Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

she noted the look
took copious notes
into the book
covered with word
on the cover it says
"Betty Boop"
and i wonder what
she sees in black and white
while my rainbow streams
trickle upon the floor
like blood
from wounds healing
thru the magic of
dayglo embers
kindled by the worlds
out side the hide
of limits set on posts
signalling speed
at sixty-five

black and white
dayglo in charcoal
think of it as art
there is balck
then there is black
paling only
next to white's subtlety
sublime
palpable
hold her in your arms
and give her some dayglo
just a taste, though

he noted her notes
played them again
a symphoney, a fluke
trial by err or
she noted, he noted
they noted them note
no ting, no thing noted
soomi brush off
in black on white



(trying to cram it in before "Origins" on PBS...starts soon at a TV near you!)

mtmyd fucks up again
in the whirlwind spin

(mtmynd wrote the above...not me, when he posted under my nome de plume) He is rather hard on himself, neh?

brush on brush off
brush on brush off
do the strokes
stroke the dues
she a muse
amidst the blues
and me without shoes

nekid as a jay bird
you flip flop tap dance
across the empty minds
hanging like a cross
grumpified

turn, turn, turn around
see what lays...or do you see lies?
in front of you...

lush ness monster

pinned to a cross of responsibility
side pierced by you owe me's
the blood of freedom
drips like honey down the
limitations of existence
condemned to the prison
of the ego insistence
warping the dream world
with heaviness as if to remind
the soul that life is spirit caged
within the frames of oak corrals
keeping life from losing our attention

i jumped down from the cross
i hung myself on, walked around like
a resurrected goddess, mind empty
from the crucified slaughter of ideas.

where are the kiddies?
did someone get a sitter?
are they bombed out in iraq?
are they starving in sudan?
are they outside looking in?
maybe they are planning a
R-E-V-O-L-U-T-I-O-N-!
Viva Zapata!...bring on the shoes!


gotta run...will be back...will be...will...

a crow cawed a crass laugh,
landed on my naked arm branch,
laughed like insanity had consumed
the air.

i dared his chase, legs placed
for the race to evolution, me, the reborn,
the arisen fame, mother earth my matron,
each child of mine missing in flame,
bombs strapped to the backs
of jealous confusion!

BOOM!
too soon the rubble!
BOOM! too late the creation
of love!

from fire we dawn upon new day
alive...alive...the fury of questions
that mark the boris karloffs of all
confusion.....exploding destruction
the movie ends......................

diggin' it

layin' it down, no jokin',
strokin', thought provokin',
smokin' broken pencils,
drinkin', thinkin' like Lincoln,
free the slaves of mind,
no child left defined,
bigger fish to defy, or fry
spry, vie to defeat the lie...

I have done things poets
Shouldn’t be allowed to do
Worked for the White House
As an expert in strategic and
Critical materials, held a top
Secret clearance, had access to
The President, wherein I could have
Whispered to him: be soft, the dawn
Rises like digital tendrils from a new
God-baby’s eyes.

I think of the molten Earth when
I sleep and when I sleep for good
Will return there and the melting shall
Begin anew where time is as specific as
A cut throat and the feel of camel wearing
a powdered wig.

The Things Poet's Should be allowed to do
drugs should be strictly forbidden to all but poets
and lust and fortune
poets should wear haz-mat suits

a crow cawed a crass laugh,
landed on a naked branch,
laughed like the big brass laugh
when amassing secret strategies,
throwing darts onto world maps
with claimed awareness
of the minute differences
between target latitudes.

we are cleared, evacuated
into streets stricken with
the repeat of rifle barrels,
faces hidden behind
absent masks.

camels can slip through
needle eyes, yet we cannot find
the culprits.

poets can only match wits
with wonder and grief
by offering metaphor
cures.

there are no answers
to gunpowder owned
by criminals bent
on dying to kill
the philosophies
of peace lovers,
brother, there are
no answers to a
crow caw laugh.