Thinking back - past lives jam

[craig moore]

i cat's eye marble
roll nine

i past senseless pasts
saw my future gestalt self
somewhere here now
on the main street bus
a thousand lives stream by
lived in dust jacket window
lookin out at dream filled city
like a shattered crystal ball

i roll a shard of night the lights on
everybody

[Artguy]

shards of humans walking mingled in abstract senseless formlessness on friday way home gridlock mindless wheeled machine beneath aching all day clutch foot honking stinking hot cold sunny clouded rainy may da may day!!!!!!....w'ere goin down...crashin to tequilla joint rollin sidewalk of hell frozen over workin week...............

[craig moore]

like walkin through Kerouac alley
and i don't have a care

in the air
in the Kerouac
air

in the happy connections
words really sang, really got
the hang of it, really made
is, is

poetry floatin in the air following you down
Kerouac alley any way by the jazz in your walk in your talk in your
opening line, in your flowin poet's wine beat tongue
when you thang like that way you sung for the heck
for the rhythm and the bebop was just lingerin awhile
like a Monk heel spin on a lettus leaf just as you go
into chinatown, not to worry ruby my dear

[judih]

yeah, well, yeah
but monk just thunk that this white woman's got spunk
then off he went to replay that impossible bridge
where water dares to flow
past the oregon cool
into the smokey ashtray rubber plant
factory installed
sandwich bored
club, caveman style, smack, flack, hit

slippery piano keys, gloves left behind
a swish of a snare, a brush and a groom
a quarter tossed tip
a moment of wink and nod

are you rememberin, now
the funk of then
when new orleans kept the beat
chicago inched towards harlem
and up and down the map walked the eyes of age

[craig moore]

ashtrays with chewed gum and half sucked mints
a piano silent now in the days old black magic
a little sunlight sneaking through a crack
in a slamed shut window in the back
some sheets of scribbled notes resting on a stool
yes the silent space still has some lingering
trace of last night's jam

the scent of music that tells its story
through a tension between the dissonant notes
and the abstract clash of sounds, towns, rounds
midnights and cool pools of reflecting dream shine
that rests on the surfaces of images that flash by

a smile of sound that still is here
in spirit waiting for the musicians
to come back from where the jazz
has the audacious nerve to have that pazazz
and outside the streets crawl across the belly
of this wild planet that loves to tap its toe
oh we need some more Coltranes to come by
some Miles and Rosands and Birds and Monks
New Orleans marchin in the rain of Blues and
satchmo sweet sweat drippin to the living end

[jimboloco]

a momentary tease
almost
please

i never knew th land of my ancestors
i come from a long line of children
down from old European immigrants
in waves they came
i came from along line in the Diaspora
where my ancestors displaced the original inhabitants
in Cherokee, Apachee and in-between places
and lived as superiors to all others
in the land
of
the children

[stilltrucking]

I know by now the children must be crying in the land where they let the children cry, and tonight the stars'll be out, and don't you know that God is Pooh Bear?

We are all children of Africa where we let the children starve.

The end of the line

I come from from dust

And to dust will I return

Until the next time G d decides to kick up some dust.

And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground,
...
for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.

Just one creation myth, but it makes some sense to me, thermodynamically speaking that is.


http://www.shakespeare2ndlaw.com/

.

[jimboloco]

Unumbote gave them seedz of all kindz and said, "GO PLANT THEM!"

blowin in th winddddd