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Nawlins Midsummer

Half busted moon slides across
A night of not much else
Drums beat in a far corner
Quiet are all the Christians’ bells

Too early for sin on a Nawlins porch
Summer-weary friends meet to meet
John facebooks the yard to full
Rosemary arrives and all smiles turn sweet

Half busted moon brushes the wan horizon
People couple and make across the yard to part
John bides all to safely walk and drive
Some head to the Maple Leaf for some sinning to start

Drums warming in a far corner
Still quiet are all those Christian bells
A hot guitar lick kicks the night in gear—
Oh the promise Rosemary’s glinting eye tells

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As It Will

Small people, little people
The Wind knows nothing of these
Big times, noble times
The Rains still fill the trees
Grand Love, Heartbreak
Discover your knees
One death, another last breath
Time passes as it will please

A month ends, a new week shines
No right answer calls
Newborn cries, an old lady sighs
A poor candle spits and stalls
Sun glows, Moon rises
Cold blusters thru the walls
A bell rings, the horde finds the access road
Time and midday traffic stalls

Little people, my people
Earthkind teeming all around
Mere races, many-coloured faces
Trying to keep above ground
Have Faith with Freedom to saith~
I disagree with what you propound
Singers spiel, Dancers reel
Look to what Music has found

Another death, one last breath
Time passes as it will please

Ritardando

Chubby cheeked cherub
Racing with the wind and the cat,
All is simply simple.
All is hugs and parents’ smile.
Now homework weighs so much.
Nary a grin in quite a while.
How goes it?
We’ll see.
So she is now gone
Like a faded away chord.
The little angel has flown;
A young lady is now aboard.
How goes it?
We’ll see.

Now abed in New Burnt Oaks;
The white coat says six months or so.
Daughter is my power attorney—
Do you need anything Papa…no, baby, no.
But do you remember racing the wind?
But do you remember hugs all day?
I’m so sorry I can’t run with you now.
I’m sorry things have turned out this way.
How goes it?
We’ll see.

Now I am gone away
Like a faded away minor chord.
Daughter chases grandson across the yard.
Both are very much simply adored.
How will it all go?
You’ll see.

Etiquette Fail

And so the time has come to go.
Thanks for your time and the Music and the Love;
Wisht I’d better acquitted myself,
And had earned a place up there high above.

But I’s just another fat American
With no one else better to blame;
Like Journalism on the Progressive bias—
All part of the same tired game.

But what are these chest pains:
Signal push-ups or Pearly Gates?
Gotta go to work tomorrow
With a boss who blithely hates.

So, have another glass of merlot—
Twas an unassuming vintage.
But I’ll miss you ever the most:
Thou of sterling mintage.

But it hurts a bit right here,
Around about where my broken heart lies.
Bury me next to Momma or scatter me in Sandbridge;
Try not to mind those nipping sand flies.

But you better not fail me:
You best try to find the Real;
Don’t lie, don’t drug, don’t cheat,
And never, ever lower yourself to steal.

Now, it’s past time to leave.
[Never got that part right]
Adios muchachos,
Bon soir, and good night.

A Great Beginning

Remember when too much was a great beginning
We’re so mature now
Remember how we fell for their sparkling eyes
We’re so much more mature now
Remember when buying the next album was SO TERRIBLY IMPORTANT
We’re so so mature now
Now Mama’s in hospice
Such a really nice place
Cannot remember the room number
She cannot remember my face
Remember Mama’s own too good recipe for love
We’re so getting mature now
Remember that parking space up behind the levee
Oh, too mature for all that now
Remember that first Domilisies’s half-oyster with a Barq’s
But finally I’ve achieved maturity now
One day I’ll be in hospice
Hope it’ll have a really nice place
Cannot find my Medical Power Of Attorney
Cannot find my Advanced Directives any place
But never will I forget those sparkling eyes
Oh but, now so mature and wise
“Beatles’ new record’s a GAS…”

Five?

One glass gone
And my poetry’s weak
Two glass gone
It’s been a week
Three glass gone
I cannot speak
Another glass gone
Am I a freak?
I prefer a little Taylor
With my poignant Lennon
When you party
Who do you lean on?
Nope, no girlfriend
And, so I wine
Naw, no reason
[Put the stereo on ten] let’s all rock on!
One glass gone
Let’s radiate
Two glass gone
Obfusticate
Three glass gone
Prevaricate
Four glass gone
Hey, You, wait!
Who’d have guessed?
If I was depressed
We work in hospice
We’re all a bit stressed
But Sarah then flies free
We all applaud
Is it Summer all ready?
Oh, Lawd, Lawd, Lawd…
One glass gone
And my poetry’s freak
Two glass gone
Hide and seek
Three glass gone
I cannot speak
Another glass gone
I shouldn’t speak…

Go On

The guilty aren’t all punished,
The guilty aren’t all caught,
And life goes on,
Like as not.

The innocent aren’t all saved,
The innocent aren’t all freed,
And life goes on,
Ponderous, without heed.

Chords round, all in a tumble.
Broken bass lines oft fumble;
And life goes on,
All Nature in a jumble.

The deserving aren’t all rewarded,
The deserving aren’t all relieved,
And life goes on,
If such is to be believed.

The worthless aren’t all discarded,
The worthless aren’t all reprieved,
Life goes ever on,
Howsoever we are aggrieved.

Music can find the immaterial,
Poems can manifest the ethereal,
Life’s symphony then finds the coda :||
And we all go on, whether true or venal.

JAZZ FEST Go To The Gospel Tent

I want to go back to the streetcars,
the beads in the trees,
the shady uncle cousin someone
round the corner who has JUST what I need,
just a little after midnight; then
I need that walk the length of Esplanade Blvd
during Jazz Fest to approach that steamy Southern Mecca of Sound
where a southern soul can find release and respite and relish the latest fishy dish;
the only crawfish here is the department of no transportation
as I sit and sit and sit and inch by millimeter creep on home,
at TWO in the afternoon…[the schools aren’t out yet!]!
and all the girls are sworn sisters from the order of pure remorse,
how sad.
Texas friendly…you got the dough, they’ll be your friend,
but all my grapes are sour and its Friday, the stereo is on twelve—
the cd is on capricorn records and a lil band from Georgia…Ah-MAN!
so let’s raise that glass of merlot from St Francis, sonoma valley—
brother gots a pig valve, and aunty is winning at bourre, de cours.
Go to the gospel tent! Where’s that streetcar…