With a voice of jazz

With a voice of jazz angels speak,
passing their melodies inexplicable
over the ears of many.

In distaste and confusion some falter
and turn away.

In contempt and utter preference
others turn away;
for broth.

Innocence and the same pure colors
shared with skies across occasions
yearly and numerous
are my gift.

I am sustained by pigments
but I long not for the pigments of painters.

I am sustained by the pigments
that I see when I listen
to the voice of jazz.

I am sustained by the pigments
that begin where colors end
and the angels lift their voices
to speak.

I"m sitting here now with my hands

holding my face

because I feel so much of this nothing-hollowed emptiness

and I know not what I ought to do.

I use my hands to work;

I know they can wield the axe

but can they take this thing out of me,

can they fill me?

Right now, I'm holding my face with my hands.

Seeking an answer,

a solution to my invisible, burdensome

dilemma of life

and I find nothing in my hands.

Today they worked,

wielded that instrument which tears

into life ancient and wizened

so that it may be stacked

and later burned for warmth.

Lives forgotten,

countless years erased in ashes;

at least my hands can keep me warm;

at least I am warm.

A painting: The seas edge, the moon on high

The world whispers it's stories to me

The moon shining above tells me of 

All the wisps of love it's caught

Over time.

It tells me of the way it

Catches, and tucks them away, hidden,

But not unseen.

The small wisps, the beauties-collect

Become the moon.

In between the moon and the watery-eyed

Seas edge is an image painted;

The colors of which,

Being so lost and tangled,

Leave me with no definable 

Impression of what this image may be.

These eyes gaze upon the trailing sweeps

Of motionless,

Beautiful color

(Defined by the seas edge, defined by the moon)

And know

That enshrouded within it's lost self

Is the destroying hope

The crushing substance of life

That no man dare invent

Hath conceived.

Green Dress

Your green dress Accentuates,
gives living, sweet voice
To your body.
It's contours, shapes,
secret places;
I want so see them.
Greed and lust and torment
All together beat upon me
And I am reduced
I have been seduced by
A shadow called beauty.
A shadow can never belong to
Cannot be held onto
But I pursue
Chase after
Leaving my pride and dignity behind
I become like an animal
Rabid and wild
Uncontrollable, mad, insatiable desire.
In pursuit I lose minutes, Hours, years.
My life is disappearing
From right before my eyes
But I do not care I cannot care
Because what good am I
if I'm In pursuit but never Capture my prize.
I will keep on Running
I will run all my life
I've been running all these years now
I will run till the day I die.
Poor man
Poor, poor man.
To look upon you trapped in your Animal ways
Drives old rusted nails Into my heart.
Can't you see that Your running after shadows?
I know Because I too once ran after them,
Just like you; I never caught one and neither will you.
Because beauty cannot be had
Beauty cannot be worn
Beauty cannot be purchased
Beauty cannot be earned
Beauty cannot be desired
Except by maybe a few
Who have over time
Abandoned their pursuit of shadows
and learned;
That beauty is not the in the flames of fire
Or that which the fire burns
But beauty is found somewhere between
The two Sitting next to the fire
Together Keeping warm.

The Great Quest

Knowledge. Truth. Understanding.

What are they?
Where can I find them?

Questions that some of us, undoubtedly, have asked ourselves from time to time.

Were all given a life time in which we can go out in search of the answers and I'm curious;

What can we find?