for them, &lt;br /&gt; all ways, even though you should not have to. They will move&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  in ways you will not know, &lt;br /&gt; for you are pure, &amp;amp; their movement&lt;br /&gt; is not as yours is, straight &amp;amp; direct, as you move&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  all ways through the world. Oh they will strike you&lt;br /&gt; as you move to grow, they will knock you down, &lt;br /&gt; they will kick you in the face &amp;amp; smile, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  they will have you understand&lt;br /&gt; that the world is not yours, it is theirs they say, &amp;amp; you will&lt;br /&gt; not know why they would have you die a&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  death like theirs, no, you will not come to&lt;br /&gt; understand them, &amp;amp; they will keep at you. They will call you&lt;br /&gt; their enemy, even though you know not&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  what an enemy is, you are not bent, you are straight, &lt;br /&gt; straight &amp;amp; open to their blows, you cannot know&lt;br /&gt; that they get their kicks that way, you go your own way&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &amp;amp; it is good, it is only natural that you do,  I don t try&lt;br /&gt; to set standards of perfection&lt;br /&gt; for anyone else. I do feel&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      everyone does try to reach&lt;br /&gt; his better self, his full potential, &amp;amp; what that consists of&lt;br /&gt; depends on each individual. Whatever that goal is, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  moving toward it does require vigilance.  &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; you will watch for them, &lt;br /&gt; you will be vigilant, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  because you have to. You do what you have to. You are a meat&lt;br /&gt; creature, moving in the world. You will move&lt;br /&gt; as you have to move, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &amp;amp; they will move to stop you. You can not be stopped. They do not&lt;br /&gt; know that, &amp;amp; they will move against you. Watch for them, &lt;br /&gt;  &amp;amp; be strong. They have the&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  world to lose. The world is yours.  &lt;br /&gt; Move in it as you wish, &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; be strong. Yes. Be strong. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt;Detroit&lt;br /&gt; February 9, 1967/&lt;br /&gt; New Orleans&lt;br /&gt; December 4, 1995/&lt;br /&gt; Amsterdam&lt;br /&gt; December 2, 2002&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</summary>
		<content type="html">&lt;br /&gt; &lt;strong&gt; Vigil &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;em&gt; implies watchfulness. &lt;br /&gt; Anyone tring to attain perfection&lt;br /&gt; is faced with various obstacles in life&lt;br /&gt; which tend to sidetrack him. Here, therefore, I mean&lt;br /&gt; watchfulness against elements that might be destructive &lt;br /&gt; from within or without.  &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    John Coltrane&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    There are forces that will move against you&lt;br /&gt; even though the world is yours. You must watch for them, &lt;br /&gt; all ways, even though you should not have to. They will move&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  in ways you will not know, &lt;br /&gt; for you are pure, &amp;amp; their movement&lt;br /&gt; is not as yours is, straight &amp;amp; direct, as you move&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  all ways through the world. Oh they will strike you&lt;br /&gt; as you move to grow, they will knock you down, &lt;br /&gt; they will kick you in the face &amp;amp; smile, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  they will have you understand&lt;br /&gt; that the world is not yours, it is theirs they say, &amp;amp; you will&lt;br /&gt; not know why they would have you die a&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  death like theirs, no, you will not come to&lt;br /&gt; understand them, &amp;amp; they will keep at you. They will call you&lt;br /&gt; their enemy, even though you know not&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  what an enemy is, you are not bent, you are straight, &lt;br /&gt; straight &amp;amp; open to their blows, you cannot know&lt;br /&gt; that they get their kicks that way, you go your own way&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &amp;amp; it is good, it is only natural that you do,  I don t try&lt;br /&gt; to set standards of perfection&lt;br /&gt; for anyone else. I do feel&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      everyone does try to reach&lt;br /&gt; his better self, his full potential, &amp;amp; what that consists of&lt;br /&gt; depends on each individual. Whatever that goal is, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  moving toward it does require vigilance.  &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; you will watch for them, &lt;br /&gt; you will be vigilant, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  because you have to. You do what you have to. You are a meat&lt;br /&gt; creature, moving in the world. You will move&lt;br /&gt; as you have to move, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &amp;amp; they will move to stop you. You can not be stopped. They do not&lt;br /&gt; know that, &amp;amp; they will move against you. Watch for them, &lt;br /&gt;  &amp;amp; be strong. They have the&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  world to lose. The world is yours.  &lt;br /&gt; Move in it as you wish, &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; be strong. Yes. Be strong. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt;Detroit&lt;br /&gt; February 9, 1967/&lt;br /&gt; New Orleans&lt;br /&gt; December 4, 1995/&lt;br /&gt; Amsterdam&lt;br /&gt; December 2, 2002&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</content>
	</entry>
	<entry>
		<title>blues to you</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/841-blues-to-you.html"/>
		<published>2006-02-09T11:03:30Z</published>
		<updated>2006-02-09T11:03:30Z</updated>
		<id>http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/841-blues-to-you.html</id>
		<author>
			<name>John</name>
		<email>johnsinclair001@hotmail.com</email>
		</author>
		<summary type="html">&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&amp;quot;blues to you&amp;quot;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt;for danny spencer&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    we wanted them to love us, &lt;br /&gt; as a first term. to know that we knew, &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; would tell them with our eyes, &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; our pumping feet. would sit &amp;amp; stare&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  at the bandstand&lt;br /&gt; or at each other, &amp;amp; grin. or get up from the chair&lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; walk smack into a pole&lt;br /&gt; after 45 minutes of elvin jones. john coltrane&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  was a hero beyond legend, i mean&lt;br /&gt; he was right there in front of us, right there&lt;br /&gt; where we could see him, &amp;amp; know for ever&lt;br /&gt; the whole thing was real. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          or sit for days, literally days, &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; play the records through our meat, &amp;amp; dream&lt;br /&gt; of touching them, the musicians, &lt;br /&gt; as they walked off the stand, &amp;amp; moved past us, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  smiling, toward some secret place&lt;br /&gt; we would never go. &amp;amp; loved them always&lt;br /&gt; for a simple nod, as if we were really real. &lt;br /&gt; we needed them to speak to us&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  of pure revolution. to put down their saxophones&lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; spout pure poetry, or our lives&lt;br /&gt; weren&amp;#39;t shit. were gobs of dream&lt;br /&gt; splattered against the world. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   oh we were young&lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; made of america. it made us&lt;br /&gt; what we were. &amp;amp; are. &amp;amp;, if we are lucky, &lt;br /&gt; we will live through it all. yes, &amp;amp; the music&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     will ring in our ears. &amp;amp; we will hear it, &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; it will bring us through. we will wake up&lt;br /&gt; singing&lt;br /&gt;       of a world of our own. a world&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  where they will love us, just as if&lt;br /&gt; (&amp;amp; only if) &lt;br /&gt; we are as real&lt;br /&gt;  as they are&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      &lt;em&gt;detroit&lt;br /&gt; january 3, 1967/&lt;br /&gt; new orleans&lt;br /&gt; december 22, 1993&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;/&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;</summary>
		<content type="html">&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&amp;quot;blues to you&amp;quot;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt;for danny spencer&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    we wanted them to love us, &lt;br /&gt; as a first term. to know that we knew, &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; would tell them with our eyes, &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; our pumping feet. would sit &amp;amp; stare&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  at the bandstand&lt;br /&gt; or at each other, &amp;amp; grin. or get up from the chair&lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; walk smack into a pole&lt;br /&gt; after 45 minutes of elvin jones. john coltrane&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  was a hero beyond legend, i mean&lt;br /&gt; he was right there in front of us, right there&lt;br /&gt; where we could see him, &amp;amp; know for ever&lt;br /&gt; the whole thing was real. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          or sit for days, literally days, &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; play the records through our meat, &amp;amp; dream&lt;br /&gt; of touching them, the musicians, &lt;br /&gt; as they walked off the stand, &amp;amp; moved past us, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  smiling, toward some secret place&lt;br /&gt; we would never go. &amp;amp; loved them always&lt;br /&gt; for a simple nod, as if we were really real. &lt;br /&gt; we needed them to speak to us&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  of pure revolution. to put down their saxophones&lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; spout pure poetry, or our lives&lt;br /&gt; weren&amp;#39;t shit. were gobs of dream&lt;br /&gt; splattered against the world. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   oh we were young&lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; made of america. it made us&lt;br /&gt; what we were. &amp;amp; are. &amp;amp;, if we are lucky, &lt;br /&gt; we will live through it all. yes, &amp;amp; the music&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     will ring in our ears. &amp;amp; we will hear it, &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; it will bring us through. we will wake up&lt;br /&gt; singing&lt;br /&gt;       of a world of our own. a world&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  where they will love us, just as if&lt;br /&gt; (&amp;amp; only if) &lt;br /&gt; we are as real&lt;br /&gt;  as they are&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      &lt;em&gt;detroit&lt;br /&gt; january 3, 1967/&lt;br /&gt; new orleans&lt;br /&gt; december 22, 1993&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;/&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;</content>
	</entry>
	<entry>
		<title>the drum thing</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/840-the-drum-thing.html"/>
		<published>2006-02-09T11:02:34Z</published>
		<updated>2006-02-09T11:02:34Z</updated>
		<id>http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/840-the-drum-thing.html</id>
		<author>
			<name>John</name>
		<email>johnsinclair001@hotmail.com</email>
		</author>
		<summary type="html">&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt; the drum thing &lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt;for danny spencer, ronnie johnson, &amp;amp; don moye&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    caught between, drums (one set&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  to the side, as one is&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  above, blowing, as the other, measured, rolls&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   above me the horn is&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  played, for the ear, where i&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  live, here, with a drum aside (either side&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   of my head.  as the music&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  defines this, our&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  home, here, where we play this (day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   by day, the horns, drum, the music&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  in my head, as the broken pulse, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  smooth pulse, the music, moves thru my head.  as the&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   words, sing themselves, to the page.  as&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  music&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;em&gt;detroit&lt;br /&gt; 1965&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</summary>
		<content type="html">&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt; the drum thing &lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt;for danny spencer, ronnie johnson, &amp;amp; don moye&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    caught between, drums (one set&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  to the side, as one is&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  above, blowing, as the other, measured, rolls&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   above me the horn is&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  played, for the ear, where i&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  live, here, with a drum aside (either side&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   of my head.  as the music&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  defines this, our&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  home, here, where we play this (day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   by day, the horns, drum, the music&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  in my head, as the broken pulse, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  smooth pulse, the music, moves thru my head.  as the&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   words, sing themselves, to the page.  as&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  music&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     &lt;em&gt;detroit&lt;br /&gt; 1965&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</content>
	</entry>
	<entry>
		<title>like Sonny,</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/839-like-sonny.html"/>
		<published>2006-02-09T11:01:37Z</published>
		<updated>2006-02-09T11:01:37Z</updated>
		<id>http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/839-like-sonny.html</id>
		<author>
			<name>John</name>
		<email>johnsinclair001@hotmail.com</email>
		</author>
		<summary type="html">&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;  like Sonny, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     like Ornette, like anyone&lt;br /&gt; who takes himself&lt;br /&gt; into the jungle of e-&lt;br /&gt; motion, feeling, judge-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  ments. find yrself some morning, &lt;br /&gt; wake up at noon. the heat&lt;br /&gt; that you feel, is yr own. the&lt;br /&gt; friction, of movement. burning yr-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  self up, out here, where the rain comes&lt;br /&gt; too late, to save you. go away, run a-&lt;br /&gt; way, back to (wherever it is&lt;br /&gt; you came from. if you can stay there, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  forget it. if you can&lt;br /&gt; move, come out. if&lt;br /&gt; you can stand it. this is really&lt;br /&gt; where it&amp;#39;s at. (motives&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;em&gt;detroit&lt;br /&gt; may 6, 1965&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</summary>
		<content type="html">&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;  like Sonny, &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     like Ornette, like anyone&lt;br /&gt; who takes himself&lt;br /&gt; into the jungle of e-&lt;br /&gt; motion, feeling, judge-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  ments. find yrself some morning, &lt;br /&gt; wake up at noon. the heat&lt;br /&gt; that you feel, is yr own. the&lt;br /&gt; friction, of movement. burning yr-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  self up, out here, where the rain comes&lt;br /&gt; too late, to save you. go away, run a-&lt;br /&gt; way, back to (wherever it is&lt;br /&gt; you came from. if you can stay there, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  forget it. if you can&lt;br /&gt; move, come out. if&lt;br /&gt; you can stand it. this is really&lt;br /&gt; where it&amp;#39;s at. (motives&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;em&gt;detroit&lt;br /&gt; may 6, 1965&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</content>
	</entry>
	<entry>
		<title>some other blues</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/838-some-other-blues.html"/>
		<published>2006-02-09T11:00:38Z</published>
		<updated>2006-02-09T11:00:38Z</updated>
		<id>http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/838-some-other-blues.html</id>
		<author>
			<name>John</name>
		<email>johnsinclair001@hotmail.com</email>
		</author>
		<summary type="html">&lt;br /&gt; &lt;strong&gt; some other blues &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt;for jim semark&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    what do i have&lt;br /&gt; to do, spell&lt;br /&gt; it all&lt;br /&gt; out for you?  let my&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  poems be a &lt;br /&gt; graph of me,  &amp;amp; with&lt;br /&gt; the poems, what other&lt;br /&gt; actions (gestures) i make. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   it starts out like&lt;br /&gt;  now&amp;#39;s the time  &amp;amp; &lt;br /&gt; turns into  whatever you&lt;br /&gt; make it. if you can t make&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  yr own way, what&lt;br /&gt; ever can i tell you. &lt;br /&gt; who are you. where did you&lt;br /&gt; come from, to get&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  this way. or&lt;br /&gt; this far.  how did you&lt;br /&gt; ever make it. (&amp;amp; if you can t&lt;br /&gt; make these changes, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  make yr own. &amp;amp; if these ain t&lt;br /&gt; yr blues, try  something&lt;br /&gt; else.   this is the change&lt;br /&gt; of the century. (dig it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;em&gt;detroit&lt;br /&gt; 1965&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</summary>
		<content type="html">&lt;br /&gt; &lt;strong&gt; some other blues &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt;for jim semark&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    what do i have&lt;br /&gt; to do, spell&lt;br /&gt; it all&lt;br /&gt; out for you?  let my&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  poems be a &lt;br /&gt; graph of me,  &amp;amp; with&lt;br /&gt; the poems, what other&lt;br /&gt; actions (gestures) i make. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   it starts out like&lt;br /&gt;  now&amp;#39;s the time  &amp;amp; &lt;br /&gt; turns into  whatever you&lt;br /&gt; make it. if you can t make&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  yr own way, what&lt;br /&gt; ever can i tell you. &lt;br /&gt; who are you. where did you&lt;br /&gt; come from, to get&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  this way. or&lt;br /&gt; this far.  how did you&lt;br /&gt; ever make it. (&amp;amp; if you can t&lt;br /&gt; make these changes, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  make yr own. &amp;amp; if these ain t&lt;br /&gt; yr blues, try  something&lt;br /&gt; else.   this is the change&lt;br /&gt; of the century. (dig it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;em&gt;detroit&lt;br /&gt; 1965&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</content>
	</entry>
	<entry>
		<title>blues to elvin</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/837-blues-to-elvin.html"/>
		<published>2006-02-09T10:59:38Z</published>
		<updated>2006-02-09T10:59:38Z</updated>
		<id>http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/837-blues-to-elvin.html</id>
		<author>
			<name>John</name>
		<email>johnsinclair001@hotmail.com</email>
		</author>
		<summary type="html">&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt; blues to elvin &lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      born with ears, even now, packed with garbage. the stuff&lt;br /&gt; of dead men. wax, &amp;amp; elbows.  sewage, seaweed, debris&lt;br /&gt; of forgotten oceans, or shells. or&lt;br /&gt; the shells &amp;amp; shit they beat the indians with. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   for us to shut up, what they can offer. pitiful. so&lt;br /&gt; small, can it bend the ear. paper, &amp;amp; shells. to fill&lt;br /&gt; our ears, to make us forget. to sing, &lt;br /&gt; made some improbable proposition. to get thru, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   some genius we wanted to cry, to the moon, like&lt;br /&gt; weird wolves of illusion. insanity. the stoppage. &lt;br /&gt; drained, &amp;amp; collapse, on the floor, thru, with love, &amp;amp; un-&lt;br /&gt; settled ears. to begin to go, where the music goes, out, to you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;em&gt;detroit&lt;br /&gt; 1965&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</summary>
		<content type="html">&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt; blues to elvin &lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      born with ears, even now, packed with garbage. the stuff&lt;br /&gt; of dead men. wax, &amp;amp; elbows.  sewage, seaweed, debris&lt;br /&gt; of forgotten oceans, or shells. or&lt;br /&gt; the shells &amp;amp; shit they beat the indians with. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   for us to shut up, what they can offer. pitiful. so&lt;br /&gt; small, can it bend the ear. paper, &amp;amp; shells. to fill&lt;br /&gt; our ears, to make us forget. to sing, &lt;br /&gt; made some improbable proposition. to get thru, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   some genius we wanted to cry, to the moon, like&lt;br /&gt; weird wolves of illusion. insanity. the stoppage. &lt;br /&gt; drained, &amp;amp; collapse, on the floor, thru, with love, &amp;amp; un-&lt;br /&gt; settled ears. to begin to go, where the music goes, out, to you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;em&gt;detroit&lt;br /&gt; 1965&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</content>
	</entry>
	<entry>
		<title>Homage to John Coltrane</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/836-homage-to-john-coltrane.html"/>
		<published>2006-02-09T10:58:36Z</published>
		<updated>2006-02-09T10:58:36Z</updated>
		<id>http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/836-homage-to-john-coltrane.html</id>
		<author>
			<name>John</name>
		<email>johnsinclair001@hotmail.com</email>
		</author>
		<summary type="html">&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;HOMAGE TO JOHN COLTRANE&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt;for David Sandburg&lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   1&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt; you are sorry you are born with ears &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  or you are sorry. yr&lt;br /&gt; ears. how they can become&lt;br /&gt; the stuff of such lies. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  how a man can stand, &amp;amp; fall. stand. &lt;em&gt; a&lt;br /&gt; coil&lt;br /&gt; around things. &lt;/em&gt; a sound&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    (or a test&lt;br /&gt; of what music&lt;br /&gt; can bear. a&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;    SCREAM&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          for the time&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;em&gt; John Coltrane can do this for us :&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  teach us to stand&lt;br /&gt; up right&lt;br /&gt; in the face of the most devas-&lt;br /&gt; tating insensi-&lt;br /&gt; tivity. can touch us&lt;br /&gt; where the hand or mouth or&lt;br /&gt; eye&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  can t go. can see. can be&lt;br /&gt; a man. make a love&lt;br /&gt; from centuries of unplumbed music&lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; a common metal tool&lt;br /&gt; anyone can misuse. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   can make you think&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt; of a lot of weird &amp;amp; wonderful things :&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   yrself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   beauty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      love. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  gold &amp;amp; miles&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    of trees. elvin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   jones.  murdered&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  dreams.  a-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    pocalypse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      turtles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   the moon (&amp;amp; be-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       yond. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   ornette. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      grapefruits. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   silver pendulums. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  M U S I C&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     t i m e .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  Screaming, &lt;br /&gt; jumping up &amp;amp; down, moaning&lt;br /&gt; for some strange new dignity&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  before anyone can listen. before&lt;br /&gt; time. before promises, &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; lies. before it all collapses&lt;br /&gt; on our heads. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   before it&amp;#39;s too late&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;em&gt; If you ve ever sat in a Coltrane audience, &lt;br /&gt; you ll understand&lt;br /&gt; what I mean. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   It could happen&lt;br /&gt; to you, too, a loss&lt;br /&gt; of control, a be-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  ginning, a reshaping&lt;br /&gt; of what they ve always told you&lt;br /&gt; to believe, the old forms&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &amp;amp;  music,  that we ve been fooled with, &lt;br /&gt; the  songs  they taught you, &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; lied. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     when we begin to understand that&lt;br /&gt;  what we ve been told is&lt;br /&gt;  how they can put us exactly&lt;br /&gt;  where they have to believe&lt;br /&gt;  we have to be&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       4&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   man, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  if you can t &lt;em&gt;hear&lt;/em&gt;, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  what &lt;em&gt;can&lt;/em&gt; you do? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   yr &lt;em&gt; born&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    with ears&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      &lt;em&gt;Detroit&lt;br /&gt; 1965&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  Quotations in italics from LeRoi Jones  liner notes to&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Coltrane Live At Birdland &lt;em&gt;(Impulse Records)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</summary>
		<content type="html">&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;HOMAGE TO JOHN COLTRANE&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt;for David Sandburg&lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   1&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt; you are sorry you are born with ears &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  or you are sorry. yr&lt;br /&gt; ears. how they can become&lt;br /&gt; the stuff of such lies. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  how a man can stand, &amp;amp; fall. stand. &lt;em&gt; a&lt;br /&gt; coil&lt;br /&gt; around things. &lt;/em&gt; a sound&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    (or a test&lt;br /&gt; of what music&lt;br /&gt; can bear. a&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;    SCREAM&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          for the time&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;em&gt; John Coltrane can do this for us :&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  teach us to stand&lt;br /&gt; up right&lt;br /&gt; in the face of the most devas-&lt;br /&gt; tating insensi-&lt;br /&gt; tivity. can touch us&lt;br /&gt; where the hand or mouth or&lt;br /&gt; eye&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  can t go. can see. can be&lt;br /&gt; a man. make a love&lt;br /&gt; from centuries of unplumbed music&lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; a common metal tool&lt;br /&gt; anyone can misuse. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   can make you think&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;em&gt; of a lot of weird &amp;amp; wonderful things :&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   yrself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   beauty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      love. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  gold &amp;amp; miles&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    of trees. elvin&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   jones.  murdered&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  dreams.  a-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    pocalypse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      turtles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   the moon (&amp;amp; be-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       yond. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   ornette. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      grapefruits. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   silver pendulums. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  M U S I C&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     t i m e .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  Screaming, &lt;br /&gt; jumping up &amp;amp; down, moaning&lt;br /&gt; for some strange new dignity&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  before anyone can listen. before&lt;br /&gt; time. before promises, &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; lies. before it all collapses&lt;br /&gt; on our heads. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   before it&amp;#39;s too late&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   &lt;em&gt; If you ve ever sat in a Coltrane audience, &lt;br /&gt; you ll understand&lt;br /&gt; what I mean. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   It could happen&lt;br /&gt; to you, too, a loss&lt;br /&gt; of control, a be-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  ginning, a reshaping&lt;br /&gt; of what they ve always told you&lt;br /&gt; to believe, the old forms&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &amp;amp;  music,  that we ve been fooled with, &lt;br /&gt; the  songs  they taught you, &lt;br /&gt; &amp;amp; lied. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;     when we begin to understand that&lt;br /&gt;  what we ve been told is&lt;br /&gt;  how they can put us exactly&lt;br /&gt;  where they have to believe&lt;br /&gt;  we have to be&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       4&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   man, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  if you can t &lt;em&gt;hear&lt;/em&gt;, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  what &lt;em&gt;can&lt;/em&gt; you do? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   yr &lt;em&gt; born&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    with ears&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      &lt;em&gt;Detroit&lt;br /&gt; 1965&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  Quotations in italics from LeRoi Jones  liner notes to&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Coltrane Live At Birdland &lt;em&gt;(Impulse Records)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</content>
	</entry>
	<entry>
		<title>Welcome</title>
		<link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/835-welcome.html"/>
		<published>2006-02-09T10:54:18Z</published>
		<updated>2006-02-09T10:54:18Z</updated>
		<id>http://localhost/backup/poetry/69-song-of-praise/835-welcome.html</id>
		<author>
			<name>John</name>
		<email>johnsinclair001@hotmail.com</email>
		</author>
		<summary type="html">&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&amp;quot;Welcome&amp;quot;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;em&gt;is that feeling you have&lt;br /&gt;  when you finally do reach an awareness, &lt;br /&gt; an understanding which you have earned through struggle. &lt;br /&gt;  It is a feeling of peace. A welcome&lt;br /&gt;   feeling of peace.&amp;quot; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       John Coltrane&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Welcome. &lt;br /&gt;  Please come in &amp;amp;&lt;br /&gt; have a seat with us. Break bread. Yes. Sit with us, &lt;br /&gt; hold the hand of that human&lt;br /&gt; being next to you. Yes. You have come&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  a long long way, &lt;br /&gt; we can see it in your eyes. And the way you stand, &lt;br /&gt; the human grace that marks your movements. &lt;br /&gt; Yes. Welcome. We have been&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  waiting for you. It is time you came to us.&lt;br /&gt; Yes. It is time&lt;br /&gt; for all to come. It is a time now&lt;br /&gt; when all can come, to sit with us, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  to sit with us in peace. You have come through&lt;br /&gt; the hardest part, &amp;amp; you know it. Yes. You can&lt;br /&gt; feel it. You wear it in your cells. Yes. Please, &lt;br /&gt; break bread with us. A little rice. And pass&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  the pipe there&lt;br /&gt; to your friend. Yes. And now we will sing, &lt;br /&gt; we will sing together, &lt;br /&gt; we will sing the song of our lives &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  Yes.   Yes.   Yes.   Yes.   Yes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            YES&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;em&gt;Detroit&lt;br /&gt; February 9, 1967/&lt;br /&gt; New Orleans&lt;br /&gt; March 1995&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</summary>
		<content type="html">&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&amp;quot;Welcome&amp;quot;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;em&gt;is that feeling you have&lt;br /&gt;  when you finally do reach an awareness, &lt;br /&gt; an understanding which you have earned through struggle. &lt;br /&gt;  It is a feeling of peace. A welcome&lt;br /&gt;   feeling of peace.&amp;quot; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       John Coltrane&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Welcome. &lt;br /&gt;  Please come in &amp;amp;&lt;br /&gt; have a seat with us. Break bread. Yes. Sit with us, &lt;br /&gt; hold the hand of that human&lt;br /&gt; being next to you. Yes. You have come&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  a long long way, &lt;br /&gt; we can see it in your eyes. And the way you stand, &lt;br /&gt; the human grace that marks your movements. &lt;br /&gt; Yes. Welcome. We have been&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  waiting for you. It is time you came to us.&lt;br /&gt; Yes. It is time&lt;br /&gt; for all to come. It is a time now&lt;br /&gt; when all can come, to sit with us, &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  to sit with us in peace. You have come through&lt;br /&gt; the hardest part, &amp;amp; you know it. Yes. You can&lt;br /&gt; feel it. You wear it in your cells. Yes. Please, &lt;br /&gt; break bread with us. A little rice. And pass&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  the pipe there&lt;br /&gt; to your friend. Yes. And now we will sing, &lt;br /&gt; we will sing together, &lt;br /&gt; we will sing the song of our lives &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  Yes.   Yes.   Yes.   Yes.   Yes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;       Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      Yes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;            YES&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    &lt;em&gt;Detroit&lt;br /&gt; February 9, 1967/&lt;br /&gt; New Orleans&lt;br /&gt; March 1995&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;</content>
	</entry>
</feed>
