An Artist

He wrote so playfully;

Living every breath.

Renouncing the bane behind;

He displayed all he can.

All he cared about deep inside.

He dared to muddle the meaning

For his own art;

The art which also belonged to others.

He is an artist of clumsy walks;

A first step of a long run.

A breathing and purposeful art

Survives the death of his meaning.

There are answers always

Questioning him.

There are questions always

Answering him.

He scribbled so fruitfully.

A device of worship he found so artistic

And future of brilliance in his craft.

A flavour of senses;

Drenching him in the

Purpose of his flair.

When Poets talk about Jazz 

When poets talk about Jazz

It reminds me how blues sharpen the cry of a guitar.

Musical words spill all over

The soulful page of a poet.

Away from the pages of a poet 

Like an amused solo wanderer

A sign on the lonely crossroad

Stands as the music of a road;

Leading to the calling and thought-out destinations

Jazz again reaches for the words

Blues pause cutting the heart

A start ends peacefully

A cut for a cut again

A broken heart for the blues and Jazz

Jazz is imagination and flights of sensual fantasy

Blues seem like a knowledge forgotten and

Remembered in fragmented revelations still

Bearing the painful past

The best thing is you can wonder and wander

At the same time with these two.

Published by Mike Zone

Mike Zone is the former Editor in Chief of Dumpster Fire Press and managing editor of Concrete Mist Press. The author of Screaming in the End: Poems and Stories, Fuck You: A Fucking Poetry Chap, Shedding Dark Places (almost), One Hell of a Muse , as well as coauthor of The Grind and Razorville. A frequent contributor to Alien Buddha Press and Mad Swirl. His work has been featured in: A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Black Shamrock Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash, Better Than Starbucks, Piker Press, Punk Noir Magazine, Synchronized Chaos, and Cult Culture magazine.

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