The Muzi Diaries (3)
Every bean must have a pocket
Every pocket must hold a dream
Every dream must be worth pursuing
Each garden must have an aubergine
Words don’t need to have meaning
Rhythm says exactly what they mean
Music might have a cadence
And her smile said everything
Wrangler girl wore blue jeans
She gave me everything and more
Sloppy Joes and veggie tacos
Happy days in a Japanese home
down peaceful little Park Road
Dragonflies and light shows
Blue Velvet and Roy Orbison
The smell of napalm in the morning
Making babies on the run
Sasha and Samantha
She cured my anxieties
But I know that I kept slipping
The devil was coming after me
Blue flat and purple haze
Young love turned upside down
After all is said and done
You know you will
always be number one
Copyright © Hans Ebert
Love is a something hard to put into words even for someone dealing in words. It’s like trying to explain what’s creative though knowing in a nanu second who’s not and those who simply don’t get it and never will because they just don’t know and so can’t understand.
Ideas come out of nowhere and nothing and it’s something you can sense coming and which you embrace and hold tight because it’s chicken soup for the soul.
Ideas make you come alive and makes your mind go racing, but these days you don’t even go to the track because you’d rather be sowing seedlings in the garden where the ground is fertile and ready for Inspiration to grow.
You’re measured and treasured and just damn weathered and no longer want to spread yourself thin and take in every stray who knocks on your door and is another lost cause.
You have learned to keep your distance from being Icarus and flying too close to the sun and know who’s real and who’s showbiz and those who are phoney ringmasters.
Everybody’s got something to hide except for me and my monkey, and Dr Winston O’Boogie taught me that.
You might be out in the open, but you always deep dive to meet Muzi for counsel because not everyone is a “friend”. Some are fiends and others see you as a meal ticket and it’s really where and when you have this ticket punched and take your cuddly toy and leave the circus.
You’ve read the same play before and see why it’s not leading you onto the sunny side of the street.
Copyright © Hans Ebert
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