Jazz Cat's Mind Spill

Reason & Rhyme

This is the season
and now is the thyme
to tell you the story
of Reason and Rhyme.
Reason, a young man
with much on his mind
and Rhyme is the reason
Reason started to rhyme.
Her words were amusing
they mused him indeed
he wrote word after page
at anagramical speeds
letters clicked into place
form of lyrical word usements
dictated by thoughts
of Rhyme, his new musement.
Tucked away in his study
scribbling inkful love potions
He forgot that a woman
needs more than emotions
Rhyme wanted picnics and flowers
and gentle neck kissing
It was more than two weeks
before he noticed her missing.
She had found another
who’d be less apt to inspire
A younger, taller
muscled haircut for hire.
He emerged from his study
with nothing to say
And hasn’t written a word
since that very day
he hoped he’d find her
again in due season
because to Reason,
there’s no Rhyme and no reason.

Tear Reaper

The tears of a child
are heavy indeed
They roll fat down plum cheeks
wetting innocents’ sheets

Every night tears are lost
in this wasteful fashion
and could be avoided
via tear duct extraction

Great care must be taken
when farming cry-drops
Each bottle is labeled
and sealed with glass tops

Displayed in the sun
prismatic faeries that dance
give me hope that I might
have just one more chance

To regain my past
I steal from the meek
to experience a child’s
warm tear on my cheek

Gossamer Wind (for Rebecca)

Quick like the wind
the wind that they stole
My faceless voice
now a voiceless soul

Never to know you
now that I’ll never
A voice recorded on hearts
lasts forever

I watch eyes and faces
a city in grief
as beauty slips pasts
like the turn of a leaf

Though breath has ceased
that’s not the end
You speak to us now
through the gossamer wind

*

*
Written in memorium of local Memphis Disc Jockey Rebecca Glahn aka Madison and Rebecca Fox from Q107.5

Read more about Rebecca and the details of her life and tragic loss at Q107.5

Digression (an answer)

a cunning linguist
a vernacular surrealist

Bending consciousness with words
like Dali bent clocks.
Narcissi doesn’t see me
'cause he sees the flock.

I’m the black one
that the shepard can’t tame.
Creeping in from the back
rip up the rules to the game.

Metaphors mix in mind
and then fall off my lips
or better yet, flow down my arm
to this ink pen’s tip.

If this is poetic justice
then court adjourned.
My writing pure creation,
not one part of it learned.

Entitled to opinions,
now that that’s off my chest,
I’ll get back to pen and paper
because I digress.

senses

shiver
vibrate
twist
shake
Did you feel my heart just palpitate?
two is one
one is none
the world is gone
entwined in tongues
push
pull
grip
taste
slowly, gradually, increasing pace
tissues mixed
elastic breath
collective souls
this side of death
ribbons stretched against tensile strength
tugged and jerked until they break
seizures cease, blood slows its pound
wings curtailed, we gently glide down

They Say

They say
             Beauty is every woman
             I only see one.
They say
             Beauty is skin deep
             How deep yours must run.
They say
             Home is where the heart is
             Well, my hearts not here.
             Its now in your hands
             And that’s something I fear.
They say
             that the mind
             Is terrible thing to waste.
             I waste my mind daily
             On your lips and their taste.
They say
             The soul is immortal
             But that can’t be true
             Because my soul lay dead
             Until I met you.
They say
             Life is unfair
             But something I’ve found
             Is that life is beautiful
             when you are around.

Mother's Milk

Mother’s milk has soured,
tainting blessed souls.
Leaving me forever
fearfully bruised and cold.

Rocking empty cradles
makes me think of days
of when my rooms were cluttered
with the toys with which you play.

I never for a minute
forget about Daddy’s girls
Sunshine smiles by Mom beguiled.
I miss your little curls.

The thing that’s kept me going
is that I’ve always known,
that in God’s and the judge’s hands
soon you will come home.

So for now I’ll bide my time
and shed a few more tears.
I hope these times you don’t remember
in the coming years.

I love you both and am proud
to have such beautiful daughters
and no matter what hear
I am forever your loving father.

I told you I'd think of you sleeping.

I think of you dreaming.
Dreams of me thinking?
Don’t forget about me
while the sandman sprinkles.

Speculate about the site
of dark eyelids shut.
Spin mysteries spun
by original thought.

Breath heard by one,
neither one of me.
Serotonin releases
the sights you see.

You sleep, I write;
I write, you wander.
I wonder if you wonder
about the things I ponder.

As morning breaks
and lids crack open,
I hope you smile
about the heart you’ve stolen.

me?

Is this not me?
                      It cannot be.

Is this love?
                  It must be.

I found something for you
but dare not share.
It burns in my hand
and is too heavy to bear.

Lingering still,
our judgment call.
Though I am standing
I continue my fall.

Is this not me?
                      It cannot be.

Is this love?
                  I’ll wait and see.

When Jung Was a Child (structure revision)

Ever Again?

White-water

I have studied parched lips
and painted faces.
I’ve slept in woven hair
and swallowed flesh whole.

I’ve tasted stinging sweat,
olfactioned pheromonial vapors
(stimulating ion flow)
and cradled spines in my small hands.

I’ve seized muscles
with lactic acid,
witnessed minute earthquakes,
shimmers and tickles,

Tides have ebbed,
waves have crested,
white-water emersions.

Peeled away from sticky sleep,
I’ve left in darkness

slowly

silently

show?

The Amateur Critic

Let’s speak for a moment
of the amateur critic,
while some are enlightening
most are pathetic.

Teased in high school
now they bite back.
They tear down your writings
with a quip and a crack.

Then there’s the ones
for whom this one rhymes,
who are only concerned
with meter and time.

Watch your spelling
and forget to use license.
Correct punctuation, remember
writing’s a science.

Well, there are no rules
and life is just a game
and I tossed the instructions
into the box from which it came.

You’d do good
to take lesson from me
open your mind
and then you can see.

Writing’s subjective
and a relative issue
if you can find time
I’ll discuss it with you.

Stop thinking that God
taught you Lit 101.
Lay down the rulebook
and try to have fun.

For those who are scared
about what they may say,
never let these critics
stand in your way.

But if they do get you down
and your about to say "fuck it."
Send the Critic one more
about the man from Nantucket.

Melting Point

I once melted
You may have been there
Because, when you melt
you melt as a pair.

I once melted
and perhaps left a stain.
Then slowly evaporated
returning as rain.

I once melted.
I’m not one of a few.
I hope that you’ve all
melted a time or two.

I once melted
and need to once more
because, being solid
is becoming a bore.

when jung was a child

speckled blue-green granite moon puddles give catalytic twists to already entwined guts adding fervor to my wonderful agony spinning brains and contorted smiles marvel with bewilderment near anger and self-questioning self-reckoning misunderstandings what did we do when jung was a child and before the philosophers awoke who did we ask then fever and sleeplessness bring chemical change theres another thought of her this time it stabs to the bone and grabs hold of my deepest of emotions or so i think i study my own reactions as if to find something to grasp something with which to pull myself up the warm eastern wind reminds me of home yet i never feel sick at least not to the degree that i should i remember shorter days from my youth and find familiarity in todays decisions though this doesnt connote wisdom i do feel enlightened i pass the upper side of my hand slowly and gently down the smooth curve of her cheek she doesnt seem to notice shes thinking again i fear one step forward and two steps back i listen to my mind chant this new mantra i wait once again for my feelings to shake loose i find a friend and try to explain i try to forfeit my inhibitions and find that they are load bearing i dont need a wall to crumble not now not with so much being supported what has happened to my discontent where have all the rules gone those that i spent so much time to develop those that have specific functions if ive let down my guard then where do i find protection i reassure myself that instinct and intuition are to be trusted especially when well trained we sit closer in proximity than can be considered comfortable for anyone other than lovers we sit alone i watch her lips part slightly with a confirming smile and immediately find consolation now its my turn