RAG TIME SONG

this sap chap

is indulging in the wine

with the mistress of muse,

where she clickity clicks

in her high top boots

with a wild heart

underneath a street lamp

in her everyday stone washed jeans.

she taps me on the shoulder,

“get to writing ya …ya drunken slush!”

i say, “well slush funds for a bum

sometime takes time to develop

in the lines of political bribery!”

but as it goes,

it’s another rag tag –

get to leaving another political stunt

out of the bag

in this rag time song.

SOMETHING FRESH …

between a barmaid and poet

in the high tide blue lustre evening

on a patio deck surrounded by flowers

taking in the dips of the sky,

where the sunset reaches and delivers.

draws in – draws out in convo,

as if both of us were slashes of light.

 

 

 

THE MIRROR ALTERNATIVE

i rub my fingers

upon the cross around my neck,

as if it was a lucky charm,

sippin’ into beauty and passion,

as a soldier dreamer,

kickin’ dust up again,

in the crossfires

with a group of mob expressions,

serving loyalty to art –

in a gotta be someplace,

casting eyes to a goddess,

to find pleasure,

even if forever passing away

to an allegiance

that keeps me afloat in life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

YA GOT ME FALLIN’

1. this is the key

that ya make me see,

to check out

from this hotel

after knockin’ on this door,

to take a trip

down a memory trail mix,

in theĀ  rhythmics

of life’s kicks.

chorus:

ya got me fallin’

next to this guitar

leavin’ this song.

2. give me what ya got,

to hit this spot,

with leavin’ candles burnin’

in these rundown hotel windows

of this early mornin’

catchin’ a rainbow

cuz cuz i’m carryin’ your hangover

in the hangouts

of your whereabouts

in a pop country crush.

chorus:

ya got me fallin’

next to this guitar

leavin’ this song.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SHAKE IT DOWN IN THIS TOWN

hey girl –

it’s a flirtation,

in the surrender

of the s&p index,

from erie to la

on summertime decks

in the counter fits

of cornhole games,

leaving a fix

in the usual politics,

serving up ther drinks,

for a bunch of sore losers,

like an old harpster,

jamming in the strings

from a dust covered guitar,

with another send off,

in a sneak kiss,

in a long lost –

stuck in the mud-

to seize a buck,

in this shake it down,

bandit in this town.