T TURTLE

When we moved into our house, there was a notch at the bottom of the stockade fence. It was just the right size for a certain box turtle to crawl through. It was too perfect a portal not to have been carved for just that purpose. The turtle in question was about four or five inches in diameter. The letter “T” was painted on it’s shell in red, obviously an old marking. The paint job had split at the seams as the turtle grew. I called it “T Turtle” and allowed it free, unmolested range in and out and throughout my yard. I always kept a sharp eye out for T Turtle on lawn mowing day. Eventually, T Turtle moved on. I haven’t seen it for decades. Perhaps, the neighbors’ kid took T Turtle when they moved. Maybe, it was just a recurring dream I used to have.

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INSOMNIA

Well, we went out tonight
and ate some rich foods
drank a late mocha cappuccino
which really obtrudes
while I stare at the ceiling
and pray for a snooze
but I got a wicked bad case
of those old circadian rhythm and blues

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MERMAID DANCE

All of the monkeys
Swimmin' in the sea
They twitch their tails
They all agree
Whirl like a dervish
Plunge into a trance
Gleamin' like a star fish
Doin’ the mermaid dance

Darlin’ I’m in love with you
You know that it’s true
I feel so happy
When we’re under the sea
Darlin’ when you dance with me

All of the mermaids
Swingin' in the trees
They swish their tails
They all agree
Mambo with a mantra
Jazz into a trance
Tango ala tantra
Doin’ the mermaid dance

Darlin’ I’m in love with you
You know that it’s true
I feel so happy
When we’re under the sea
Darlin’ when you dance with me

Flamingos salsa in the snow
Tikis lambada with the buffalo
All God’s children
Just want the chance
To blow their minds
Doin’ the Mermaid Dance

Darlin’ I’m in love with you
There’s nothin’ I can do
I feel so happy
When we’re under the sea
Darlin’ when you dance with me

All of the penguins
Streakin' in the skies
They thump their tails
And roll their eyes
Drift into a daydream
Rumba with romance
Prancin’ in a pipe dream
Doin’ the mermaid dance

Darlin’ I’m in love with you
You know that it’s true
I feel so happy
When we’re under the sea
Darlin’ when you dance with me
Darlin’ when you dance with me

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YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE

Wrote a song about Willie Nelson
I didn’t have much to say
So I threw in a bit about Merle Haggard
and George Jones along the way
Then I nailed the deal with Hank Williams
Senior and Junior for a double play
Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash
and that guy that used to tell Leon to “take it away!”
Wrote a song about all those old Country stars
the ones the radio won’t never play
I wrote me a song that drops a lotta names
and I’m a recording star today!
Wrote a song about Willie Nelson
that sounds more like Jimmy Buffett (rhymes with hay)
Wrote a song about Willie Nelson
because I ain’t got nothin’ to say

Thank you very much!

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TRANSPOSITION

A HEINTZMAN Transposing Piano sparkles in the far corner of the apartment, brightly illuminated by a broad shaft of swirling, dusty sunlight.

The floor creaks. The whole place smells like old death on a bun. An unlikely place to realize enlightenment, but Klezmer Ann Bacon feels a rush of clarity. She seems to astral travel across the room to it.

Her right index finger softly strikes and holds the Middle C key.  D Sharp resounds like a temple gong.

“Are you experienced?”

“Who said that?” she whispers. Klezmer Ann knows. She knows the voice must belong to Irving Berlin, the late, great composer. This must have been his piano! And now, Klezmer Ann can possess the piano for next to nothing, which is all she can afford in rent anyway.

Irving Berlin certainly owned transposing pianos. But, this is not one he ever owned, played, or even saw for that matter.

The voice is not the ghost of Irving Berlin. It is just some gibberish mumbled by Jazz musician Truman Taft. He is roused  from a miasmatic dream by the piano note. His apartment bedroom shares a thin wall with the adjoining apartment’s living room. Now, he too enters an abstract plane of reality.

Klezmer Ann sits on the shabby, carpeted stool and plays “The Song Has Ended (But The Melody Lingers On),” an Irving Berlin composition. The notes she hears are not the notes she plays on the keyboard. She has no idea how to adjust the mechanism of the Heintzman. It only reinforces the mad inspiration that she is actually in the presence of Irving Berlin’s ghost.

Truman is abruptly wide awake, and suddenly aware of what the deal is. He too is disturbed by the odd key of the familiar old standard. But, he’s lived here long enough to know the score. “Up the tempo a bit, baby!” he shouts helpfully.

Klezmer Ann takes it as a command from Irving. She obeys.

The landlord stands chortling at the door.

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NATURE

Danger lurks in deep Bermuda

grass, where in meditation pose

I ponder thus on insect foes:

Why can’t bugs be more like Buddha?

As I’m chanting in the fresh air,

those fuckers bite my derriere,

swarm like tiny barracuda,

fly down my throat and buzz my ears!

Though I respect them as my peers,

I wish bugs were more like Buddha,

and helped to end my suffering.

A mantra I’m left muttering:

Why can’t bugs be more like Buddha?

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ELVIS

Elvis owned a U.F.O.
Flying off to the stars and converse 
with the creatures that he came to know 
on his travels through the universe. 

Elvis loved his Cadillacs. 
Liked to buy them for all his friends. 
But the U.F.O. he kept under wraps 
and only took it out on weekends. 

Elvis was born in Tupelo. 
In Memphis, I heard, is where he died. 
But they never did find his U.F.0. 
So maybe, he just went for a ride.

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