Wednesday, July 29, 2009

"In The Doghouse"

You ate all the cookies
Except the last one
And smoked my last cigarette
Yes I am angry
I will hide a box of cookies
In my glovebox
Cigarettes will be plentiful
They will be stashed
In the garage somewhere
From now on eat your own cookies
Smoke your own cigarettes
Let me wash the dishes for you
Empty the garbage
Mow the lawn and put gas in your car
I want to make life easier for you
But you cross the line
When you eat all the cookies
And smoke all of my cigarettes
I like your mother
Don't worry
Everything else is fine

© 2009 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved

"What Pours From Fire"

Tumbling rhythms about in my brain
Octaves smoking in constant dilemma
Notes that play amongst tinkling cymbals
All arriving at the piano's feet
Yet I can feel that down home beat
Like it used to be in New Orleans
Where I stood on the corner and listened
In my torn blue jeans
Down in New Orleans
Where the music was sweet
How it caressed my ears and brought me to tears
Quenching my desires
In my self inflicted pain
And the tears
Yes the tears which flowed
When nobody was looking
Or sometimes they were
But I didn't care
The energy and the spirit
That flowed in the street
How my heart was captured
In the pounding of those notes
In spite of the demons
Or the evil that gloats
Upon my shoulder as I witnessed
The smoking piano that blared out the songs
Making all of the rights in my life
The opposite of wrongs
Sweet smelling incense mixed with familiar body odors
Smiling faces with piercing teeth
Enveloping me and expelling my grief
In the dust kicked up by scuffling feet
All part of the deep down beat
Whores and drunkards alike
All my friends
As I smoke my Picayune cigarettes
In the middle of the street
Of which I am part of to this day
No escape from the parade
Like the smoke that pours from the stacks
Down by the railroad tracks
At crossroads where I flee to in my escape
Cobblestone streets reaching
Preventing my departure
All within its nature
With no real nomenclature
It sucks me back in to where I began
When I first ran
To the arms of the freight train
In the rain
I slipped on the tracks
Trying to get in
The boxcar made of wood and tin
Where hobos reclined
Rolling cigarettes and eating cans of beans
Heinz vegetarian beans
I remember-the 27th of December
1965 when I made my escape
It was the year of the death of Martin Luther King
Not much to sing about that year
Feeling the pull from New Orleans
Where I would eventually stand
In my torn blue jeans
Offering myself up to the crowds
Who mourned in the streets
Wearing their shrouds

© 2009 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved

"Deserted Mask"

Discarded mask of the Mardi Gras
Trampled as the parade goes by
Mixed with conglomerations of many things
Barely a moment in time in the sky
Hooping and hollering and last hurrahs
Confetti that slowly dies upon the streets
The spirit still survives within the mask
As surely as the heart which beats
It searches for its host although departed
Desertion occured after its use
After brief contemplation the spirit departs
For yet it is back on the loose
Seeking out for what it must obtain
A human beating heart
Looking to become as if in one
Though it knows deep down that it must depart
Wandering in wanton to meet its needs
In places chosen by random
Two distinct forms that exist in time
That shall never run coherently in tandem


© 2009 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved