A (wise) man of two faces
Musings, commentary, and the occasional parade of novelty.

Updates Monday - Friday

Celeste

I listen for the song
every time that I go out.
I can’t help but sing along
and sometimes dance about.

I hear it in the breeze,
howling through the moors,
stirring up the trees,
and racing ‘long the shores.

I hear it on a sunny day
and more-so from the moon
in every golden, glowing ray
and each quiet, silver croon.

The voice of the world soul
out and about for a stroll.


Asphalt acoustics

I’m cruising down the street,
listenin’ to the music play,
grooving to the beat,
and feeling what they say.

I gotta watch my speed,
it wants to match the groove,
because I feel the need
to move, Move, MOVE!

I check my mirror for The Man
'cause the pull is just too strong.
I’m gonna give it all I can -
this feeling’s beyond right and wrong.

Sometimes it’s just about finding the right pace
for those little accompaniments to life’s rat race.


Shrouded in song

I wear each and every note

like the finest winter coat

that keeps me quite warm

through the raging storm

of a world at my throat.


Friday night in a bar

With the smooth music of the band,

it’s a wonder the crowd can even stand

'cause they love drinking beer

and raising a hearty cheer

in honor of their homeland.


The sanguine song

Do you have music in your veins,
that pulse of fire deep inside -
the kind you look for in soft refrains?

You pull it out with such sweet strains
of fingertips that grip and glide.
Do you have music in your veins?

Brought to life with such pains
you can hear in each note the pride,
the kind you look for in soft refrains.

Falling as gently as the rain
and rocking as hard as the tide.
Do you have music in your veins?

You refine it until all that remains
is a phantasmagoric, sensual ride,
the kind you look for in soft refrains.

That kind of passion never wanes
and takes the long years all in stride.
Do you have music in your veins,
the kind you look for in soft refrains?

Dedicated to Toubab Krewe, without whom this poem would not exist.