At Fifty-Three

(to Janis Ian's "At Seventeen")

I now arrive at fifty-three
An age I thought I’d never see
A life it whirls in light speed style
You blink and find the years have wiled

The beard I have has roots of gray

Like weeds in lawn, find more each day
Some dye perhaps might fix the look
But cash is best spent buying books

And those exams at doctor’s places
Prodding in unholy places
Bills to pay, maintain the home
Annoying robots ring the phone
They call to say come buy from me
They sell such swell amenities
Not really what I need
At fifty-three

My brown eyed wife, she loves me now
Though why she does, it still confounds
I’m not an easy man to know
My moody self, the highs and lows

And the loud and rocking concert scene
Replaced it with a calmer thing
The avant-garde I love it still
Preferred at lower decibels

Now were there times when I was sane
Just a Joe with scraggly mane?
I don’t recall the sanity
I have retained humanity
My mom and dad they taught me true
Now odd surprise I’ve made it to
Bifocalled days of me
At fifty-three

The creaks and pops, the random pain
But all-in-all I can’t complain
Adult I am, mature not quite
My mind will wander off at night

I will oft reflect and drift away
Synapses fire and cells will play
I know far less than I believe
The world is larger than it seems

I now write some words in favorite chair
I’ll gripe and grin, let down my hair
Inventing stories, phrases flow
Revealing worries, worlds unknown
Some tales are bad, some tales are neat
I call them my amenities
The changing world I see
At fifty-three

Shame

(to David Bowie's "Fame")

Shame (shame)
Whips the wind, takes things over
Shame (shame)
Words let loose, full on throttle
Shame (shame)
Shout it out, “They’re not model”
Shame

Shame
Expose the vain
And light the flame
And hope for change to make someone
Tame

Shame (shame)
Is it right to be ungentle?
Shame (shame)
Is this raging transcendental?
Shame (shame)
Is there need to be parental?
Shame

Shame
Nine to five
A choice to chide
So get in line to rage at the
Slime

(Who can pass the test
who can pass?
To a ‘t’, to a ‘t’?
To agree with flame
Holy aim
Simple game
Easy maim)

See a silly blunder
Let’s assess the mess
Shame, shame, shame, shame
Who believes in thunder
To try and cool the fool?
Shame

Shame
Bully is who?
Bully are we?
Got to punch, inflict lots of
Pain
Shame

Shame

Faith is This

(to More Than This by Roxy Music)

A personal favorite from Roxy Music. The original is a lament that there's no afterlife ("More than this, you know there's nothing..."). My faith gives me a different answer. So here's my answer to the original lyric.

If eyes see, we are fine
It’s our own way of growing
Touching brings more to light
There’s no strain in our knowing

What’s seen is a friend
Tangibly learning
But unseen turns the tide
There’s hope, I’m affirming

Faith is this
I know there is something
Faith is this
More than one scene
Faith is this
There is something

Life is short, just a while
Less is known where we’re going
Deep in soil, dark as night
We all pray for some knowing

We cling to the world
We seek the certain
There’s a sweet by and by
Much more past the curtain

Faith is this
My hope, there is something
Faith is this
Dark has lost sting
Faith is this
Yes, there is something.

(I Sold a Song) And Made Some Loot

Catchy lyrics bring me all my wealth
Writing songs for cash is comfy, I confess
I take the words bouncing deep inside my brain
Then I send them flowing, it’s an earworm you disdain

I sold a song and made some loot
Some say I’m menace
There’s no better living, paid to rhyme
There’s many say that I’m a loon
To sell a song and make some loot

There are worser crimes, the crimes that never pay
I’ve better way, my imagination craves
I aim to instigate some way for wealth to procreate
Then I write offending, a phrase that won’t leave mind.

I’ll sell a song and make some loot
Don’t feign indifference
You’re just jealous of my moneyed rhymes
It’s something you should try and do
Just write a song and make some loot.

The lyrics, gold refined
Ya ya yaaa
Ya ya yay a
Ya ya yaaa
Ya ya ya ya

I sold and song and made some loot
I sell you burgers
Or some tepid tacos, if inclined
There’s nothing I can’t sell to you
You’ll hear my song and spend some loot…

Want…to…buy…more?

I sold a song and made some loot
This song is finished
And I’m writing newer, better rhymes
With commerce, you know I’m in tune
I’ll write a song and make some loot.

A Song By Al

(to Paul Simon's "You Can Call Me Al")

A man stares down the beat
He sings and puts a song on the griddle now
Puts puns and song on the griddle
And shines a new light on old guard

He sees a golden opportunity
He takes a shot at invention
He wants to make it a cartoon
Like a cartoon pop yarn
They snicker
We snicker

Howls at the moonlight
Slice his way through pure pop lore

Get your grin ready
Grin ready
Yes, he’s nuts, a weird marquis
I’m glad he still writes pop songs amusing, never bores

If you hear some hallowed song
It could be some big chart wow
He has lance at ready
Get ready when he’s spawning
For a song by Al

A note wafts down the street
It drifts by and we’re gripped with attention
Grabs the world’s little span of attention
And through our brains it plays on

With that hook filled melody
What if a new ear
Will write a tune novel
And takes that tune novel and
Gold
Gold

He spins a song exacting
With some tarnished Amish pranking gangsta world

Or a song
A song
‘Bout some grungy gents as malcontents
Or fat guy with dance gyrations

You could be a singing bard
You could sing of long lost gal
You just be at ready
Be ready for the bombing
With a song by Al
Song by Al.

A thought comes now to me
It’s a cold and a weird world
Maybe spin this old world
Maybe it needs jest kind of sound

Who really speaks the language?
We have no normalcy
We need a silly man
Who has no fondness for the proud
The proud

Meddle with the music place
Poking things like all the cool kids

Yeah, he’s a clown
A clown
He sees humor in our nomenclature
Using his insanity
We say Amen! And Hallelujah!

You could like the avant-garde
You could like the old high brow
You could like the edgy
But tell me you feel fondly
For the songs by Al

The Adobe Flash Song

(to "Oscar Meyer" song)

My player has a first name
It's A-D-O-B-E
My player has a second name
It's F-L-A-S-H

I have to upgrade every day
I hope they fix it, why you say?

Cos' silly player has a way
Of crashing Firefox when played.

Philadelphia Airport

(to Elton John's "Philadelphia Freedom")

I’m glad to know I’m going home
You know
Waiting for the flight
How sweet
I found an outlet for the phone

I guess I'm just a
Old trav’ling poor some one
Now the gates have changed
The more I walk the more my feet get numb

Now I wait and stare
At Philadelphia airport
And I pray to my dear Lord
“Don’t lose my bags.”

Philadelphia airport
Charged me high fees ‘cause they can
Yeah
See that piece of pie, just twenty
Ninety-five

Oh Philadelphia airport
Mercy me
The fast food
Bar on right
Need a beer as I wait for a flight
Longest night, longest night
Longest night, where the heck’s my flight?
Philadelphia airport
A cold brew
Just might do.

If you choose to
You can surf the web on phone
Or watch the crying kiddies
(there’s always crying kiddies)
Or wander
To a news stand for a comb
(or wander to a news stand for a comb)

I like being thrifty without spending for bite
Brought my Krispy Kreme glazed donuts
Honey
Helps expand my thighs.

Now I know the score
At Philadelphia airport
At the gate I wait to board
I’m mighty glad
Philadelphia airport
I must leave, now don’t be sad
Yeah
You’re a piece of time that frankly never flies

Philadelphia airport
Glory be
Won’t miss you
Or the lights
In my eyes, how they left me half blind

Nighty night, nighty night
Nighty night, got to catch my flight
Philadelphia airport
I need to
I need to
Yes, I need to
Bid adieu

Southern Drawl Rhyme Man

(to Glen Campbell "Wichita Lineman")

I am a rhyme man, none too rowdy

From a south town zip code

Looking for a pun

In a world of overload

I move my wording through the wire

Twist some songs which most enshrine

I’m the southern drawl rhyme man

Whose insights will rhyme

To some, I’m seeking adoration

Guess I might seem quite vain

But I write rhymes to songs I like

They help my brain stay sane...

Words will free you

When world haunts you

If they don’t then world confines

I’m the southern drawl rhyme man

Who writes in spare time

If you have view

Won’t you find tune

And then write words when you’ve time

And some rhyme enthralled rhyme fan

May think you sublime.

Know Ye the Yogi?

(to Roy Orbison's "Only the Lonely")

Ohmmm ohmmm ohmmm

Life is a park

Fine day, yay, yah, yeah

Booboobooboo wah

Know ye the Yogi?

Know ye the Yogi?

Leads the way to truth tonight

Know ye the Yogi

Knows that stealin’ ain’t right

He seems so saintly

Seems pure of heart

He’s always happy

Lives à la carte

Let’s follow the Yogi

He’s spry

Our guy

Here be the Yogi

Yum yum yum

Life in a park

All day yay yay yeah

Booboobooboo wah

Hungry the Yogi

Hungry the Yogi

Finds a basket, brightens moods

Hungry the Yogi

Appetite is ripe for food

Bears never borrow

From camper’s camps

There’ll be sorrow

Food has no chance

Make no mistake

It’s his Jellystone take

Hungry is Yogi

Yum yum yum

Life in a park

Harmonica

(to Elvis Costello's "Veronica")

On a farm near the city limits south of town

Bart had skill, played the blues with a harp

And he gave it all he had

And you might have sworn

He could shake the tectonica

Well he liked to use a sixteen hole for the crowds

For intensity, riffs they would fly

He played, so he said,

With the finest reeds

Said they’re made with bronzonica

He played in shows,

Bar mitzvah bands,

On stage harmonica

His will imposed

And all the girls

Stood on their toes

They weeped and danced

And cried for more

Harmonica

Harmonica

Harmonica

Well, the fame rose high

And an album came

And he toured down the coast through the fall

Yes, he lived quite the dream

And no more was he poor

Living large, was divine-ica

Well, on the road for ninety-nine days he played

Losing friends to the world he had found

While the fans all cheered

You could see on his face

That he longed for some calmica

On the tour bus in Florida

The lad, he had a dream about the path
And saw a fork in road for him to choose

A note, so soft, grew loud and then…

He quickly rose

His sweating skin

He eyed harmonica

There by his side

And knew the time

To end the shows           

His dance with fame

Had come to close

Harmonica

Harmonica

Harmonica

Harmonica waits by his favorite chair

Bart smiles in the quiet and still

And he thinks of the fame

That had never seemed right

But when he plays

He remembers that thrill

Now he likes to have his closest friends at his home

They don’t dwell on the things of the past

Having fun with tunes, his notes’ll break the night

And they’ll shake the tectonica

Though fame arose

With clapping hands

The gift harmonica

Was lovely ride

Now quiet time

Is life he chose

He sits with friends

And keeps them close

Harmonica

Harmonica

Harmonica

Ernie the Fly

(to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers' "Learning to Fly")

Well he started out

As a maggot child

Food was rough

Foul and vile

When the sun came up

On that fateful morn

He had quite enough

A thought was born

Our Ernie the fly

Had to leave that scene

Appetite

Needed finer things

Life is short on days

All flies will learn

And the finer foods

Made his palette yearn

Our Ernie the fly

Had to leave that scene

Flew around

Wanted best cuisine

So he took flight

To north side town
Saw some soup

Flew right down

And the patron said

To maître d'

“So why’s this fly

In my split pea?”

“He’s learning to swim,”

The waiter spoke
“Poor fly needs help

With back-stroke.”

Our Ernie the fly

Had a final meal
Drowned in soup

Should have had the veal.