No Bones About It he said.

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In the performance of one’s own work, the artist is given a glimpse from the Other Side and must be left free to choose all the components which seem to best interpret that rare instant.

Only the artist can be accountable for the expression of that creative moment in time.

Only the artist can be assumed to be sufficiently competent to make whatever choices would hopefully best portray that rare moment.

The words, the lilt, the carriage and yes, the costumery are among the many choices that must be left to the artist.

The antithesis of creativity is conformity.

If others must choose then please, consider the supposed neutrality of nudity. Would the audience best  remember The Speak or The Streak?

A friend of mine told me the other day that he hadn’t a creative bone in his body. I requested he not make fun of his skull and reminded him that at 6 months old his creative bone was actively engaged in a new idea every second of every waking minute.

© Lee Broom

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Living and Serving and Moving Along

lee_broom

 

Competitive spirit, the will of the weak
Line item listings
Of proof.
Wasted moments of life without purpose
Uncomfortably
Long of tooth.

So where are they now; What purpose was served
What evidence
Did survive?
(Arms out. Now walk. Now jump up and down.
Replicate
Signs of Life.)

Competitive spirit; no more to be seen.
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Gone.
Service to Others; a life now with purpose
Confidence second to
None
Life again moving
Along.

By Lee Broom

 

Midnight Sun Shine on me

Big_BANG

Hi there Pink Cheeks.

Are your toenails blue?
Do you feel all new?
Like the morning dew?

What color was your nose
when you rose
to check the temp of this brand new morn?

Did your jungle come to life
In the middle of the Night?

Did the Midnight Sun
Shine a light on your buns
As you slid from the covers once more?

Golly, but you sure  are pretty on this nice warm day
Let’s go out to play
Whaddaya say
Or would ya rather invite me in today?

No way?

Okay.

From Leadership: A Love Story
By Lee Broom.

On Pajamas

lee_broom

Re: the open mike for poets affair for which I am scheduled; yes its okay with me if everyone else wants to wear pajamas to these events but I’d like to say this about that.

On pajamas:

In the performance of one’s own work, the artist is given a glimpse from the Other Side and must be left free to choose all the components which seem to best interpret that rare instant.

Only the artist can be accountable for the expression of that creative moment in time.

Only the artist can be assumed to be sufficiently competent to make whatever choices would hopefully best portray that rare moment.

The words, the lilt, the carriage and yes, the costumery are among the many choices that must be left to the artist.

The antithesis of creativity is conformity. I would not want to be standing on stage costumed for the performance of my own creation in what I refer to as my D.C. suit and see everyone in the audience dressed as though ready for bed.

If others must choose then please, consider the supposed neutrality of nudity. Would the audience best  remember, The Speak or The Streak?

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Felves by Lee Broom

 lee_broom

“I’m perfectly happy with my perfect self”

Said the perfectly happy, perfect elf

“Except for only one thing.

I never learned how to sing.”

“Sing?” Trilled the fairy with a voice so clear

“I will give you a voice we’ll all love to hear”

She waved her wand; it went “bling”

“Now let your new voice ring.”

Elf opened wide and tried his new sound

The loveliest voice so mellow, so round

Except for only one thing

He no longer wanted to sing .

“I was perfectly happy with my perfect self”

Said the formerly happy, perfect elf

“Except for only one thing

I didn’t know how to sing.”

“Now that I’m perfect there is nothing to change

There’s nothing at all left to rearrange

Perhaps if I had some wings”

Fairy waved her wand; it went “bling”.

If you’re looking for a happy ending there is only Now. But let’s suppose that the elf is an ordinary elf much like you and I. Elf discovered that his new voice was not new at all; he had been so enamored with his new persona that he failed to notice that his fairy friend now spoke with the husky voice which had once been his and that Fairy no longer had wings. The swap was irreversible. They now must learn to accept themselves and each other or spend the rest of their days being miserable.

Elf decided that Fairy must have loved him a bushel and a peck as the old song goes and he gave her a hug around the neck as the old song continues.

“Will you marry me” he trilled.

“Yes I will, yes I will”, she croaked.

So they were married by an elfin priest in the Magical Church of Fairyland and promised to spend their lives together, loving and sharing and maybe even raising some little felves. I never did learn how it all turned out. Are they happy together? Are they together? Are they…..? if I hear anything I’ll let you know.

© Lee Broom