lately i have been thinking about how much i miss creating performance art. most of my creative time has been spent making jewelry. while satisfying and money making (both very important to me as a self-employed artist), there is just something about being hunched over a dusty dirty bench that can never compare to a huge open studio space and bodies moving together.

this pic may have to be my inspirational jumping off place…

When warm
(Or even temporate)
Rain raps on the roof,
It provides a reassuring
Rhythm that soothes.

When Winter-chilled rain
Taps it’s icy fingers on
Window panes,
It does not soothe nor
Reassure.

I drew stillness
From The Deck.
Her avatar?
A peace sign.

Right now,
I think my
Avatar is
A race car.

Zipping ahead
Without thought
For the energy
Being consumed
Or the loudness
Generated.
And all this
Speed and combustion
And noise
Is doing so little to
Improve on what
Was already
Here.

~ spontaneously composed (but not combusted) by Stan Stewart
Copyright © 2011 by muz4now, Inc.
All Rights Reserved. 182/1,000

There is one thing
And another.

Grey twigs stand upright
At ends of limbs.
They decorate the also-grey sky
As a foreground reminder:

No leaves grace these
Woodland tendrils.
It is as if they are unclothed,
Vulnerable and exposed
To Winter’s cold.

What inner warmth
Do they rely on to carry
Them through the snow?
(Have they studied with the
Right gurus? Climbed the right
Mountain? Eaten the right foods?
Done the right workout?
Gone to their therapist or been
Advised by the best coach?
Pursued the latest self-help craze?
Well … no. Those are human traits
That I cannot place on my deciduous neighbors.)

In a sudden enlightenment,
The sun bursts forth from clouds
And brightens the grey sky to
Blue. The grey bark and twigs
Are still grey.

Yet they now seem tinged with gold.

A shaft of sunbeam awakens me at dawn.
My slumber has been of one dead for a thousand years:
Deadened by thoughts of culpability and then,
Sudden innocence.

Awe and wonder overtake the moment
As the light settles in.
But fear raises expectations of loss and
Grandeur — neither of which hold a place
In this reality, nor a grasp on the epiphany.

(This is the light of choice.

This is the light of choice.

This is the light of choice.)

Opening the shades fully,
I take in the miraculous, blue of
A cloudless
Father sky.

Improv For Kirby by muz4now

The electrified wind controller
Makes unusual sounds.
Nothing like the sax that came before.

Loud!
Amplified to ensure that
My brain and the next will not
Forget this sound!

Now, the piano, too, joins in with the
Electrified sound: funky electric piano-
Zany-funkified-twisted sounds envelope
The room and penetrate walls.

Taking jazz to the streets.

Jim Ridl With Spatial Edition “LOUD”

Sultry: you enmesh the fluid line
With the voicings unabashed.
Combined: they melt the walls
Around my heart that — times before –
I thought were permanent and solid.

Now, open to the melodious flux,
Ears and eyes drink in the sweet
Honey of wafting sounds and
Impulsive interplay.

I will not tap my feet.
Though the rhythms and melodies you play
Conger up kicking off shoes and
Dancing barefoot in the grass,
I will not tap my feet.

Though my heart beats faster at the
Melodic buildup — as horn and keys
Latch together in the repetition of a theme,
Calling my heart and toes to a
Dance of thrill and amazement –
But no, I will not tap my feet.

I will not tap my feet, nor
Nod my head; though everything
In me is crying out for some kind of movement
To occur!
No, I will not tap my feet.

I will not tap my feet
When the guitar and sax drop out
To let bass and drums chase percussively
After each other in a playful, astoundingly
Structureless cadenza, filled with
Impulsive demands.
Even then, I will not tap my feet.

I will not tap my feet.
Though the pianist has spontaneously
Created a bit of magical funk
That was never previously inserted
In this “standard” of jazz stalwarts.
No, I will not tap my feet.

What’s this!
Did my head just nod a bit?
Unbidden, I can barely restrain myself
From rising straight to the dance floor,
For now, the whole ensemble is returning
To the original theme by some inaudible
Twist of jive and thrive.

Oh yes, I cannot just tap my feet:
I must move my head and spine and arms entwine,
Must move my torso, and more so
My feet.

Awakened in the middle of the night
By that call that I knew could come
And which I hoped would not

I am stretched beyond my best self.
This awakening has drawn me into
The wired state of mind where

Everything and nothing are important
And not important. Where the knowing
That I should go back to sleep does not

Override the strange, inexplicable desire
To stay awake. The results are odd and
Colored by blurred vision — eyes too tired

To care enough to focus. Instead, the
Outcome is a random bit of poetry
(You know — you’re reading it now)
And a mid-night raid on the snack cabinet.

The middle of the night call is anything but
A wake-up call. If anything, it is the go back
To sleep call. And then, my meandering thoughts

Begin to beacon me to pursuits of consciousness-
Raising and deep pondering. It is then that the
Quiet breathing of our house calls me back to

Sleep.

squirm

the way the TV surgery shows do with
“just the right amount” of blood

squirm

the way a parent can make a child
feel when they question behavior
or even when an adult just makes
a (unintentionally loaded) suggestion

squirm

to get your spine moving and blood flowing
to get your emotion in motion in an
embodied way

squirm