Men Are All Just Little Boys Grown Older

Men Are All Just Little Boys Grown Older.
© carol voccia....


Capturing starlight in jars

While the wind catches their sails

Rockets keep the tail wind jetting

Only to crash in deep oceans

.. ..

Pick them up and

Dust off

They roam in assertiveness

Searching to land in the arms of soft verse and

Sweet milk

.. ..

Never venturing too far

From safe thighs

* Aug 18, 2010

His Jazz
..........

.. ..

I know his jazz

It plays under his breath

I smell his zeal in simple

Tasks done with care

He listens with intent

He smiles wide drinking

Up the sun

Catching the stars that

Are in my voice

.. ..

I hear his jazz that

Plays into his day

Like surf and sand shifting under

His feet

Bring'n it on

Each move calculated but natural in its

Delivery

.. ..

I see his jazz in artistic paint

Strumming his beat in red and

Wild streaks

Catching the wind in sails that don’t

Yet exist as he pulls his canvas taut

Nothing escapes his wandering eye

Lay'n it down in puzzle form

.. ..

I opened his jazz
Like a map

Once folded tight

Now spread out
Arching vain trails to the wild adventure

Each step inching toward

Destination rewards

Solid moving along each path

Unearthing surprises

.. ..

He wraps this jazz around

Each day

Watching and waiting for

The sun to set

Oh, not on the west
mind you

But on his crown

An amathyst mast head
Of prayer and some dumb luck

Wielding the wide world of attraction

In his flow'n grov'n Jazz


for jmh