In old New Orleans
Musical lumberjacks
Legitimizing their axes;
Just piano, clarinet,
Bass and the drums.
Bringing jazz back
And then some.

The cat could play
That skinny long black horn,
Hotter clarinet than
Anybody ever born,
He kept hitting notes
So pure and high
We felt each note
In our eyes!

And, if you chance by
Remember this,
They don’t allow dancing.
But when the drummer
Makes works those skins
And makes them talk out
There is plenty of toe-tapping
And nobody ever walks out.

Then, when the guy
Plays that bass fiddle
He adds an underscore
To top bottom and middle.
It’s an underbeat of grace
That will fill the rest space
And the hearts of all
In this overcrowded place.

Vintage jazz roars out
Of an old, old piano
Played by a happy madman
With fingers afire, he knows
He’s got them hooked;
He’s making them wild
As he wails on those keys
He looks out and smiles
And he puts the Satchmo touch
On those old-timey songs

And once in a while
They ask us to sing along.
For the past forty-six years
Those ugly plastered walls
Have never hear so many
Gratefully rendered curtain calls
From an audience of clerks and swells.
On Bourbon Street’s Fritzel’s.
Through hurricanes and beers
Like stepping back a hundred years.
Fats is still playing, Bessie singing
Original jazz music is still swinging.

(From Ireland, a novel by Frank Delaney)

     "As you probably know, nobody can actually write a poem. There's no such thing as writing a poem. That's not how poems are made. Oh, yes, there's the physical business of pen, ink and paper, but that isn't whence a poem comes. Nor may you send out and fetch a poem from where it's been living. No, like it or like it not, you have to wait for a poem to arrive.
     The people we call poets, by which I mean true, real poets-they're merely very keen listeners who've learned to recognize when a poem is dropping by. Then they copy down what the poem's telling them in their heads."

I love to be naked
Where nobody cares
About my fashion
Or who cut my hair.
I love being where
Many nudists are at.
They don’t call me names
Like Littledick and Fats.

I enjoy being out there
In the nature of life
Without any kind of
Negative social strife.
Nudists seem to accept
What the other person is
With a face full of scowls
Or some kind of quiz.

And aging for nudists
Is not a thing of shame.
Outside we grow different
But inside we’re the same.
We are still the people
Who enjoy living free.
And often that means
I don’t want clothes on me.

So, I will get naked often,
Really, every chance I get
And it might help you to
Accept that and not forget
That we were born naked;
Clothes may not be needed.
So maybe we can rethink
The rules we’ve always heeded?

I was desert when you brought rain.
You were a balm to cure my pain.
I could not talk without my tears.
You brought love to allay my fears.
I was living in the future and the past.
You helped enjoy the present at last.
I learned to love again from your kiss.
Everyone should know a love like this.

I had only the dreams of a little child,
The romantic fantasies I let run wild,
Stumbling through uncareful affairs,
Only to discover that nobody cares
About a needy infant of mature years
Who pulls his life down around his ears.
Then your voice brought reason to me
And then suddenly I could actually see.

The best way to find out what you need
Is to know what you don’t want to succeed.
I had plenty of experience of the things
I didn’t want and what they could bring.
So, I started listing what I needed to grow
And then helped myself to make it so.
I stopped investing my time in looks.
I figured out what behavior it really took.

What was important was the heart
Of the person I would love, then start
To see if the rest matched my needs.
Love can grow from just these seeds.
You were the one who taught me this
By caring for me and sharing a kiss
That helped me to stop my routine
Of looking for love from a magazine.

My ****’s all sore
From *** kicks about my lifestyle!
My neighbor’s sore
From raising a child from ****.
Meanwhile the GOP and friends
Are thumping on their Bibles
And driving our country to ruin
Each  running around wearing a cape.

I’ve got a very bad case
Of the Republican Rash
A disease that is fueled
By their greed for cash.

My bank account is ailing
By a deregulating Congress
And a Supreme Court gridlock
That is just exactly as bad.
There are crazy people there
That should be in institutions.
Things are awful ever since
We got ******* by hanging shads.

The GOP is paid Big Money
To **** on us and steal
And then tell us it is raining
And our rights aren’t really real.

My wallet has fingerprints
Of Congress all over it
Not mine so much because
It does very little good to reach.
I work three times as hard now
To make what I once did.
I’m oh so glad I never did
Decide to go and teach.

I’ve got a very bad case
Of the Republican Rash
A disease that is fueled
By their greed for cash.

I’m all confused about things
Like where is up and down
And confusing stuff like
What is wrong and right.
The GOP has spent so long now
Saying they are the good guys
And what I think of as day
Is really the middle of the night.

I’ve got a very bad case
Of the Republican Rash
A disease that is fueled
By their greed for cash.
The GOP is paid Big Money
To **** on us and steal
And then tell us it is raining
And our rights aren’t really real.

Don’t expect evil men to do good things,
They are sick and twisted and addicted
To the bastardy they do. It’s up to you.
You must block them and defrock them;
Throw them out of your political party
Give a hardy heave **, so they know,
Because any word but ‘no’ means yes,
And to them even no can mean okay
If their party pays enough money today
So they can say whatever they want
They’ll flaunt lies as the people’s choice
Unless you give voice to their crime.
They will repeat it each and every time.

Ride them out of town on a rail if need be,
Their seedy behavior will justify it.
They will deny it in face of film footage.
The usage of many lies they will coin
Showing those who are paying attention
That any mention of truth or honesty
Will get instantly reversed and wielded,
Fielded like a pop up ball, by lawyers
And spin doctors on their political team
To make it seem like the good guys
Are not as wise as the black hats
And that will be that, if you don’t stop them.

So beat them, defeat them; turn it around!
Those clowns can only lie for so long
If you don’t go along and okay their crap
Then slap them into jail when they cheat.
Knock them off their feet, depose them
Compose the right paperwork to reverse
The worse things they do and then more;
Even the score by sending them home.
Comb the laws they wrote for corruption
And the interruption of human rights.
Fight fire with fire. If they holler, you shout
And leave them out of the next round
Of sound logic because they have none.

How do you sleep at night
With so much hate?
You can still fix yourself.
It’s not too late.
Wake up and love people
For who they are.
First you must love yourself.
That heals the scars.

Hate generates much more hate.
It’s a vicious circle you’re in.
Someone upsets you too much
And the cycle will begin.
You lash out at them with hate
Instead of asking why.
Then they lash back at you
Neither of you even try.

Probably all the anger you feel
Has nothing to do with them.
Can’t you see it’s something else?
The chances are very dim.
You don’t want to talk about the thing
That makes you stay ******.
So, the way to fix yourself correctly
Forever gets totally missed.

How do you sleep at night
With so much hate?
You can still fix yourself.
It’s not too late.
Wake up and love people
For who they are.
First you must love yourself.
That heals the scars.