In the heart of the city,
where the rhythm flows,
KCCK Jazz Radio, where the magic grows.
Man, turn up the dial, let the jazz play,
A symphony of legends, lighting up your day.
The greats of jazz, their spirits alive, Miles and Ella, they thrive.
Old school notes dance with the fresh, A fusion of sound, a vibrant mesh.
Be there now, don’t you dare be square.
Lust and greed overwhelm our desires,
We struggle in life, desires unfulfilled,
Yet, the heart is searching for peace and serenity,
Only consciousness will deliver it one day.
Consciousness evokes the world around us,
Selfless service and help to the needy inspire us,
Donate with kindness, uplift the broken hearts, mission it takes,
Love and respect for everyone are the goals kept in mind.
With each breath, I feel life flow,
Awake to all that fades and grows.
The world hums low, a whispered sound,
As earth and spirit spin unbound.
No rush for future, past release,
Just here—this pulse, this quiet peace.
Each moment fresh, a seed to sow,
In light of love, I watch it grow.
winter is not white
she is blue and sparkly,
a reflection of gorgeousness
with dazzling crystals all over her frozen carpet
she is pristine, virginal, fresh, a delight every year
Their wedding cake is perfect flour,
Rich, Fresh: A Never–To–Sour,
‘Pink Rose’ The Bride’s flower’,
A bouquet holding with excited power …
‘Husband and wife’ pronounced at Jesus hour,
As enemies helplessly glower,
While above them they tower,
Neatly forcing them to cower …
St. John’s Church Newest Couple,
Looking wondrously ‘The Supple’
To never themselves overreach
Nor matrimonial contract breach …
And what to that say, All Men?
An Earth-shaking “Amen!”
You can tell him no
but the training wheels on his head
spin on,
he thinks you don’t mean it,
that you don’t mean a thing
even when that ‘thing’ is a
tense bubble of spitting camels.
He just keeps on talking
as if you had never said so
or he had not glimpsed bared
broad yellow teeth.
He is an old branch of my tree
his teeth clatter
as his stiff leaves rattle you
into a nervous tick and frozen smile.
Yet a part of him is child-like
not young but green stemmed
and river deep in its sap.
When I ply him with wine
thinking I might wilt his scratchy chatter
he can flick and startle jangled nerves
with a pliant and quick stepping wisdom
and a spry sly humor,
a wit sprung from a well deeper than mine,
then I wish I were also that fresh a watering,
and not a herder of fractious
even-toed ungulates.
What a lovely, lovely boy he was,
And such pretty manners-oh!
And a charming boy he was because-
He knew what to say, where to go.
Such a fine man he became, became;
And such courtly airs and flair!
As scents crowd summer, none the same,
And leave a memory everywhere.
A gallant man, so smart and all!
And honest and seemly strong.
His portrait graces palace wall;
And the days of glory are long.
Such a noble, nobleman was he,
All subtle in face and grace;
A finer man could never be,
He had admirers in every place.
As fresh a breath of air he was,
As in nature's own vast room.
And so much loved he was because
He somehow cast off all gloom.
Such a fiery knight and true!
And what a passion he gave, he gave.
Turned pale skies so to blue,
And he never, never knew a knave.
The winning touchdown scored that fall – lingered,
As fresh a memory of that night,
As when the sound of the crowd filled his ears,
And her kisses were warm and deep.
Only to have all that was planned and lay ahead,
Turned upside down and changed forever,
By a draw with no heart or conscience,
And the power to hurl him a world away.
To an ancient land turned killing-field,
A Grunt – slogging through jungles and paddies,
Always scared, yet true to his duty and buddies,
Amid a carnage that numbs his every fiber,
And with every letter, package or paper from home,
Compounding his hurt and feelings of loss,
His thoughts turn to why he is here,
But he is here; so, he will do what is asked of him.
And to return to the states is his greatest wish,
But he sees the lists of MIAs and KIAs,
And does what he must do,
To ease his pain and struggle on through.
He might make it home and pick up the pieces,
Of a life so drastically altered,
Or his final glory just might be, those “Friday Night Lights”,
Pale pink lipstick and warm fall kisses.
Tender streams the night
flames a flicker filled delight
fresh a yellow painted rose
held in perfect sweet repose
Oh my sun, my precious sun
your warmth breathes long
hidden 'mongst a subtle guise
filling out a summer's day
Lunar leaps an oval face
stealing rays of saving grace
languid pains a vision lost
heart lie still a tempest tossed
I'm fresh, a fresh rose,
With beauty unscathed,
Covered in a skin, soft and smooth, unscarred.
If you mean harm, just let me be,
Touch me not, if you endeavour to crush me.
.
I'm green, a greeny leaf,
With youthful blood and zeal,
Of wishful dreams and daring will.
So if your plan is not to tend me, leave!
Abstain from molesting me, the fairest of leaves.
.
Don't break me, i want to grow,
Don't break me, nurture me instead.
Wind, as it rustles through the trees,
How it moves with no freeze,
Swiftly as it crosses my face,
How delicate and fragile
It does not even leave a trace,
The scent, the scent of fresh
Fresh, a fresh beautiful breeze,
Feels, feels nothing wrong
Everything is a-long
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