Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

the sweet and the scented
holding lemon grass
with a lavender twist
pungent and mellow
round with a bite

succulent collusion

motion
vibration
creation:

this great symphony we're part of
where every particular within
sings its own part

surfing choice
riding the waves

tasting the foam:

every salty drop
that sparkles
into our mouths
of freedom

ocean dripping
from our
parched
smiling
lips

all be strokers, wired me be toker
even doggie paddlers are welcome
there's butterfly strokes and even
those that will boast....watch out for
under wearers and even worse the starers..............

did i hear skinny dipping?
washing our souls under the rush of the wind
sweet birds flapping by
jazz piano hidden under their feathers
an ocean of time
and sweet fullness

did i hear a wave calling us?
let's jump through the froth
and renew

diving deeper than we ever
imagined.....into the center of
those powder blues.....the most
enlightened hues..............

i see us float
on warm water
nightbreezes
in our hair dark
with time

i am turning
in your sleep
lifted by the dark wave,
silver hoops catch
the light

quilted moments

as if wherever
you move you were new
and moving
with me

i feel what escher felt
as linking particles move together/apart
you and me and us and them
a whole in a whole
drifting in a chord of life
pounding of our hearts blending
pounding of waves surrendering
to this night

degree by degree I move
within thee.............

thee and thou
a thousand times thine
a gracious wine, shiraz did you say?
or a riesling of wicked gentility

a loaf of bread and lo!
we march the 40 year desert trek
barely blinking an eye

how long have we lived this life?
when was the turn of the century?

remember the time, warm water
floating the sublime and the
subtropic air cause the devil may
of your really all because......

the century turned and nothing
was learned cept the blue and the
red and the wasted time......

time leaps into the abyss
(behind the guy in the shirt)
dart games leap into our hands
(on the wall of the Dublin pub)
moments surge into our minds
(galleries of impressions gone virtual)

we are a haiku on annotation vacation

shot unto the surreal
impressions that reveal
the degrees never cease..........

the crumbling of words
underfoot
understroke
is sound
is song
in itself

no more than the song of it

to speak is to hope
to find a way
to fill the silence
without breaking it