Short Libretto Poems

She never entered a ghetto.
She perfected a high-pitched falsetto.
At the Carnegie Hall
she could both enthrall and appall
as she shredded every libretto.

She's up there with her heavenly peers,
Where  many angels must now plug their ears...

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The air waltzes with your echo,
it’s a rhythm play, pause, repeat;
I can’t make out the libretto,
the air waltzes with your echo;
A beat that pure instinct will know,
leaving you in the driver’s seat;
The air waltzes with your echo,
it’s a rhythm play, pause, repeat....

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the libretto not completed
a score that’s not quite through
a title not yet chosen
there’s so much more to do

a half completed opera
an aria that’s unsung
the curtain has not risen
waiting for the maestro’s baton

paint still wet on scenery
it’s taking much too long
doesn’t matter anyway
not ready for my swan song...

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Lord bless the nihility
of spirit and entity
'cause my mind is pallid
like a deaf actor
in a silent film
but I'm not craven
just frowned and mortal
antique in the name
of a poetic justice
hesitating no more
sleepwalking in time
one of the nervous eaters
I'm the oxygen moron
joining the armies
of heavenly damned
to luminize the libretto
at vanishing point
wounded and mesmeric
never mind the bollocks
whatever they say
I'll always complain...

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