My Wish


This morning, at coffee,
I told my friend
that I'd like to burn
a candle at both ends.

What I did not say,
was that I'd like to hold it,
until both flames met
in the middle --

And I cried out in
ecstasy,
and pain.

The pain, for me,
would be for
the shared experience
with someone I loved.

He did not
have much to say,
in reply.

He knew my anguish.

* *
jrm
10 Feb. 2016

Beautiful, Jim.

---

rOZZ
Music
Pictures

A Bow To Love

The building with the wooden frame
Would have an open window attached above the doorbell

In the meanwhile, the Open Blue eyes gazed from the corners
Of our Multiverse and its descendants

The ring in the Lion’s mouth waited for the first beat
Of Beethoven’s fifth Symphony

Don’t take life too seriously, Michael told his friend,
You might lose your dreams one day

The unpolluted energy flows warmed up his friend,
Who has been suffering earthly harshness

And he was confuddled about the contradiction
Between Love and Life

Guess you can know what takes you by the hand, ol’ Mark
Soon you will know which way to start again

Sinatra was his last name, he told Michael,
And Billy Bragg sung way down yonder in the minor key

There was a beginning to a whole new view
From the window in the meadow,
Where sheep would gaze in peace,
Receiving some inspiration from the Gods above

And so below..

We get high on Life,
Returning to the devolution of basic existence,
While we follow up our ancestors in Grace

DJ'16

---

rOZZ
Music
Pictures

Haiku

Old buzzards circle
Thirsting for fresh vital blood
Young buck laughs at them

@ Julie --

To love, is to become vulnerable.
You've experienced the joys and sorrows
of vulnerability.

My friend is scared to death
of becoming vulnerable.

Talk about anguish,
from the near-sidelines. . .

One can still pray . . .

Diseased Haiku
Fever rages on.
Blisters. Cells lyse. Headache splits .
Kill me now, I wish.

What's Next?


It might get interesting, now,
in my managed life.

My old friend has been relegated
to our coffee-house, only --
no more dating permitted.

Isn't that sad?
Partially-here, today,
partially-gone, tomorrow.

But, that's life,
as I've experienced it.

He doesn't seem to mind,
except for my ceasing to text him.

Concerning my managed life --
should I tell him, that
I'm not being used,
that I enjoy it?

But, does he know something
my therapist doesn't know?

Perhaps my friend's vision
extends through
my future old age,
which I dread.

How disappointing --
I thought I, alone, had
no answers on coping.

Now, he, too, has none,
except for finding a loving partner.

He doesn't know how
I can explore new territory --
without giving up the familiar.

I want my life,
both ways --
like burning a candle
a both ends, perhaps.

*

I wish he'd quit sending me
these stupid poems.


* *

jm

She was uneasy around snakes, but I like them, all kinds, they are extremely interesting to me. The only ones that make me uneasy are mambas because they act so strange compared to all other snakes. But you and I will never meet one so it doesn't matter.
Snake by Emily Dickinson

A narrow fellow in the grass
Occasionally rides;
You may have met him,-did you not?
His notice sudden is.

The grass divides as with a comb,
A spotted shaft is seen;
And then it closes at your feet
And opens further on.

He likes a boggy acre,
A floor too cool for corn.
Yet when a child, and barefoot,
I more than once, at morn,

Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash
Unbraiding in the sun, -
When, stooping to secure it,
It wrinkled, and was gone.

Several of nature's people
I know, and they know me;
I feel for them a transport
Of cordiality;

But never met this fellow,
Attended or alone,
Without a tighter breathing,
And zero at the bone.

My Love

I will take a pen
And write your name
And write it again
In the Stars that
Shine brightly in the Sky

I will take you
By the arm and put
My head on your shoulder,
Shining brightly in the Sun

I will share our force
And write your name,
I will write your name,
Which means Life!

I will show you
Who you see in the mirror
And write through the mist
That covers our eyes

DJ’16

---

rOZZ
Music
Pictures

For those who don't have a clue. And, you had to learn the hard way.
Good one, Julie.

For those who don't have a clue. And, you had to learn the hard way.
Good one, Julie.

Thank you, Jim.

---

rOZZ
Music
Pictures

The Bohemian in Paris


My guitar on the back, the black one,
With the white stripe from the Seven Nation Army,
I strolled towards the Notre Dame,
Already closed for renovation.


The sign on the road pointed towards the deserted portal and its
Shallow shade from the door, that was still unlocked
And facing the black guitar.


The postcard in my hand resembled the faint shade of architectural
Beauty behind thick mist of mirage reality.


A stranger tapped me on the shoulder to ask the way to freedom.
I gave him a dime and asked if he could go have a meal with me.


We walked along the Rive Gauche and searched shelter from the mist
In the bistro nearby.

The guitar waited silently in the corner until the first tone
Filled the thin air that cruised along the various tables.
There were a 126 of them.

How do you manage to carry the world upon your shoulders, my friend?

The world is not heavy, my brother, it is the souls that harness her
Who carry the weight of the world and eat the fruit of her loins.

In the meanwhile every single spin gives a new meaning to life,
Transferred by Sister Dew.

The photons carry out our names in visible light.


We returned to reality as the waitress brought us our meal
And the Notre Dame was smiling,

From a distance.

DJ’16

---

rOZZ
Music
Pictures

It'll take but four strings
to accompany you,

But, It'll take six,
to play a tune.

Life has its
costs. . .

It'll take but four strings
to accompany you,

But, It'll take six,
to play a tune.

Seasick Steve takes three :D

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8jcYdmD8FCI

---

rOZZ
Music
Pictures

Interesting, Julie. One wonders how the Renaissance instruments might have
evolved, had electronic amplification had been known, then. No butchering
of Strads, perhaps, for starters, to get a bigger sound.

Acoustic sounds are the purest to me, Jim.

---

rOZZ
Music
Pictures

A Rose, Enjoyed


A rose, enjoyed,
must, first,
unfold itself
to the sun.

It's admirer,
still awaits. . .

quietly,
patiently --


* *

jm
25 Feb. 2016

Ha, Ha, Ha.
Another poem, for Jim


Up, I go -- another ride.
My horse will take me
where I guide.

It won't be long,
when flowers bloom.
And, then, the fields
will be my room.

Imagine me, on steed, supreme.
Imagine me, with single dream --
A dream I have, with clarity --
My dream, I'd share --
My destiny.

But, dreams are dreams,
as I can see.

It's hard to share
reality.


* *

jm
28 Feb. 2016

Johnny’s Bliss

There were only four left

After three crunched the S out of the C

The second brought home the fire

And the last one faded into the stratosphere


Michael brought Mark another packet of crisps

While the air cleared up after the passing

Of some quick scooter clouds from Neptune


And the sawing at the mill fully recommenced

Johnny saw his brother die in the hospital bed

The incident carved deeply into his weakened skin

Until his following shadow touched his inner soul


And Casseopeia smiled from about the distance

He needed away from polluted cables of

Unidentified electricity, to find happiness in life


His home is getting build as we speak

And the salmon would swim up the River to find the sea

Where it would grow to understand the above wonders


His home gets build by the River, as we speak

While the first bricks are caught in the middle in between


And we speak the first thoughts we receive in silence

From Abraham, setting the first tone to the new

Birthplace of Betléhem, holding the fire, burning high

Up the sky and leaving sparks of light for lost astronauts


And the tree would burn for the bush in the far away desert

S, for one moment, forgot about crunching for the C

Nobody was left alone in the eye of the hurricane, kept together

By long-lasting peace that had come back to the revived countryside

Where the sawmill closed its doors for refurbishment due to safety hazards


And the hand of Casseopeia felt warm in Johnny’s old hands

They walked together to the home that was built

By the Riverside, where flowers would grow wild

In the light of our mighty Sun, the King.

And life goes on as we speak, and we speak..

DJ'16

---

rOZZ
Music
Pictures

S and C


S and C,
and
apostrophe.

Recognition,
for deciphering
what's going to be

on the walls of a cave
in my
memory.

Plaques,
that coat
the neurons'
boat

will be vanquished --
by
a good night's
sleep.


* *

jm
7 Mar 16