Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

bongos
pick up the silent spots
push along the plot

late breakfast
the mattress felt good
the mind was meandering
in and out of the awakening
so much to consider beyond
the latest dream, in those moments
just after they come to an end
and the light is soft through the shutters
and the body likes the wrapped sheets
and the morning is full of promise
and the limbs are happy not moving

late morning?
dawn buzz picks a beat
house boogie

universal language
tree sky bird
wildflowers
bright sunny daze
narrow trails through
the wonder of nature
beaver fox hawk
high meadow
rock dirt bush
the forest jam
full of sweet tastes
hiking with susie creamcheese

over the sandy hill
bus revs up AC
motor radio

the wheel spins
the eagle flies on friday
the hunt for the buck
without legs
the endless march
gas in the truck
pushing the shopping cart
fixing the washing machine
trimming the bushes
a little me time
woven into the fabric
some poetry, throwing
the celestial frisbee
it all goes so quickly
upon calculation, memories
begin to fade, time
is somehow more meaningful
the jam of love and life
hard at times, sweet at others
the sunny days, the fog
the wind and rain, the calm
wondrous all

oh wireman
you have given up the post
but are still remembered fondly
each and every time
i open the perpetual jam
and I hope you are reading sometimes
but if not there is still abounding love for you
and your contributions to art
your poetry, sculpture, spoken word jamming
I hope you are doing okay
this morning, and hope your days
are mellow and bright as can be
given your challenges
peace and love wireman

wireman lives in jam
each line a fresh breath
communal embrace

a toast to wireman
the jammeister
wielding words
weaving wonders with wires
I hope he's still here
still well enough
to enjoy the fare at his beloved jojo's
and to turn dull metallic thread
into works of art
skjoll, my man
skjoll

five am
birds are lazier than me
I'm drinking a cuppa joe
robins are sleepin' in
it's damp and foggy
can't blame 'em
so many years worked outside
didn't matter what the weather
didn't matter how nice that bed felt
didn't matter what the birds were doin'
when the alarm played the tunes
the feet hit the floor
the shower flowed like rain
the pulsating water shook my shoulders
wake up man....get er done
now, 5 am is for poetry
and the slow stroll to consciousness
hell, i could go back to bed
if I want to....but i gotta wake up
the birds when I go out for the newspaper
gotta a damn good paper man
he's a marksman
puts that paper on the porch
just in front of the door
every morning like a Swiss clock
even when my brain is like Swiss Cheese

I'm alright....heath sucks though.....miss all of u

Hey Mark
good to hear from you
so sorry for your health problems man
still think of you often
can go back and read your words
and that helps a bit
let me know if you need anything bro
peace and love

wireman
pen to paper
family hug

what to say
what to add
how can a mere I
contribute significance
to this Norse saga
of decades?

around the campfire
we each share our tale
live punctuation