Unspoken Word
May 21, 2017
Written During a David Sancious Treehouse Concert in His Home


The hieroglyphic message of this moment can never be translated no matter how hard I try. Or don't. It feels like walking into a room where the most beautiful woman in the world is slowly undressing and, in her own time, glances over her shoulder in my direction, me not having a clue whether or not she is looking at me or simply seeing something far off in the distance. A blue jay? The moon? The wind? There is absolutely no density here, no plan, nothing cut in stone, no ground -- just the perfume of this perfect moment beyond time -- the place where Rumi dwelled... and Mozart... the space between molecules... the pause between breath... where we all exist when there is nowhere else to go. Freedom, my friends! Freedom! Somersaulting into endless space without going anywhere. Kind of like Chuck Berry walking into a guitar store before he ever understood what music was.

David Sancious

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:33 AM | Comments (0)

May 04, 2017
The Underground of Love


Underground Clubjpg.jpg

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August 22, 2016
When the Rain Begins

Exquisite new song and slide show by Stuart Hoffman and Jennifer Edwards. Vocals by Stephen Rivera.

Stuart's YouTube channel

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August 20, 2016


There's a billion jazz men in my blood blowing their horns for love.

They've been out on the street too long to wonder what the hell is going on -- for in their freedom -- in their utmost respect for recklessness, they know that life is but a high note held above the head of anyone who listens.

Happy to be playing on a night when others less fortunate than them are recovering from day jobs, these jazz boppers restore all integrity to the underground club that is my body here in this nether world of friends and future lovers.

I sing with them! I dance! I tap my soul to the beat of their incessant drumming! And though they do not need to look at me, they smile.

What I see I cannot say, nor can this midnight review redeem the essence of what it is these billion molecules of madness in human form demand. This is the form of God before your eyes! This is the moment of majesty!

Die now and find what wakes the sleeping beauty of your bones. Die now and live.

Jazz men, jazz men, play your horns and drums, pound those keys so the vague interrupters of eternity can finally get up and dance. Jazz men, jazz men, play yourselves -- wind through the leaves, water over stone, echoes off white bones.

Hey you finger drumming soldiers of man's need to stop finding himself, and so stopping, actually find himself to be found. Hey, you street licking bluesmen of the space between day and night, I love your song, your SCREAM for no one in particular.

Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 05:18 AM | Comments (0)

“I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry.”
— John Cage

Welcome to my new blog — brief ruminations on what it is that moves me (and maybe YOU, too). If any of my poems inspire you, please forward them to friends. Good muse travels fast. Or could, with your help.

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