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A veil of peace covers Earth –
A cloak of darkness smothers mirth –
In the black expanse of space, comets keep their pace
To the sound of the stars’ symphony.

Betelgeuse orchestrates –
Sirius bright illuminates –
Galaxy radiation tempo heralds instrumental crescendo
Of the sound of the stars’ symphony.

Pirouette, Rond de jambe,
Pirouette, Rond de jambe
Twirls Nehtor, comet dancer.
Chasse, whisk,
Chasse, wing,
Leading on clumsy Cancer.
A beacon of light as they waltz through the night
And lull the universe to rest.

Musicians of the void
Plucking passing asteroids,
To every tuneful tinkle those time-old trumpets twinkle,
Another starry serenade grows cold.

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When the loins of my mother met the groin of my father,
The egg inside her just couldn’t be bothered.
You could say I was lazy before I was born,
Like the sun in the evenin’ or the moon in the morn’.
You could say I’m just tired from staying up late
Though I turn in at six to wake up at eight.
You could say my mind’s stuck in another timezone,
But the truth of the matter’s I’ve got lazy bones.

Every time I walk the dog,
They’re pulling me down –
Every time I drive through fog,
Feel them weigh upon my crown –
Every time I write my blog
I’m draggin’ the ground –
I’m not a jerk, just overworked
To move these lazy bones.

I searched for a wife to hasten my step
But she realized to do so would be such a shlep
I hoped that her love would make my pounds lighter
But her nagging divided my movements to spite her;
The chores are unfinished, the house is a wreck
With my body laid low by impatient hen-pecks
Our love-making only makes snores from her groans
As I rock her to sleep with my slow lazy bones.

Every day of every week
They’re pulling me down –
Every word I try to speak,
Feel them weigh upon my crown –
Every time she calls me “Bum”
For draggin’ the ground.
I’m not so weak, just born a freak
Cursed with these lazy bones.

I passed on my genetics, my wife her hormones
Since my children all seem like they’ve got lazy bones
Yet blame it on others that they are so slow –
A symptom my sluggish skeleton never shows –
Complaining the world wants to keep them subdued,
That being set up for failure is why they’re so rude,
They spend all their time making friends in their phones
While I spend all our earnings on their lazy bones.

Whose fault is it we’re born like this?
No one’s, I suppose.
But why can’t we seem to shake
These awful lazy bones?
I saw them in my Father, he saw them in his Mom –
If we closed our eyes would we consider it more wrong
To fall prey to lazy bones and waste our lives away?
I cannot say, ‘cause every day
My eyes grow more accustomed –
It’s just humanity.

The relaxed life is gravity –
Just pulling us down.
Profound thoughts inside our heads
Feel like weight upon our crowns –
Earth seems far too cruel a place
Unless we’re draggin’ the ground.
It’s our excuse, the only use
For stuffing our skins with Lazy Bones.

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Yards and miles
Hours and years
How long have you spent waiting here
For coffee you could better at home
If you had time,
A handful of cents,
Rather than spend thrice of both
As loans to Patience
And his tap-tapping foot
In the squall. So tell me why
You spend your life in the Starbucks line?

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Come hop on a barge
to Zanzibar
There’s a beautiful scene
in Zanzibar
The night is serene
at Zanzibar
With credit to charge
for Zanzibar

Zanzibar,
Oh! Zanzibar –
Your pockets be drained by Zanzibar.
You think you’ll withhold
That plastified gold
When wallet unfolds
In Zanzibar.

The spices are fresh
with Zanzibar
The merchant-tents stocked
near Zanzibar
Sandy beaches flocked
by Zanzibar
‘Neath a millionaire-mesh
and Zanzibar.

Zanzibar,
Oh! Zanzibar – 
Throw buck to the breeze of Zanzibar.
For rest you have found
Why not spend a pound
Of your savings sound
In Zanzibar?

Zanzibar,
Oh! Zanzibar –
We welcome you here at Zanzibar.
It’s dry and its hot
But others have thought
They liked life alot.
Thank Zanzibar!

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Hey, Hon-Honey,
Lean this way
And whisper sweet nothings of the day.
You shant stay long, yet long you stay
‘Cause all your life is trifle play.
Pile the heap
Words are cheap
And keep the sheep gloriously gay!

You titter in time
Of betrayal sublime
Of Mr. Rin Revel and the youthful stime
He found in a mistress of titillating prime;
Do you suppose he fess up to the crime?
Spread the word
Amongst the horde
Digging for grime not worth a dime!

Let me know
Of Ritchie Doe
Who will not let his test grades show
Because he goes against the flow;
In study-smarts he drags us in tow –
So chatter on,
Callous caricatures drawn
Of an arrogant child who deserves a hard blow.

Tell me please
Of Margaret Cleese
And the love she seeks on a wayward breeze,
The kind that renders one weak in the knees;
You can tell me, can’t you, with relative ease?
Such a good girl,
To gladly unfurl
Every small secret with no extra tease.

Hey, Hon-Honey,
What’s your deal?
My confidence you can no longer appeal
Since my innermost secrets you greedily steal
And cook up for classmates a malicious meal.
I am betrayed,
But still more dismayed
‘Cause it should have been clear that you cannot conceal.

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Well, my first kiss went a-courtin’
In my 20-nothin’ year –
I shared it with a woman
Lured me dancin’ with her leer.
We met just three times after that
Afore she gripped my mind with fear
That the spice we grew had lost its zest
Since we’d caught up in the heat of that fest
With her hand drawing mine close to breast –
I shoulda second guessed.

Now I say we met three days
But that was part of our two weeks –
She shared a list of guys who gave her
More than pecks on cheeks –
And that, though she has so little friends,
They still make my chance look bleak
Since every plan I make fails the test
If her schedule can’t handle the mess
Till it’s finally laid to unrest –
I shoulda second guessed.

I bought pasta to cook for her
And waited for her heart to stir
But rain checks clouded up our crystal skies –
I was doing laundry while I wait
When her lips then made me hesitate
As I saw them firmly mount another guy’s!

I shoulda known that three months visit
Was too short a time to love,
Despite her dreams of single mothering
Without bonds from up above –
But now I see why loyalty
Must have a future to behove:
Marriage is why dating does exist –
So each person feels that they must invest
Or else one ends up rather pissed
Because the other was wrong to confess
Being just another dog in a dress –
I shoulda kept my kiss.

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When life’s got you bogged in the trenches,
Beaten senseless by dandies and wenches,
Keep high in mind should you feel low in soul
The fact that la vie est drôle!

La vie est drôle, my friend, my friend –
La vie est drôle, my friend.
Passed down through the ages
Via fools professed sages:
La vie est toujours drôle!

When a sprite spits you smack in the face
‘Pon confessing your love for her grace,
Avoid depression’s dipole dragging down a dark hole –
Embrace her! La vie est drôle!

La vie est drôle, my boy, my boy –
La vie est drôle, my boy.
And should she call for you dead,
Just stroke her sweet head:
La vie est toujours drôle!

When you miss that promotion you seek
Since men chart girls’ futures as bleak,
Raise high the flagpole, signal bra-burning goal:
Revolución! La vie est drôle!

La vie est drôle, my lass, my lass –
La vie est drôle, my lass.
Dost your knife and fork pine
For chauvinist swine?
La vie est toujours drôle!

See Big Brother tax all that you earn
For pernicious programs openly spurned?
Why work for payroll wasted on Nympho-control?
Retire at forty! La vie est drôle!

La vie est drôle, my child, my child –
La vie est drôle, my child.
Watch the bread for your house
Spoil the slug and his louse:
La vie est toujours drôle!

When life slowly winds to Fate’s end
And you feel your will breaking its bend,
Before Death has stole to hark his bell’s toll:
Jack-in-the-Coffin! La vie est drôle.

La vie est drôle, my dear, my dear –
La vie est drôle, my dear.
If three things are certain,
They are death, taxes, and
La vie est toujours drôle!

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Oh Lady Fate the Pastry Chef!
Bake us a pie if you can –
I’ve an appetite for Destiny
And I’ve brought my ravenous friends.
Your lovely pasties have a knack:
To make five tastes from one –
But whether or not they are divine
We cannot decide upon.

My friend Optimist puts her focus
On the crispy ruffles of crust;
Whether the middle is cooked or not –
She’s been satisfied enough.
On she goes and eats the rest
Expecting last bites like the first
And, if they’re not, she’ll think they are
Since it all could be much worse.

My rival Pessimist hates the pie
As soon as the oven is open;
Yet every moan he makes for cake
Is delivered with a grin.
Picking glumly at the slice,
Wishing it was more
Despite the gripes a thicker piece
Triples from before.

My sister Realist cares not for pies
But will give it a go anyway
Because she said she would at first
And our drive took five and fifty.
With all our eyes glued on her
She’ll shovel bite after bite
Never telling it’s hard to chew
(Complaining hurts her pride).

My brother Pragmatist gobbles it all
For the nutritional value in store –
If asked whether he thinks its good
He’ll have to eat lots more.
Then we’ll wait to see his waist –
If it has grown in size
He’ll swear off pastries altogether,
Leaving us to exercise.

And I, Christian, am simply blessed
To share with friends your pie;
When the filling fits the foiled mold –
When it’s moist or dry –
When it bursts with flavors rich
Or when my gut still yearns –
I’m grateful for what’s promised: pies.
Then laud the best returns.

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Oh, I am the lonely Jazz-Man,
Bowing hard most every day;
The Sax, Trombone, and Trumpet
Won’t persuade these folks to stay,
But still I heave my utmost
To try and earn their applause –
Yet the conversation spurs hesitation
And my award is an awkward pause.

I am a Martyred Musician,
A prophet on the stage.
The skill I had in younger years
Has grown untuned with age.
I used to love my instrument,
But now can’t stand its sight
‘Cause my huff-and-puff don’t amount to snuff
Or sympathy for my plight.

Oh, I am the ragged Blues Boy,
Playing toot-toot on my horn.
The only pleasure left in life
I find jerking off to porn.
Every hour I see chairs filled up
As full as my jar of tips,
Which is to say, in a kinder way,
This is a House of Drips.

I stand, the begotten Swing King,
A heartthrob come to pass.
The dough I once made naturally
I make half to bust my ass.
My serenades all are old hat,
My riffs far past their prime –
So here I sing, playing my own heart strings
As I weep my deafened rhyme.

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I am gifted on the piano
So you might say –
A seasoned musician, a talented virtuoso
With miraculous fingers –
But, you must understand, I’m actually no pianist at all
But a painter.
These keys are my palette, their notes my paint,
And the colors parade as I plink, never faint,
Always vibrant when dancing
Sewing the backs of my eyelids
With threads that defy description in
Otherworldly patterns and godly shades
Until my eyes burst open
And hues wash across the crowd
As an expertly knit blanket of sound –
Then, my mind is lost
In this synesthesiac ecstacy –
Weaving on my bench I knit a cosmos
Where eye and ear are one
And the audience is myself, but multiplied,
Varied as an A from an A-flat and an F from an E-sharp
Or Green from White and Purple from Violet –
Round and round, schizophrenic critics we, bobbing to that musical canvas,
My nimble fingers leading the conductor’s paintbrush
Which also happens to be myself, playing a guitar
Bound by boar-hair bristles
That produce a soft, powerful vibration
To clash with the business of the piano
keys
As drums bounce for one side, then the other,
Miniature canvases that control their own beats with their own
pedal
Designed to speed up the painting, not prolong the sound,
Thus enhancing the chaos rather than driving it to frustration
Until TING!

The triangle.
The three points of our complex,
Our all-encompassing,
Our contradicting waves,
Broken down to simplistic harmony –
Silencer of everything with its calming shade of clear.

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