That season comes and go,
The parties in the streets are hot.
Balls are held in name for the Krewe,
The Crowning of the King and Queen.
Crowds are gathered down the cobbled roads.
Parades are rolling through,
Food cooking through the day,
Crawfish boiling in the pot,
Those spices wafting in the air,
Drinks pouring everywhere.
New Orleans and all of Southern Louisiana.
Dancing away to that Zydeco music.
Beads and treasures thrown overhead,
Catching them as quick as you can.
Hearing the bands and seeing the dancers dance
Colorful costumes in the night.
The masks covering their faces.
Again, the season has come and gone,
But till next year, we will party on.
dance party of summer
blue waves rock and roll
seashore tides shimmy and shake ~
sunlight tap dances
white clouds pirouette
delphiniums deep plies ~
ebb tides grand jettes
meadows slowly waltz
forests polka with raindrops ~
breezes minuet
willow trees tango
sunflowers skip jump and jive ~
moon does the hustle
butterflies slow dance
ladybugs groove in two-step ~
surfside twists and shouts
shooting stars moon walk
tide pools salsa dancing ~
birch trees swing and sway
dandelions stroll
fields of daisies jitterbug ~
long days zydeco
swift rivers rumba
rapids mambo in quickstep ~
starshine at the hop
Washboard and spoons
Guitar and drums
Accordion
Getting together
With the band
A moment not about skin
But about soul
A party not about race
But about rhythm
Take a stand
(or perhaps a dance)
Against hate
Yell a little
Prance a little
Live, love a lot
Making music
While joining hands
Alligator with fierce but captivating eyes sometimes red glare
The Man with a title given by the High Priest of his Tribe
A man gifted at Birth for the World to be entertained by.
Though much more then the Entertainer inside ~
This Man a poet , a man of wisdom and power
Playing his cordless accordion or Guitar on the tiny Bar
Powerful stares , people dancing crazy underneath a moonlit sky
His trance , a spell on others , not to be denied
A Force stronger then you will know , be dared to reckon with
His name was given at birth for a reason , A Scorpio
Legacy throughout Europe and deep woods in the Bayou
Alligator loved by many , playing Jimmy Hendrix to Zydeco
Alligator , the man on fire , women can not help but desire
In Monterey Bay, California, he plays , magical surprise
be warned if you go with date to see him "Alligator "
At the end of your dancing to Zydeco and blues
your date will be in Trance , one glare into his eyes
she will be wanting He at the end of the night , your demise.
A friend , a poet , a music Man , The Cowsills
remembering the song "hair" on the radio as a 5 yr old.
As fate brought us together one day in New Orleans
Barry Cowsill the hidden artist yet well known .
Adoring your eyes and smile , hat , the look when you asked me ..
"do you remember the Cowsills ? " as I then began to sing ..
"long ,beautiful Hair, Flaxen , waxen blacksen " Hair ! Oh daddy daddy "
his life and smile , his love , imagining me for a while , yes ..in love.
My Friend met his fate passionate , his Legacy , bravely refusing evacuation
Katrina , a storm too strong for even An artist with a guitar , my love fallen
Remembered now by all , for his remains were found under a bridge ,
The Oyster poor boys , The zydeco to blues , Barry, too great for Our World .
Remembering the Jazz festival, memories, torn in my mind yet left behind ,
Barry Cowsill , when I leave this World , will you come and bring me to yours ?
Dive deep
into my inner place
once more, maybe twice.
Fly while standing still,
as I did before
I learned the truth.
Lose myself in painting
to the point of no breath
or thought beyond the canvas.
Write with abandon
about heart, butterflies,
and her fierce beauty.
Walk among white marble tombs,
eat crawfish jambalaya,
dance the zydeco.
One more glass of wine,
just the one...
Any more and I’m lost.
Never lose myself again
to the blackness
of no memory.
There they go!
Flying through the air!
Hundreds of them!
In different colors! Everywhere!
Red ship, blue ship, three ship four!
Who will win? When will it end?
I can't bear to look anymore!
Into the bunker we'll jump.
Darkness for weeks
Sitting rump-to-rump.
'Till the damned Zydeco music stops blarin'
And the five-headed announcer stops caring.
No one's watching the alien race, anyway.
What a horrible host planet
For the Grand Prix Milky Way.
The television’s on
The sound blends with the music
I cannot even hear the voices
Or what they have to say
To tell the truth I don’t really care
The radio sits next to my chair
With a dial that has found a million stations
Played a billion songs
Old and ragged it still wails
A zydeco tune written generations ago
The saxophone played by a New Orleans black man
The guitar picked gently to slide into the song
The drums pounding out a never ending heartbeat
They fill my senses more than they should
I do not want to hear a human voice
My life is within the music
And the music surrounds me
Changing even the moving air
The smoke of my cigarette swirls
Dancing on invisible breezes
Unseen and unfelt they are still there
And the smoke moves around me
Dancing with the rhythm of the song
My head starts to bob
My feet start to move with the music
And my heart swells with joy
That is how I want to live my life
Hidden from the outside world of life
I am one with the melodic tunes
Who could ask for more?
from a friend in new orleans i hear
how filthy, dirty, diseased--
where life-giving water wages liquid war
on the lives it long supported--
life beneath blue roofs under grey skies
in black water--
the very air has revolted,
turned from salty sea breeze to
the breath of a briny dump-heap--
a city built on water, by water
bled wet until its brittle bones gave way--
leaving only the grim report sent up
the mississippi
to the tune of a tired old zydeco song
last remnant of the past city--
from a french quarter gift shop
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