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March 19, 2020

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A Moveable Feast  


You need an excuse to be out here,

When it’s August, I mean August and how –

Out here on the street, getting whupped by the heat.

I think the sun must be having a cow.


The girls walk by, mint juleps with legs,

But they’re only mirages, like you see in the desert.

You can drink with your eyes, but not with your lips.

And try not to stare, just take discreet little sips.


People drive by, got that look in their eyes:

You got to cook the books just to survive.

They got air cooled cars, but their brain is fried.

In the land of plenty they eat you alive.


Yes I live in the city, the American melting pot.

Today seems like it could melt down and blow.

We should call this a holiday for heaven’s sake.

Of all the dog days of summer, this one takes the cake.




The sun cruises the sky, like a low rider high,

On the fumes from the cosmic equation.

He looks down, sees us doing our dog eat dog thing,

and says Good grief is that how their parents raised them?


Pity God, says the sun, but what can he do?

He can punish then, but what’s the point?

They punish themselves to the max like it is.

He just has to watch while they tear up the joint.




I keep on walking, for whatever reason,

When the clock strikes three, it’s time for tea.

So I have a little taste, for heaven’s sake.

And soon I’m reminded of why I partake.


Now you’re talkin’ my language I say, my compliments

To the chef, Mother Nature -- seems to care

More than we think, she gives us a wink,

There’s a garden of goodies waiting for us out there.


A spoonful, a pipeful, not to mention old hooch --

Like Easter eggs we’ll find every last one.

For thousands of years, a moveable feast.

It seems Mrs. God wants us to have fun.


But here in the land of a thousand dances,

Those goodies come with a price.

You pays your money and you takes your chances.

You could get bunk, or say hello to the vice.

They’re out to get us, for sure – but for now I’m not worryin’

The birds are singing my song, the world’s on my side.

People’s eyes have a light, like were in it together,

We’re loose but we’re tight, like birds of a feather.


Skateboarders roll by, get their kicks on the fly,

And they’re high  -- on the freedom that others have squandered.

Why’s their homework not done? ‘Cause it’ boring, no fun.

You want the chain gang or the wild blue yonder?


Skaters look around them and say – Mama mia!

Was this some joker’s idea, or it’s a natural fact?

We’re on borrowed time, the earth is dying,              

In a world of crime. Why can’t we learn how to act?


For now I’m as good as a skateboarder,

My heart is pure and clean like a reggae man.

For now I’m who I really want to be.




But remember, tomorrow, when the spell wears off,

You better look out, or you’ll be back at the trough.

Lookers and loot, schmoozers of ill repute --

Since we come out the chute, since the Garden of Eden.


Some blame the snake, some blame Eve,

Some say even Adam had tricks up his sleeve,

But however you spin it, or call it a yarn,

When we got free will, the horse was out of the barn.


Like latchkey children we’re on our own.

We make it up as we go along.

And though we may be the weirdest monkey by far,

Fly to the moon and drive around in cars,


For all our gains, what have we lost when we pull

Away from nature to stage our own show.

Fish don’t laugh, and birds don’t cry,

Or when they do you’d hardly know it.


No one writes obituaries when they die.

But we can’t tell what they think, how they do things they do.

Have you ever seen a flock of birds moving as one?

We haven’t a clue, but it sure looks like fun



A breeze kicks up, and takes the edge off the heat.

I head to the park, find a bench, have a seat

Two guys are playing  sax and congas

Spicing the air with an afro samba.


I kick back for the show and take it all in,

Basketball, frisbees, moms pushing strollers,

Little tikes in peddle cars out for a spin,

And the dogs are all digging it, wearing a grin.


When the night comes on I make the party scene

At the picnic tables, lanterns glowin, BBQ’s goin’

People hangin’ out, dance and do their thing.

Kids runnin’ ‘round, boom box gently blowin’


Yeah, the best parties’r low budget, no cooking beats home cooking,

You can’t buy good lovin, the best dancers -- no bank roll.

So why don’t the rich chill, and come down off the hill

Do the Watusi and save their soul?



The night is still warm when I leave to go home.


From the road I look back down at the party –

An island of light, like a birthday cake

Shimmering bright, I close my eyes

And see a kingdom of candles inside.


And so I take another page from the book of life,

And toss it into the night. But I feel sad

That something so dear, should just disappear.

Somehow it doesn’t seem right.


So I like to think time is like a hole in your pocket:

What slips away is always out there somewhere.

The universe can’t erase itself is the idea --

We all have our ideas don’t we, and our prayers?


Our lot seems to be to never be certain,

Even when we think we can see past the curtain.

Yet we’re lucky for so much magic, the magic

Of love that connects us, of toddlers spouting wisdom.


The magic of music, it’s a long trippy list.

So we give thanks, even if we don’t know

Quite who we’re giving thanks to,

And work for a better world.














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