“James Dean playing the bongos, NYC, 1955. Photographed by Dennis Stock ” Celluloid flutters far away grooves deepen on this sunny day No ivory tickles needed When steady muse heartbeat heeded Smoke curls, blue, lazy, upward rise Windless rapture behind closed eyes Bongo trio passes the joint Lubricated, our smiles annoint Carrie is today’s host…
Tag: The Sunday Muse
#TSM 192 — Sojourners
In before times all was a dreaming sleep. Awake, the days came; the forming colors flew from atomic cosmoplasmic brew; first, slithering like a great blue snake, came river, calling down –then laying itself on– brown dust. Oh seeds dance! Babies, lush, green, spring up trying to return to heavenly slumber; then fall — to…
TSM 191 — You’re Mine Today
She served us hot tea and cold sesame cakeWe sipped, chewed, and talked, with a view of the lakeThe waves blurred. She cawed, “My dear, come and lay down.”I woke in her nest, now dressed bright in her gown.I struggled to sit and found wings ‘stead of arms.I struggled to speak, instead cackled and barked.My…
TSM 184 — Let your light so shine
Let your light so shine, a beacon for drained and withered, dying souls. Revive spring to their winter season. Salve the madness back to reason Restore jagged fragments into wholes Let your light so shine, a beacon Neutralize foul acts of treason Bright care cauterize weeping holes Revive spring to their winter season Scalpel out…
TSM 183 — dueling kindku
Winter’s Promise Winter’s promise: stark shrouds of white half hide the dark silent arrogance of ice’ forboding fortress island, where none may penetrate bleakness’ armor; rock only spring melts. Day Comes Softly Day, oh faithful friend, humble you creep; me gazing, laughter’s eyes gleam pink; inspired cast on light’s loving poetry in strife seeds each…
#TSM 173 — Good Boy
In his eyes he’s a clown,the one who makes them laugh,makes them forget their flaws,their worries, at least for awhile.He is the scapegoat who makeseveryone feel good about themselves. In their eyes, he’s a cheap thrillA buffoon in make-up and big shoeswho’s lucky they are so generouswith their laughter.Anyone can do his job.He’s quickly forgotten…
TSM 171 — Matlalcueye
“Roots” 1943 by Frida Kahlo Winged angel eyes beam from a young crone’s face; mute proclamation that she’s planted. Her grounded consciousness reaches up and out, giant’s stalks to climb, vines that stretch and root in once barren fields Winged angel eyes behold as forest rise symphony of trees temper arid breeze See! Clouds come…
Tao Talk 