Art

   Once you see sculpture, 

everything else seems cheesy.

Paintings, so flat.

Drawings, so dicey.

Sculpture

form

in

space.

Blade of Jazz

The blade of grass 

straight and mean

its edge

is like a guillotine

it grows

unknown

no name

it has

it burst

out of the dirt

like jazz

Springtime in Chicago

is cold

sunny

and damp

bitter

hopeful

sharply

erasing

the winter

rushing in with a

waterfall of daffodils

the big band sound

of trumpets inside 

of every tulip

bursting high

South Carolina

The bigger the world the better the sunrise

the breadbasket offering of the baby of the universe

this earth

rolling and tumbling

Reaping what we sew

the day popping up 

like buttons on a shirt

Collar lined with the

Crumbling red dirt

of South Carolina

Truckers on the radio 

semis scorching through hills and valleys

the hot sun rising

in the mist

Jazz Guitar Lessons

I purchased a diminished chord

for more money than I care to admit

the chord has four fingers

and they each skip a string

it's a pretty chord

visually

and it sounds dissonant

yet right.

It's a good chord,

and it was rather expensive.

I wish I knew how to play Autumn Leaves

and could stroll down Paris streets

in a cap

but alas

all I've got

is an earful of CAGED theory.

I sat and listened and listened,

listened to the paint dry.

I practice the C scale for 5 hours

and hurt my hands.

I haven't yet prayed for forgiveness

I don't know what the jazz gods make of me

I realized you can't pay your way in

you need to play your way in

and as a treat I got 

this chord.

The Perfect Moment

The skin is stretched 

over the head 

of the drum

His hands are sure

calloused

and brown

His eyes are open

slightly wide

What I notice most of all

are his ears

His body is tense

like a cougar

prepared to strike

waiting in the stillness

for the perfect moment

to pounce.

Life

I grew up in the electricity that birthed me

blessing from the womb a sinew of DNA

transported

Permanent Parrot Smile

I was walking through the neighborhoods

with the flowering trees and the yards

the apartment buildings and the houses

nestled together on a Spring day

sunny and warm

grey sidewalks inviting

I passed the house with the balcony on the second story

and I smiled 

remembering how when I walked passed it last time

there were two persons up there

I saw one of them had a parrot on his shoulder

He smiled at me, and I smiled at him

I knew that it was cool and astonishing 

that he had a parrot on his shoulder

and he knew it was cool and astonishing 

he had a parrot on his shoulder

I kept walking

I kept that smile

I kept that moment

When I walk there now

I still smile

the smile stays with me

it almost makes my face stiff

like a statue

like my cheeks are made of stone

it's a small smile

that feels

permanent.

Trying

I am annoyed

on the phone

heart pumping

forehead drooping

dry mouth

listening

absently

Sweet the Mindset

I'm lucky to be grateful—

and grateful to be lucky.

Frames

Mastery of misery missed pressed for time 

Pumpernickel bread full of dimes

Rhythm and reeds teething rhymes

Dreaded tripometry reading tags

Esoteric statue freezing rain

Soaked in rectitude loose frame

Nails always fall out

where the drawer meets 

they are tiny nails

and I am not sure how a hammer 

ever hit them.

Pressurized frog bath boasting grim leashes

Ketamine river snake hopping on one foot

Pews and desire

Thirds and wires

birds are sitting there

as always

patiently.

The wires 

black and drawn

across the canyons of the alley

make a picture frame

of the sky.

The Hawk (Wind in Chicago)

I stood inside the fur-lined coat, a button fallen,

a threaded hole, the wrap around the waist was so

loose I had to suck in my chest to fit.

The wind blew hard, my face was pinned

against the side of the building.

I turned to face it only to be thrown 

back on my feet.

I took my left leg and planted it behind me

ceremoniously

for balance.

Letting Go

Let every little piece of me fall into every little piece of you

scarred with beauty undone with justice

boycotted into submission

read our rights

until the darkness

falls

and there's just the inside

of the world.

Artifice

How can we make believe that the myth of magic 

that actor in the last frame of the movie

How can we yelp in terror when the bugs appear 

for the rotting fruit, how can we use the royal we

when we damn well know it's time to look in the mirror.

Second Chances

Instead of coffee, I'm drinking tea

NOW what was urgent is not 

what was hyper is calm NOW

inner peace

vs.

productivity

I'll no longer take chances

Instead of coffee, I'm drinking tea

Fine Today

 The sour taste the sweet spot the anchor in the tree 

Rimshot

For the thickness of this soul

rimshot on the snare drum

stuns me into sadness

the neon glow 

still reaching

for the moon

Painful mystic

shipped and boxed in sadness

Thin and plastic this rain makes all the garbage look like ice

The blacktop and the taxis

Rushing somewhere

For the thickness of this soul

rimshot on the snare drum

stuns me into sadness

the neon glow 

still reaching

for the moon

Staircase into the lobby

carpet and wine

glasses of champagne

and slanted glances

slippery heels tipping me over

thinking I thought I heard your name

Fortune teller telling me in silence

all the secrets of our teenage dreams

hold me at the bar

this quiet moment

is the only thing I have left

my fingers creep across the counter

feeling the smoothness

one more time

The Long Day

From thin air 

From thick heads

From bones and flesh

From barrels

From groans

From fire

From feet

From hands

From hearts that hurt to understand

From terror

From rapture

From rain

From fog

From seeds

From dirt

From the long day.

Lunging Into Red

I saw him twist his neck around
to see if anyone was looking
before he lunged
into red

The painter
impatient
with pale shades of green
yellow and blue mysteries had consumed him
and he needed to escape


1st draft:
The pain of a painter lunging into red
when they should’ve waited for a pale shade of green
Shrug…yet the mystery of blue has now consumed
their thoughts, ideas, ideals, and every word they read
Blank canvas and the pillow are the same–
colorful dreams now show their weary hue
The shadows are darker than they meant to draw
and chaos of the wet line now ensues.

Tea Leaves

Swirled into the memories of martyrs
soaked in heat and flavored by the brew
The taste of tattered tea leaves in warm water
Words? Poets? All of this paper was once a tree

Contemplation

The train station is the best place to learn patience.
However, it is not the best spot for contemplation,
unless you make some space
to think hard prior to your destination.

Whether work or vacation, it’s still somewhere you have to be.
It’s not a matter of how, just when
and it’s entirely your choice where you’re headed.

But before you feel too free, know you’re condemned to one direction,
for you’re always headed forward, never back.

Whether you’re headed to zoo or Zen–
The choice is what, not when, so get on track.

A Fish's Thoughts on Dogs and People

I look outside. A woman pushes a walker on wheels across the crosswalk. The dog next to her is happy, tail wagging. He leaps ahead, then falls back, matching her pace by oscillating between complete excitement and feigned confusion. On the sidewalk is a stick and a leaf. The leaf is so dull that it is nearly the same color as the sidewalk, a neutral light grey, beaten by rain and covered in the thinnest film of dirt.

Another dog scurries past, urgently and importantly. This black and white pup is running while the woman on the end of the leash is pulled along, lunging large steps. The big window almost shakes as each of her feet pounds the earth, left then right, left then right, keeping pace and making good time.

Inside the cafe the old howl of the electric guitar and flailing drums is on the overhead speakers, the music hangs above our heads like a celestial fresco in a cathedral, as we drink tea and coffee, and look out the window at dogs and people. We are the observers. They are the observed. 

The cafe is like a big glass bowl. In this aquarium, we are the fish, looking out rather than being looked in on. Social media is also a bit of a fishbowl. We are the fish looking out, as well as being looked in on. Observation is two-fold. We are observed, while we are making observations. In social media, it's like the cafe, except the voyeurism is circular. 

Break the cycle. Express thoughts in pure observation. Start a blog that no one reads. Live a little.