Sing me something from the heart
to calm my storms;
I will let your voice wash over me,
drowning my sorrows,
quenching my fears.

Hum a melancholy tune
to remind me how precarious life is,
how easily destroyed dreams can be.
Serenade me with songs of love--
love that lasts forever in a heart beat.

Lull me to a restful slumber
and let tomorrow take me in its arms.

A thousand shouting calvary
Raise arms and tails
They surround me
On all sides
No where to run
No where to hide
But as the guitar slides
My dreaming becomes
Alive.
Thru the meadows of metal
Luscious as laced lasses
Eyes green as the greenest grasses
With big ol'
...
Glasses, of wine-for-the-soul,
The beats move my control
From hot to cold
Im frank,
Your bold
Hold strong
It won't be too long now
Till we dance and sing
Vow
He died for you too
"dah de by o"
Yes, YOU too!

Jerry Singing at his Lathe

Slim and mustached
Jerry sang his heart out
in overalls at his lathe –
the Mario Lanza of Kent-Moore Tools.

Curled metal gathered at his feet
as he cut hard steel into usable parts.
He glanced at the prints,
reset the turret to take a second pass
and belted out another chorus.

Jerry retro-dreamed of New York,
of lessons, certificates, Juilliard
and arias finished with outstretched arms –
visions derailed but unforgotten.

Global madness sent him to France.
With a pack and an M1 in place of scores.
Jerry helped set Paris free
yet never left a song on its stages.

Kent-Moore paid him well
and masked by din of colliding metal
Jerry sang and sang and sang all day
for rivet guns and turret lathes.
His voice would melt your heart.

*July, 2006

Their melodies
sing soft and sweet
bringing forth their light.

They never rest,
or fade away,
working all the night.

They sing and sing,
without a stop,
and give their wings some flight.

And if their tune,
did ever die,
I would not be all right.

For their lovely song,
I sing with them,
and I keep my light.

Watching her sing along
She knew all the words
And it was easy to tell
She felt them
I fell in love
All over again

The

parlour empties after the third song.
You tell me

you need a cigarette and dump the accordion on my lap.
The fog seeps in as you

open the front door
and I worry because you’re wearing black.

I worry because you’ve never offered me a cigarette
or asked

to go for a walk at midnight.
The champagne sticks to my fingers
and I wished I’d grabbed your hand
and said
“I’ll go with you.”

The music wrapped itself around us as
we sang and forgot.
The room had left us.
The paper copies danced away
and we forgot.
Simply perfect music flowed from us,
we were all there together
completely focused and completely mesmerized
and it happened again.