Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

jam on me
jam on you
jammin in the stew
cosmic brew
fulla
ballyhoo
and fuck the boo hoo
and the negativo rain
jam on jam song jam for long
jam time short
jam long time comin
cummin jam
sticky....rich ooze....jam
jam jam jam jam jam jam jam

And one more happy slam!
To jam and thus to jam!
We shall meet
on the beat
repleat with contentment
and dissent and repentance
sex and death and rock and roll
rocks and hills and sand and vegetables

Allons!

Jamming the rhyme,
pulled down the road,
make good time,
lighten your load...

hey mark, enjoyed the poem

the true religion, that,
past the nodes and accounts,
before the steeples of debt,
back to a quiet place.

the quite space
place where there
is no hiding place
hopefully the stars
will be our guide
as we glide, train ride
other side....open wide
Jam been hangin 12 pages
24 hrs.....jam was good......
always is here .....where it should be
servers will be cured
dsl's hooked up
wired ones feelin better
jam been good
jam been positivo
jam been scenery
and some excellente words
that one bout the soap by D a gem
jam been healing for me and hope you too,
moderated wireman a lil satisfied...........

even the quiet ache of empty, sometimes....



(It's hard to gauge where you stand, out there).

i got the travellin blues
the jet lagged crazeys
the missin you, missin them heartbreaks

broken arterial connectivitis
prescription reads: cucumber
tonic should tone it

but these blues hang on
like a pasta meal
on an overdosed menu

jam relief
weltering wistful here

wrote this on litkicks many moons ago

we are the ride

so we're all on the train, see,
a big long train with box cars, wild and free,
a far stretching train to a distant star,
a train en route to the other side of somewhere
from another side of some other place
and we can almost see a trace of our own faces
reflected in the glass while the world goes by sideways
and we're riding on the rail, a trail of us behind ourselves
over the hill, and we wonder and wander again and still
will we ever arrive? will we get there alive?

is this the train to heaven? is this the train to hell?
is this the Amtrak or a choo-choo chug on a Lionel?
are we going around a christmas tree in the middle of a room?
are we headed from one lonely town to the next
donning our specs, trying to read the signs?
are we headed past the mountain where
the old leather lady reads us Tarot
and the little lame rocker man plays his banjo?
where did we start? where do we go?

did we all get on at the same junction?
hey, i see the conductor with a computerized display
learning a new function of bits and bytes, just tapping away,
all of us in sway with the bumps, the turns, the yields, the burns,
the woooowoooowoooo of a whistle of inspiration

and we're facing the absurdities and all our words are free
and we're writing poe tree pieces, hallmark rhymes, treatises,
epistles, love letters, dismissals, releases,
and we're all drinking Pinot Grigio, tappin' our feet
the beat going up and over the Chesapeake,
bridging gaps of minds with the tunnels of reason,
speaking the tongues of distance, hearing our own resistance,
walking fast forward in between the cars, trying not to trip up
but our paper cups can't speak and we try not to spill,
metaphors slung through box cars, you in yours, me in mine
until until until we see a mystery come clear at the top of the hill,
but it's not over still
it's not over
still
still

so still our hearts, so solemn, laughing like a windy day
taking our wit in spite of it, carrying us away
to foreign lands, the sands of the hourglass
drip drip dripping down past our history
into tomorrow, the sorrows, the glees,
and down on our knees we cry the sighs
of lyric, poetry our only friends, joined like a multitude
of siamese twins to the hip! oh god! what a trip!
and there's the C&O canal straight up ahead
and we're making allusions like pillows for a bed
as we're training ourselves to stay far from the dread
of time as it rumbles, years as they tumble
behind and we are the verse, we are the rhyme
we are the double salt, the spice the thyme laced
in dreams we eat up in the club car,
far away poets drinking a toast,
boasting of nothing but the ride

we're all inside, y'know,
we're all inside the flow of a pen
tap tap typing our spirits again
and we're getting our kicks, high on lit,
not knowing the destiny, forgetting the route,
we're figuring all of it out 'cause the train is our gurney,
no fight to the flight of the muse, carrying us fused
the sound of assonance and resonance,
our voices a fountain from our lips,
we're reciting the trip,
the journey the only end
the never cease
the release, the all,
since the call of Poets
riding the rail
can never fail
us now

wooowooooo!!! wooowooo!!!!
umchuggachug we're all here, ain't we?
free as our lines, dining on pain and love,
sweeping the countryside with a soft smooth glove
gathering up the mud from beneath the wheels,
'cause we can feel, y'know? we can feel

and this is but a train ride
to the other side
of the ride

trackin back to the fast slack
yesterdays piled in the dining car
tarpaulin protects the thumbed up hobo
droolin in the rear

travellin on empty
space skips dimensions
hitch a ride on illusion

droolin as he snored
hobo's on the desert
in search of sting's rose

2 young 2 mention
the moderates conspired

It may be a trick of light,
that feathered horizon...
but it's my illusion,
and I won't jam it thru
those old narrow slots
of truth....

I came this far, didn't I?

Grateful, not dead,
Long strange trip?
No! Not strange at all!
No strangers here.
Traveling companions,
instead.

Happy trails!

doreen peri wrote: far away poets drinking a toast,
boasting of nothing but the ride

we're all inside, y'know,
we're all inside the flow of a pen
tap tap typing our spirits again
and we're getting our kicks, high on lit,
not knowing the destiny, forgetting the route,
we're figuring all of it out 'cause the train is our gurney,
no fight to the flight of the muse, carrying us fused
the sound of assonance and resonance,
our voices a fountain from our lips,
we're reciting the trip,
the journey the only end
the never cease
the release, the all,
since the call of Poets
riding the rail
can never fail
us now

and this is but a train ride
to the other side
of the ride

Exactly.

(I ride for awhile)....

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let's keep it going
until the journey's end.
Call your employer.
Tell them you had a flat,
tell them you got hijacked,
tell them you won't be back,
'til the time is right.
Might not be until
tonight!