Like beads are the years
that we string to make our lives.
Many times choosing the forms, weights, colors.
More often taking whatever is offered or found.
Your necklace seems of pearl
light and smooth.
Easy to the eye.  
Mine, a patchwork of random creation.
Here, harmony.  
There, mismatched and oddly combined.  
But not unbeautiful.  
A strong string runs through the middle of the two.
Faithfully bearing the uneven weight
and the growing heaviness
of our ever-filling lives

Blessed Sun worshipers , pining for ardent piedmont
mosaics , followers of the stain glass canopy 'neath
Carolina blue windows ..                                                               ­                                Keepers of the Sycamore , Maple morn
Students of the Summer woodland religiosity ,
of songbird marvel and honeysuckle arbor

Let's talk about heroes
the everyday kind
a Jordanian principal
at a school for girls
offering a simple solution
rather than slamming
another hateful door
in the faces of children
who have done nothing
to create the war
forcing their families to flee
or die in the hateful dust
clouding the world's vision

the school is overcrowded
but when Syrian mothers beg
for their children to be taught
instead of saying     no room
the principal asks each girl
to bring a chair and she will
find room for one more
students walk to school
carrying multi-hued chairs
so many eager daughters
classrooms full beyond bursting
but the principal keeps her promise
none are turned away

a loving heart refusing
to be the lock on the gate
offering instead a key
a mother's simple wish
for her daughter to write her own name
becoming  "maybe she will be a doctor"
a seven-year-old girl declaring
"I want to be smart"
the world begins anew
with open arms, willing minds
perched on the edge
of bright plastic chairs
asking only teach me

*I am hungry to learn

I'm delectably drowning in
Jazz.......
Fingers skimming in elegant beauty over ivory keys
Perfection hovering in discord as
Horns reverberate in
An avalanche of sound rumbling through the valley of my soul
Delicate guitars swinging to a beat
Each note a sensation as it sings with delicious vibrato
Drums dancing though time and space
Titillating trails of rhythm evaporating as brush kisses skin
And there
Finally .....
Cool
Dignified
The master of my pleasure
An upright bass .......
Bringing it home in a
Sumptuous aural ******......

(C) Pixievic

Rancorous Ole Bullfrog , snoring on a paddy , clear your pipes and carry that voice across the quiet marshland , low country valley .. Start the dandy evening opus with low bass tones , croak a silly song with that golden throat trombone , find a whippoorwill and lay down a duet you 'Old Hambone'*!