Thursday, October 24, 2013
For Artists
Sometimes an artist can be distracted by life things to the point that they may temporarily lose sight of the fact that they have a power that others who are not being "artists" do not have. And through this power of creativity they have a more than positive effect of surrounding and infusing any viewer with the aesthetic wavelength which dissolves negativity--in essence imbuing them with life. I think it's important for artists to realize this, and when necessary, remind themselves of who they REALLY are and the effects they create on others. Without artists of any kind cultures would deaden into a gray gloom, craving the spark of life that artists give. More than ever we need to be actively pumping up production and getting our art out there any way we can to bring about the reality of a new renaissance. If you are not doing this or allowing distractions to your doing this, put your foot down and start doing your art little by little until it's a lot, then blitz it. Your ideas and dreams WILL change things for the better!
A Poet Chooses
From throngs of words a poet
chooses ones which wiggle images
into whatever rhythms emit
emotions' vibrations,
opening windows in invitation
to peek upon a brighter shore
with more harmonious sensations.
chooses ones which wiggle images
into whatever rhythms emit
emotions' vibrations,
opening windows in invitation
to peek upon a brighter shore
with more harmonious sensations.
Hush of Tranquility
Caught beneath thunderbursts
pummeling relentless stormbashes
thrusting insistent rages
allowing no lull of peace
when enters a hand
a smile
hope of harmony
offering lifting of wings to
ascend more easily above torment into
a hush of tranquility.
pummeling relentless stormbashes
thrusting insistent rages
allowing no lull of peace
when enters a hand
a smile
hope of harmony
offering lifting of wings to
ascend more easily above torment into
a hush of tranquility.
Some Days
Some days seem to swim in grim
until - in the interim - a whim of luck
erupts chance for a grin,
erasing continuance of
"being a victim."
until - in the interim - a whim of luck
erupts chance for a grin,
erasing continuance of
"being a victim."
Katydid or Didn't
Whether katydid or didn't leap to
another leaf makes no matter;
I let it be and turn to
catch a cricket in a sticky thicket -
a near impossible feat with his
quick-as-a-wink leaps - then,
rather than admit defeat, bump up
to a future triumph, soaring as soul
with butterflies and honeybees.
another leaf makes no matter;
I let it be and turn to
catch a cricket in a sticky thicket -
a near impossible feat with his
quick-as-a-wink leaps - then,
rather than admit defeat, bump up
to a future triumph, soaring as soul
with butterflies and honeybees.
Poet
“Choose a viewpoint,” said the Master,
and the poet said, ‘I choose my own!
I’ll ride the night on a cat’s whisker
and bellow a golden poem;
It will shoot like a comet into fast time,
find a new rhythm with no rhyme;
It will spellbind even you, good sir,
(and your lovely unwittingly witty sister);
It will weep rainbows and raise rages like
no other poem of any age has;
And when it’s completed, you will have
sipped from a great poet’s sass and
cocky creative inebriance;
This should explain in small riddle how
this universe became a mudpuddle,
but no worry if it doesn’t;
Even the best of bees have buzzed
and buzzn’t.”
and the poet said, ‘I choose my own!
I’ll ride the night on a cat’s whisker
and bellow a golden poem;
It will shoot like a comet into fast time,
find a new rhythm with no rhyme;
It will spellbind even you, good sir,
(and your lovely unwittingly witty sister);
It will weep rainbows and raise rages like
no other poem of any age has;
And when it’s completed, you will have
sipped from a great poet’s sass and
cocky creative inebriance;
This should explain in small riddle how
this universe became a mudpuddle,
but no worry if it doesn’t;
Even the best of bees have buzzed
and buzzn’t.”
Bo John (revised)
In the Spring of about 1952 sister Jeannie and I went on a yellow school bus with a young group from Pulaski Heights Methodist Church to the run-down Black neighborhood of College Station in Little Rock where we set up for a rummage sale just after dawn. Right next to the empty dirt lot where we set up the tables was a shack of a grocery store with weathered grey wood siding and old tin Coca-Cola, Dr. Pepper, Royal Crown Cola, Orange Crush and you-name-it signs tacked on the outside wall. Then down the long rickety stairs from the porch of the store came a happy drunk Black man playing a great blues tune on a harmonica. It sounded like it came straight from the French Quarter in New Orleans. This image stayed with me over the years until in 1958 I started writing what that black man inspired, pulled it out of the "archives of the forgotten" and finally finished it in March 2013 and want to share it with you.
Bo John
Bo John first was a black babe when his pappy said to him,
“Son, I want you get way from that cradle. You’re a man now, Bo John!”
So Bo got way from his cradle and took to takin’ his stand
and he sweat like that black demon that made him so quick a man;
He sweat black sweat in the hayfield and he hoed till his guts was run,
but he knowed he had to hold his soul ‘cause he’s a man now,
Bo John.
On a dark day rainin’ grizzlies, a rainbow arched to the sky;
John jumped up like he’d struck magic and said, “I, John, wants a better life!”
So he stuffed some biscuits in a sock, swung his banjo on his side,
shoved his mouth harp in a pocket and let his smile grow sunshine wide;
He hit the road to New Orleans, music bouncin’ through his soul,
his boots barely pushin’ a mark in the muddy country road.
He pulled out his mouth harp, makin’ Dixie with every breath while
hums of jungle-drum rhythms beat deep in his joy-swelled chest;
New Orleans took him in with arms wide like this is home at last;
That’s when his eye caught Lila sittin’ in her crisp red gingham dress.
His blood fired to high noon, a new music risin’ his life;
Pretty as chicory coffee, soft as a snatcha cotton,
he knew Lila would be his wife.
He made any downs go up when Little Lila he wed,
washed the countryside with his Dixie playin’,
fillin’ full the souls of the empty half dead.
Bo made his pappy proud of what all he did. He said,
“Son, keep on pourin’ them Dixie musics over all the folks that is,
makin’ ‘em happy with them good sounds
like your mammy makes us happy with her good grits;
Yessir, jes’ keep ‘em dancin’ ‘till they knows it’s a new way of walkin’
and don’t want to slow up to sit.”
So Bo went on doin’ what his wise pappy said,
kept pullin’ people up by their soulstraps and
dancin’ way past when the sun had sunk deep in its bed;
Now when the rooster crows the dawn up,
it don’t take much tunin’ your spirit in to listen to Bo John’s
Dixie siftin’ its way through the cool fresh mornin’ mist.
Bo John
Bo John first was a black babe when his pappy said to him,
“Son, I want you get way from that cradle. You’re a man now, Bo John!”
So Bo got way from his cradle and took to takin’ his stand
and he sweat like that black demon that made him so quick a man;
He sweat black sweat in the hayfield and he hoed till his guts was run,
but he knowed he had to hold his soul ‘cause he’s a man now,
Bo John.
On a dark day rainin’ grizzlies, a rainbow arched to the sky;
John jumped up like he’d struck magic and said, “I, John, wants a better life!”
So he stuffed some biscuits in a sock, swung his banjo on his side,
shoved his mouth harp in a pocket and let his smile grow sunshine wide;
He hit the road to New Orleans, music bouncin’ through his soul,
his boots barely pushin’ a mark in the muddy country road.
He pulled out his mouth harp, makin’ Dixie with every breath while
hums of jungle-drum rhythms beat deep in his joy-swelled chest;
New Orleans took him in with arms wide like this is home at last;
That’s when his eye caught Lila sittin’ in her crisp red gingham dress.
His blood fired to high noon, a new music risin’ his life;
Pretty as chicory coffee, soft as a snatcha cotton,
he knew Lila would be his wife.
He made any downs go up when Little Lila he wed,
washed the countryside with his Dixie playin’,
fillin’ full the souls of the empty half dead.
Bo made his pappy proud of what all he did. He said,
“Son, keep on pourin’ them Dixie musics over all the folks that is,
makin’ ‘em happy with them good sounds
like your mammy makes us happy with her good grits;
Yessir, jes’ keep ‘em dancin’ ‘till they knows it’s a new way of walkin’
and don’t want to slow up to sit.”
So Bo went on doin’ what his wise pappy said,
kept pullin’ people up by their soulstraps and
dancin’ way past when the sun had sunk deep in its bed;
Now when the rooster crows the dawn up,
it don’t take much tunin’ your spirit in to listen to Bo John’s
Dixie siftin’ its way through the cool fresh mornin’ mist.
October
Under my feet crackle the leaves that refuse to fly
And I am the breeze laughing the leaves that refuse to die.
I am the pine whispering to fireflies in a purple night
as amused crescent moon smiles with mellow delight.
And I am the breeze laughing the leaves that refuse to die.
I am the pine whispering to fireflies in a purple night
as amused crescent moon smiles with mellow delight.
Sense of Innocence
I had a kind of sense once,
an innocent kind of sense once,
and I grew up to interrupt
that kind of sense of innocence.
an innocent kind of sense once,
and I grew up to interrupt
that kind of sense of innocence.
Hearthside
South-honking geese escape winter’s blight above
black-etched trees on moonlight white,
brittle silver pools of ice lie under
diamond’s sprinkle our night-blue sky,
sundering winternip moves aside to
love’s warm breath,
hearthside.
black-etched trees on moonlight white,
brittle silver pools of ice lie under
diamond’s sprinkle our night-blue sky,
sundering winternip moves aside to
love’s warm breath,
hearthside.
Follow the Magic
If wailing about a day:
Catch the tail of a kite
Sail into syncopated tunes
Dance to mellow delights
Glide with rainbow balloons
Do a jig with a cockatoo
Hover over spring meadows
Rise with butterflies from cocoons
Tickle toes in morning dew
Follow the magic of your muse.
Catch the tail of a kite
Sail into syncopated tunes
Dance to mellow delights
Glide with rainbow balloons
Do a jig with a cockatoo
Hover over spring meadows
Rise with butterflies from cocoons
Tickle toes in morning dew
Follow the magic of your muse.
Double Rainbow New Year
Double Rainbow New Year
See double rainbows dance through your New Year
leaping and frolicking over all that's there,
Feel colors sifting magic through your air,
pouring paths of gold to walk through
to all the fun things you want to do;
Arching from year's beginning to end in true rainbow style,
don't be surprised when they
turn upside down giving you a big double rainbow smile
See double rainbows dance through your New Year
leaping and frolicking over all that's there,
Feel colors sifting magic through your air,
pouring paths of gold to walk through
to all the fun things you want to do;
Arching from year's beginning to end in true rainbow style,
don't be surprised when they
turn upside down giving you a big double rainbow smile
Whistle the Magic
To up a down day:
Grab a rising kite's tail
Sail into syncopated tunes
Dance to mellow delights
Glide with rainbow balloons
Do a jig with a cockatoo
Hover over green spring meadows
Sing the blues in smiling yellows
Discover light flickers in purple shadows
Rise with butterflies from cocoons
Tickle ten toes in morning dew
Whistle the magic of your muse
Grab a rising kite's tail
Sail into syncopated tunes
Dance to mellow delights
Glide with rainbow balloons
Do a jig with a cockatoo
Hover over green spring meadows
Sing the blues in smiling yellows
Discover light flickers in purple shadows
Rise with butterflies from cocoons
Tickle ten toes in morning dew
Whistle the magic of your muse
Giggles
Blow bubbles with a bubble kazoo
Do a fast dance in a hula hoop
Hop scotches over a clear spring sky
Lick vanilla drips from a summer eskimo pie
Stretch peppermint taffy into the widest smile
Make a lolllipop with a lemon custard moon
Through a donut hole whistle a sticky tune
Tie cherry bows with licorice loops
Wear a hat full of ice cream scoops
Catch a cloud of marshmallow cream
Ride a seabreeze to a favorite dream
Build a castle out of golden sand
Count how many giggles are looking for a place to land
Do a fast dance in a hula hoop
Hop scotches over a clear spring sky
Lick vanilla drips from a summer eskimo pie
Stretch peppermint taffy into the widest smile
Make a lolllipop with a lemon custard moon
Through a donut hole whistle a sticky tune
Tie cherry bows with licorice loops
Wear a hat full of ice cream scoops
Catch a cloud of marshmallow cream
Ride a seabreeze to a favorite dream
Build a castle out of golden sand
Count how many giggles are looking for a place to land
Where in Body Stands Soul
One Spring late night I took a short walk to the low-roofed carpenter's building at Kansas City Art Institute where I used to be able to hop up and sit, scanning the stars and blooming trees. This night, while looking up and pondering "what is life?", this came to me all at once (you may ask if I found the answers):
Where in body stands soul
What puts soul to know
From whence comes length of strength
After body where goes soul
Where in body stands soul
What puts soul to know
From whence comes length of strength
After body where goes soul
Marmalade Moon
Marmalade Moon sits misty still in one wide sky
silently bellowing insistence to be seen
by one-half of Earth's eyes
No sound save for blue-flying geese.
silently bellowing insistence to be seen
by one-half of Earth's eyes
No sound save for blue-flying geese.
Morning Dove
Enmeshed being torn with thorns
Brow burdened with unanswered mysteries
Reaches for a morning dove
unbound
newborn
To pull the twine that curses his days
cradles his misery
preys upon his energy
to fly with him among the stars
to a no-eternity
and know his freedome will be locked
no more
Brow burdened with unanswered mysteries
Reaches for a morning dove
unbound
newborn
To pull the twine that curses his days
cradles his misery
preys upon his energy
to fly with him among the stars
to a no-eternity
and know his freedome will be locked
no more
Freedom Regained
When self-inflicted chains inviting soul's death
disintegrate - forever erased,
replaced with freedom regained as
cause over life - effortless,
unsurpassed happiness resurfaces at last
Now,
untethered of all that's passed,
celebrating above where new
games are created,
gates open wide for those reaching to
forever erase miseries of their past,
long-forgotten dreams of freedom found
at last.
Is Magic a Myth?
Some, blinded by life's repulsions
may think magic is myth,
living only in the minds of youth,
unfit for older consumption,
an untruth;
Sad they've dug themselves so deep,
their life force an encrusted dearth,
shrouded with lies thrust against lives,
unable to benefit from joys of
creation endowed at birth;
If only they could soar with a poet's universe,
linger over a glorious symphony,
see sparks fly from a maestro's fingers
unfolding his soul in melodic majesty
lifting listeners from daily trickeries,
permeate a painting to feel color essences,
glide with dancers in ballet flight to feel
the lightness of their presence;
Is magic a myth?
Most see it exists for other than a child
To someone in distress, magic may be
in the shine of your smile.
may think magic is myth,
living only in the minds of youth,
unfit for older consumption,
an untruth;
Sad they've dug themselves so deep,
their life force an encrusted dearth,
shrouded with lies thrust against lives,
unable to benefit from joys of
creation endowed at birth;
If only they could soar with a poet's universe,
linger over a glorious symphony,
see sparks fly from a maestro's fingers
unfolding his soul in melodic majesty
lifting listeners from daily trickeries,
permeate a painting to feel color essences,
glide with dancers in ballet flight to feel
the lightness of their presence;
Is magic a myth?
Most see it exists for other than a child
To someone in distress, magic may be
in the shine of your smile.
Life as Love
As a day says light so I say love
as a stream hums peace I feel a quiet thrill
a pebble clicks on a broad grey stone
a still breeze moves above my head
and I above the trees see life as love.
as a stream hums peace I feel a quiet thrill
a pebble clicks on a broad grey stone
a still breeze moves above my head
and I above the trees see life as love.
Playing
Spark your own lark
feast on a strawberry tart
hitch a ride on a hot air balloon
hopscotch across a blue lagoon
leap into a bucket of happy
feel the bellowing yellow laughing
dip into a pool of silly sassy
taste the tingle of lemonade taffy
glide over a dew-dropped rainbow
slide on its glow up to indigo
grab its tip
flip it upside down
spread its smile all around
somersault over its bucket of gold
feel its colors shimmer through your soul
watch a morning sun rise into love
fly with the freedom of a white soaring dove
1994/2013
feast on a strawberry tart
hitch a ride on a hot air balloon
hopscotch across a blue lagoon
leap into a bucket of happy
feel the bellowing yellow laughing
dip into a pool of silly sassy
taste the tingle of lemonade taffy
glide over a dew-dropped rainbow
slide on its glow up to indigo
grab its tip
flip it upside down
spread its smile all around
somersault over its bucket of gold
feel its colors shimmer through your soul
watch a morning sun rise into love
fly with the freedom of a white soaring dove
1994/2013
Tomorrows
Where there is wit
there is a way to reawaken
dreams long forgotten,
create endless beauty in
tomorrows.
there is a way to reawaken
dreams long forgotten,
create endless beauty in
tomorrows.
Pigments of Imagination
Red orange yellow green blue indigo violet
cascade ribbons of melodic
concatenation through golden-lit senses,
igniting pigments of imagination.
8/3/13
cascade ribbons of melodic
concatenation through golden-lit senses,
igniting pigments of imagination.
8/3/13
Artist's Eye
Is it the discerning artist's eye that
creates new spaces with color
or the discerning soul of a master
so vast as to perceive other universes,
rearrange them into beauty,
even invent them for others to have
brief respite from the physical.
8/7/13
creates new spaces with color
or the discerning soul of a master
so vast as to perceive other universes,
rearrange them into beauty,
even invent them for others to have
brief respite from the physical.
8/7/13
A Life of Pleases
a gaggle of geese
a litter of kittens
a flock of peacocks
a chirp of giggles
a swarm of bees
a cuddle of wiggles
a tickle of teases
a puddle of riddles
a life of pleases
8/4/13
a litter of kittens
a flock of peacocks
a chirp of giggles
a swarm of bees
a cuddle of wiggles
a tickle of teases
a puddle of riddles
a life of pleases
8/4/13
Honeysuckle Dream
How pleasant it would be
to be inhaled by a honeysuckle blossom,
slide into its honeysweet scent down to its bottom,
share its nectar with hummingbirds and bees,
sway with it in a cool spring breeze,
languish until soul-full of its succulent gift,
fling from its petals to gently drift
into another honeysuckle dream.
5/9/13
to be inhaled by a honeysuckle blossom,
slide into its honeysweet scent down to its bottom,
share its nectar with hummingbirds and bees,
sway with it in a cool spring breeze,
languish until soul-full of its succulent gift,
fling from its petals to gently drift
into another honeysuckle dream.
5/9/13
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