“Images,” by Tyrone Greene
As read by Bill Jones, Jr. Originally read on Saturday Night Live by Eddie Murphy.
100 Days of Art – Day Last: Time Long Past
Due to lack of interest, given the time it takes to put these posts together, I have decided to end this series at Day 36. Thanks to all who stopped by. Time Lost Past by Percy Bysshe Shelley Like the ghost of a dear friend dead Is Time long past. A tone which is…
100 Days of Art – Day 34: Ode to Joy
The final movement from Ludwig von Beethoven’s 9th and final symphony ranks among my and the rest of the world’s favorite pieces of music. The fact that he composed this in his head, while totally deaf, explains how music and art really works with the artist. Senses aren’t required, because the artist is the art.…
100 Days of Art – Day 25: But I Can Dance Among the Clouds
I cannot dance upon my Toes by Emily Dickinson I cannot dance upon my Toes — No Man instructed me — But oftentimes, among my mind, A Glee possesseth me, That had I Ballet knowledge — Would put itself abroad In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe — Or lay a Prima, mad, And though I…
100 Days of Art – Day 23: Inner City Blues
So you say you never heard of the ‘Inner City Blues’ And what’s more you don’t understand at all What the ghetto folks mean about ‘living behind walls’? Then put on your best suit, white shirt and tie And come on downtown to stand in line For a job washing dishes, but you may not…
Angel Wanted, Inquire Within
angel wanted, call within loving needed, heart to mend hours long, but work is fun skies are blue, with plenty sun tables waiting, food is hot cook is friendly, neighbors not no appointment, just walk in meet the owner, new best friend pay commensurate with experience
100 Days of Art – Day 12: Simplicity is Perfection
Originally posted on themortarandpestlelife:
He is gone Away he went The day is done The sun is spent 7/6/14 aeternum
100 Days of Art – Day 11: Castles
Princess pose for me We’ll pretend to be strangers My stallion awaits
100 Days of Art – Day 10: Dreams Deferred
Harlem By Langston Hughes What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?
100 Days of Art – Day 9: Luv Pomes
Roses are red and violets are blue. die, bitch. “To the Girl who works at Starbucks down the street from my house on Del Mar Heights Road; I swear to God, I’m not a stalker.” It’s not that I don’t love you more that I can’t remember where I end and you begin. I love…
