Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

free minds
free birds
sing
Zorma
Diego
Zima
in a lullaby
a chirp
that resounds
the palm frands
in the hothouse
full of spring flowers
and cacti itching
to blooom...............

off now
for awhile
to find
some signs
of life

to be
a sign
of life

Spring wears the gowns that glide from her shoulder
sliding on Summer's sweat. But no regrets
no regrets about cracking the seed
Christendom is not as large as it was once,
before the spice wars where the herbs ran
out of ammunition, inevitable as the seasons.

so much life here
in this place
called Studio Eight

thank you
for
letting
me
sing
awhile

nice village

keep on vibratin'!

mornings breath
gently kisses
a springing jam

my computer is fixed
my words
my thoughts can flow once again
unto to screen

while off (line)
i beelined
Buzzing unto various things


but my favorite (! ~oh yes~)

tildens park
nature's here plant nursery
being kissed with spring rain

ahhh life!
sweet love comes again
from ...

mornings breath
gently kissing
a spring(ing) (jam)day

I have to write about this. Just outside my window I am watching a construction project. The next door neighbors are putting in a new driveway. Ten feet outside my window there is an artist in a Bobcat who is shaving the earth in preparation for the forms and the steel and the concrete.

Physical labor is thrilling to me because I do it so rarely. As I type I am watching the earth being moved and men working in concert with machines. The Romans were geniuses for inventing concrete. The aqueducts are still there and the Coliseum. A little sand, a little lime and voila--civilization.

white bird passed
came
sang while

Beautiful!

lets all put out fresh seeds .....

while listening to the cooing doves
the strong & clear melodies of the white crown sparrows
and the occasional sharp calls of the jays
as they pass through

too much sand
too much lime
....and we become
over civilized

scrap her here
gouge deeply there
make (her) me bleed .....

see me then as tamed
and civilized

oh really?

hmmmmmm

The same ancient energy
That seeks to conquer
That takes without asking
With undo force and
Without regard

Whether what is being conquered
Is (a simple) patch of land outside our window
Or an empire

Is the same energy that rapes woman, (and men) and children

The confusion comes
From a misunderstanding
Within our minds ….

Concur
Gets misconstrued (twisted and believed)
Into conquer

But with awareness, it can be changed back again

Then the love really flows ….
From the willingly thrown open arms (and legs)
Of selves and souls
Both physical and sublime
To each other
To all

And that's always much more enjoyable
Than rape (conquering)

~sorry for the impromptu lecture ....
it's just something that matters to me~

hugpeaceout

what's a plectrum?

a pliscuit?

fancy word
for
guitar pick

now

pliscuit...

that I don't know

rhymes with biscuit!

hey jota!
is that something like a bisquit?

morning, white!
a guitar pick? hmmm
ok.

I have 10.
I spread them on the piano bench,
pick up my Martin,
then, say to myself
"Take your pick"
and I do.

let me review the spectrum of plectra
my favorite plectrum is a fender thin
it's clear and looks like tortoise shell

plectra also pluck the harpsichord
those are made of goose quills
and it's what makes the trills
according to the skills of the player.

call it a guitar pick for want of better word