Serpentine artisan in Eden
Crafting a second creation
A molten piece of idol
By the dexterity
Of word of mouth.
Tongue lures ear
And then à tongue kiss
To the ear, both soulmates
Titillate the neurons of the body
Stir the impulse of all senses
All segued to Judas kiss.
Telepathist tool
Transmuting visions from pluto
To reality on earth.
Forked-tongue town crier
With cymbal and gong
Improvising a dissonance
Of glossolalic tales
To the age of gullible gullivers!
Ear, O hear!
In that gaping cavity
There lies lie lair
The sword of Damocles
Gliding and Churning honey gobs
From its cavity to founts of lies
In every public square.
Like the big lie of Hitler and Goebbels
To the holocaust.
Let not all thy senses,
Emotion, reason, and conscience
Trust her tongue!
Improv is an unscripted comedy form.
Starting with an idea for a sketch,
actors interact with each other,
making up things as they go.
As one person responds to another,
“No, but…” squashes spontaneity,
while “Yes, and…” builds the banter,
propelling witty action forward.
Quick and clever dialogue
promises even more to come.
Then, after finding an apt ending,
a brand-new sketch can begin.
Our lives are also unscripted.
Improvising our existence,
we react to evolving situations
with “Yes, and” for guidance.
Whenever feasible and appropriate,
say “Yes, and” to others and to life,
for enhancing enjoyment
while building community.
And even in our final moments,
we can still say “Yes, and” to death
since there is much more to come
when the new sketch begins.
(First published in Spirit Whispers: Eclectic Writings on Spirituality on Substack, 17 May 2025.)
(Image by Monica Silvestre on Pexels.com.)
The archer shooting his arrow without hesitating,
the musician effortlessly improvising,
the singers seamlessly blending,
the speaker clearly enunciating.
It's not about being lazy or passive
or being forceful or combative.
Nothing unnecessary or artificial,
it's about being spontaneous and natural,
coming from an inner elemental source...
like water finding its course.
You spoke a new language
of rarefied air
guided nonchalantly
through curving channels of brass
Conduits of cool
juries of jazz
floating past soulful valves
harbingers of what will come
Slender fingers
improvising storylines
magistrates of melancholy
bailiffs of bop
Miles from the mainstream
a milestone of
modern modalities
kind of blue
The whistler,
In the moonblossomed,
Evening,
Hums along,
Like a modest star,
His own company,
And melody,
With the golden leaves,
Bound to nothing,
But his own romance,
A drifter of drifters,
A gypsy of gypsies,
He and she,
Is like a great and sweet,
Actress,
With astonishing range,
Improvising,
Waves,
Delighting,
Windkissed flowers,
And unsung holidays,
The whistler,
As he hums along,
The shores of soul,
Dawn, and evenings,
With his holiday presents,
Of melodies,
Windcaressed,
Through the haze,
Is cool as the mallards,
Upon sunset lakes,
A jazz wanderer,
Romancing hems,
And crescents
Reynaldo Casison
Sunbeams delight me with their touch,
a talent that Spring breezes share.
At first, it does not feel like much,
though, an answer to my prayer.
And still, Spring is beyond compare,
luring honking geese to take wing
and fly home on breaths of warm air;
for it's the beginning of Spring.
Frisky rabbits breed in their hutch;
while parking lots host a Spring fair.
An extravaganza as such
that lends excitement to the air;
improvising color and flare.
Robin Redbreasts are first to sing
and build their nests as couples pair,
for it's the beginning of Spring.
Kids start skipping rope, double-Dutch,
for there is no snow anywhere.
Nesting birds start brooding their clutch,
as wildflowers bloom everywhere.
And an earthy smell scents the air
with aromas warm breezes bring.
Flurries are sporadic and rare,
for it's the beginning of Spring.
Folks start donning leisurewear,
Spring season has a unique zing.
And I feel passion's flame flare,
for it's the beginning of Spring.
Corporeal rivers, endless parks
ballet dancing trees, purple pentair
peaks, veiled vixen valleys where
rhythmic romances abundantly abound.
January Springs sprout forever framed
parades of meticulous major-minor choral
florettes, all tonally transfixed into freedom
Fantasies in A sharp--improvising impending
nurturenaturenaturalneutral karmic
compromises from ALL beings--
We can be better than this moment-
We can be our Now best in this eon
leaving our Future in its proper place.
Hence the phrase, "every NOW and then".
1-12-2022
Nocturnal jazz played on
your body, improvising,
light touches and tastings;
blue moans, soft and
seductive with muted
tones of desire.
Swing rhythm unites two;
blowing red passions,
hot be-bop dances, and
free form movements
that improvise fantasies
with their own beats.
Midnight songs of
ardor released in the
oncoming dawn;
the concert is over
and the players
now sleep, together.
I practice the right thing to do in situations
I teach these practices to children
I preach staying calm and in control
But when my emotions grab my soul's heart
Watch out! Stand back and pray
I think I am ready to show my tolerance and kindness
I should be fully prepared to give them a voice
But when they rile me up, and twist me backwards
All logic and well-thought-out intentions
Fly out the window and slide under a gooseberry bush
So here I go again, improvising.
eager exotic eyelashes
doubly dilly dots and dashes
quixotic crazy slashes
friendly farm ashes
wild window splashes
breakneck barley bashes
goodly gnarly gnashes
heavenly hopeful hashes
slick satin like slashes
meandering and marauding mashes
creative corny clashes
boots improvising as goulashes
eager exotic eyelashes
I'm going to try one more time
To write an intellectual rhyme
Some with complicated words
Most of which I've never heard
Words that cudgel my brain
So I can deliberate and strain
My antediluvian brain
To think from a new perspective
Endeavour to be more selective
Perhaps I should keep improvising
These sesquipedalian words are so misguiding
It would save much more time
To stick (or adhere) to my simple rhyme
Echoes of love
between woman and man.
Holding on to hope.
In the palm of my hands.
Walking my faith
down city streets.
With the help of God,
guiding my feet.
Tears soaking up the concrete.
Like Martha, I weep.
I've been blind.
Never sleep.
Look what hell has done to me.
I pray the Lord,
my soul to take.
If I should die
before I wake.
Teach my heart to love
not hate.
Soul raped,
by Demons
I can't seem to shake.
Still I reach, for Heaven's gates.
Grandma always said
watch out for them snakes.
Improvising on scraps.
To make a plate.
The Devil wears a mask
in the land of the fake.
The wicked will do anything
just to live great.
As Angels protect
for goodness sake.
Though the Devil's working.
God's never late.
Right on time.
Hope!!!
Hope is mine.
"Hope"
WAITRESS OF MY ORDER
God since rules and joules
Protects and provides
Thou shall order a Christmas mistress
A true teacher gloved with grace and care.
Who squarely wears healthy communications,
In competitive advertisers of sun and moon supervisions.
Danishly blessed with wealthier tolerance,
To pass life’s unpredictable weather turbulence.
Should……..would be fabricated or traits,
With compromising and improvising grains.
Welcoming diversity of cruel world of happenings,
Or graph moon phases till December dazzlings.
A mustard seed of all conditions
Where her children playfully dwell in definitions
And serves with heart open palm
In stream humility of princess calm.
Gladly listen to all ages with ample attention,
That never intonates gossips’ intention.
Admirable household oriented skimmed individual.
But friendlier and great just principal.
I'm in a relationship with myself
Walking alone on a ticking clock
Improvising only to disappoint
Existing to be invisible.
People who came and left
Took a piece of me
I am now a matrix of crumbs
Bet I'm about to constellate
I self quarrel on a gloomy day
Still battling an overdose
Of between depression and Mirtazapines
Both kills me anyway
I will be in a relationship with myself
Not because there is no one left to
But because I am jaded with the inevitable
Death now is but a random blur
Will this solitude give me the cure?
I have a youngest sunny D
an improvising third of four
in third quarter beating maleness rhyme.
He wears the greatest many hats
but only one spirit-timed
Hippocratic
convocation
evocation.
He sings and shouts
C Major 7th inside voices
and outdoor D minor diminishments.
I have a youngest son named D,
improvising three for four
communicating RightBrain dominant
rhythmic looping sound vocations,
invocations
vacations
easier on my WiseElder
matriarchal years
counted in and by and with
AnimaMundi's
robust
Plan D.
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