There are ever-expanding Circles that I am part of. Some encompass just you and me. Others? The whole race. I long to be part of that more Giant whole and often sense The grace in that. Other times, that global circle Is too much abstraction and I long only to join with you In mutual […]
In the late 1980’s, I left my former profession and moved to California to “do music and nothing else”. Just saying that was not enough. I quickly found out that I had to pay the bills. And those California bills were considerably more costly than the ones I had left behind in Texas. At many
In my previous post, I listed five things we (you and I) can do to bring playfulness to our daily lives. Now, I’d like to offer five ongoing inspirations — projects, tools and organizations — that have been helpful to me in keeping play present in my life. I hope they can be helpful to
5 things you can do to keep play in your life and the world Read More »
The bass player’s fingers are doing A tiny, delightful dance; Rollicking and frolicking under The soloing ivories. He knows how to find The rhythm and pitch that Blend to perfection; Interweaving interplay. Far from the dance of two Left feet: this is the spontaneous Movement that flows from soul To soul – his, yours, mine, ours.
When warm (Or even temperate) 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. ~ spontaneously composed by Stan Stewart Copyright © 2011 by muz4now, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
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
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?
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
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
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. ~ by Stan Stewart Copyright
