Night Master

Jack's friend Lisi Tribble wrote this poem in memory of him on the day of his passing.
Night Master
No one knows pranks like the bright-eyed man
Nailing just what goes into the heart of the marrow
Waggishly skewering our best-laid plans
With a well-aimed barb at the selfish and narrow

The long summer nights brim with music and costumes
Gala days where we gather in dada-ist glee
The capes, the black hats, the green velvet, the perfumes
Hell-bent on a rococo talkative spree

Holy Moses, Jack the lad
To you go the bragging rights
You make us think, make us laugh, make us spar
Who'll gather us in like the lost tribe we are
Who'll ride with us on the back of the night
Where are you, Jack, I'm sad tonight

Tribe we are

A man ruled by the moon and by Ireland's laments
Will not always find shelter in arms he deserves
He'll be lashed by his insight, his lovers, his conscience
Bearing up under stars by sheer faith and by nerves 

But as long as that mischief, that verbal agility
Live on in those circles where poets carve songs
Over pasta and candle wax, mirth and virility
We'll be where you meant us to be, all along 

Holy moment, Jack's time
Stubborn vision was worth the fights
You made us learn, made us laugh, made us rhyme
Made us dignity's orphan on a lonely climb
Looking for shelter for the fugitive kind
On the wind comes the trace of a song sublime
And courage to stride down the spine of the night

Holy moment, here are you tonight
I'm holding your hand in mine
Summoned by the sly touch of a great magic man

Tribe we are
               - March 11, 2011, Lisi Tribble


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