Lyrics come to me by moonlight
When the power of darkness lessens
When whispers soften like overripe
Mangoes dispatched hurriedly from India,
On ramshackle East Indiamen vessels
Sailing fruitfully through consternated
Waters and heated lines of the tropics,
Selling rewardingly on busy markets
Charged with the power of buy-and-sell,
And order-and-supply.
I wonder how Bob would react to
My girlfriend’s long and big, sexy hair
Blowin’ in the wind,
Seeking answers to horizon-tossed questions,
When howling, racing gales accompany
Frightened sorrel horses, newly freed from
Spavins, and spiked by the energy of the sun,
Hurtle home happily towards old and battered
Picket fences newly mended?
I write often under the spell of night rain,
Striving much not to blend lyrics with poems,
Which, like zucchini and cucumber,
May look alike but are quite different.
I stumble upon the fraternity between words
And promises and splice them with soft, nimble
Fingers of the piano.
Gentle taps yonder come from happily sobbing congas.
And with an unseen ensemble, a song is born.