It was only gonna be a little three-hour jump
‘Till the barometer bottomed out and the Minnow went bump
But you make chocolate milk when life gives you turds
Ain’t nothin’ like Thurston Howell and The Thirds.

When that sightseeing gig hit a bit of a snag
It stopped that tight trio from bein' everyone's bag
Because, Daddy, those cats are just too cool for words
Ain’t nothin’ like Thurston Howell and The Thirds.

TH III drips with sophistication,
But it don’t stop the man from syncopatin'
They trumpet like elephants ‘n twitter like birds
Ain’t nothin’ like Thurston Howell and The Thirds.

It’s Thurston on the keyboards settin’ the pace
Little Buddy on drums, the Captain on bass
Wowin’ folks drinking coconut shaken-and-stirreds
Ain’t nothin’ like Thurston Howell and The Thirds.

They blow sixteenths and eights and do it in style
Cooler than cats on any charted isle
Keep your Goodman Quintets and your Thundering Herds
Ain’t nothin’ like Thurston Howell and The Thirds.

There is no wrong way to write poetry.
I have little interest for rules.
Poetry does not have rules.
My English teacher shows us stanzas, rhyme schemes,
Couplets, triplets, quatrains and quintets
And I stare into the space above her head.
When can I write free verse again?
I don't want to follow the rules.
I want to do what feels right.

I’m begging for time
My time is short as near as the next blow.
It would be anyway, but now I have added several “variables” to the classic tick tock of the heart and soul.
Or perhaps just the heart as you may have it.
To be said, I have contemplated the expedience of my time on occasions by many devices of which I have come known dearly.
Tis not a thing I take lightly today.
For my variables have multiplied with my experience and knowledge (or perhaps none of) .
I have lived easily five quintets of these blessings forgone.
Each unique, each with it’s goodness and sadness (and badness?) .
Now on my sixth, I wish for more.
Only two I ask.
But have I already received much more than deserved?
I do not pretend to know if or when my time will end.
Such is the dilemma of man me thinks.
My two, if you care to ask?
One, my ability to express myself.
Two, my ability to express myself to others.
The two most natural forms of communication and yet I have failed at both so far.
So I take on this quest.
Of two more blessings.
With this poem (of sorts) .
I leave you or you or you to decide if I should try or not.
Give me not your answer, just give me your lot.

north korean barbershop quintets
singing a sour noted ballad called
"the people's will has failed us"
in the loneliest spot
of an unfinished graveyard
for model citizens
this gave me enough courage
to pull the trigger on a new
book in my wishlist
called "so you want to buy your
own country: 6 easy steps"
i knew i had it in me
to read the whole thing
but when i got to chapter two
i'd heard enough
and went to work
becoming a mover and a shaker
getting my hands
on everything i could