Vaudeville

 

Vaudeville transcends all love

You have a hat and just one glove

And perhaps a cane.  It is enough!

You know we are the stuff

Dreams are made on.  As was said

By some guy who finally went to bed

After all the shows and shows.

What vaudeville means...why no-one knows.

 

Love is love and love is nil

Without the thrill of vaudeville

When love is there why love has flown

And you discover you must dance alone

Not for yourself.  Ah, that's the key

And is vaudeville's great mystery

You look out always from the stage

And hear the music and feel the rage

Of dancing always against death.

There!   And this.  You take a breath

And put out one foot and then another

Never wondering why you bother

You dance for you.  You dance for her.

You dance and it does not occur

That as you dance you name your love

Or think of the paper moon above.

You dance to live and love just then.

To conquer where.   To conquer when.

And because not to do that would soon kill

The human love that's vaudeville.

 

Third Murderer

I saw Warren Buffet on a truffet.
He kicked my ass.
I showed Donald Trump my Heffalump.
He turned on the gas.

It’s hard out here.  You can’t hardly gets your breath.
With all these Third Murderers.  Like in Macbeth.

Tom McGrath is dead.
And Adorno is too.
Many more have fled.
This overstocked zoo.

It’s hard out here.  You can’t hardly gets your breath.
With all these Third Murderers.  Like in Macbeth.

Poetry doesn’t change a thing.
You’re not sure that’s right.
You awake and sing
The World of Lite.

It’s hard out here.  You can’t hardly gets your breath.
With all these Third Murderers.  Like in Macbeth.

Everything’s ok.
You got your Sunday toot.
All’s a play.
Go, bid the soldiers shoot.

It’s hard out here.  You can’t hardly gets your breath.
With all these Third Murderers.  Like in Macbeth.

Angels is coming.
Trumpets are flourishing.
He knows were dumb
And continually perishing.

It’s hard out here.  You can’t  hardly gets your breath.
All my pretty ones?   All?  Just like in Macbeth.

 

 

Poem Written at Twenty Below

 

Up here in Yellow Knife we got a weekly paper.

Comes out once a month.

"First baby of 2005 born to the Olsens!"

Of course.

You can't go by Pat's Czech American Grill without wanting to go in."

So true.

Got a guy who writes a column: "From My Fiery Heart."

Really.  One of those "did you ever?" things.

"Did you ever notice the sound the snow makes

When it's falling and it's 20 below?"

Can't say what it is.  But it's a serious sound.

That's serious snow.

Got another guy...the one who wrote the poem

About the snow plow driver in Chicago in 71

Who went crazy -- plowed fifty four cars into the river.

The poem was "oddly sympathetic to the driver" they said.

Icicles on Bicycles.

Our town is "Our Town"

Rescuing Polacks from snowdrifts happens most days.

On the hill the cemetery

And the dead talking.

Married six years and she's on the hill and...

Someplace in my house I have a letter

From my Great Aunt.

Her boy, Noel, missing in North Africa, 1942.

Missing not dead she said

Missing not dead she said and ten years later

I have the letter she wrote

"Oh, who will help me find my baby boy?"

There's the Little Indian Sioux River off the Echo trail.

Really.

You say everything twice when it's twenty below.

Except:

When the planet was young sailing ships conducted

commerce upon the five mighty oceans of Barsoom,

traveling from one fabulous port to another.

Which is what works for me

At twenty below.

 

 

The Tall Hair Blues

 

They say I'm ugly and they're right I guess.

They say I'm ugly and they're right I guess.

Some say I look like a plugged up Porgy.

Some say I look like a drunked up Bess.

 

Went down to the Mojo Man asked him what I can do.

Went down to the Mojo asked him what I can do.

Told him I want some of that sweet sweet loving too.

 

He said "Drink this potion. Then get outta my place.

Drink up this motion potion and get outta my place.

Give me fifty dollars. I don't want to see your face.

 

You'll look like a Beatle. That potion make your hair grow long.

Maybe you'll look like Ringo.  But your hair gonna be long.

Maybe you got an ugly hairstyle. Maybe that’s all that's wrong."

 

But I ain't like the others.  Hair roll and flow so beautifully.

But I ain't like all the others.  Hair roll and flow so beautifully.

I'm the Lonliest Ranger.  My poor hair grow vertically!

 

Went down to South Philly.  Gals give me such looks!

Went walking down South street.  All the gals give me those looks.

One said "Hey mister, you in those record books?"

 

Walked away from those mean women. Hair got caught up on a electric wire.

Walked away from those mean women. Wire was twenty feet or higher.

Listen to em all.  "That funny man's on fire."

 

When you got tall hair you're gonna ride the Midnight train.

When you got tall hair you're gonna ride the Midnight train.

Have to sit on top of the coal car.  Smokestack lightning in your brain.

 

The Tall Hair Blues.