As it befell on a high holiday, Small rain from the sky did fall, Our saviour asked his mother Mary If he might go play at ball. “At ball, at ball, my own dear son, It’s time that you were gone! And don’t let me hear of any mischief At night when you come home.”
After Betrayal Nobody knows exactly how it works, The spasm in the heart that makes one face particular. Nobody knows why it hurts when singular passion falls from grace. If the heart is a garden, nobody hoes, or cultivates, or even pulls the weeds. Lovers can never quite master the tools of their own gardening.
Winter is icumen in, Lhude sing Goddamm, Raineth drop and staineth slop, And how the wind doth ramm! Sing: Goddamm. Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us, An ague hath my ham. Freezeth river, turneth liver, Damm you; Sing: Goddamm. Goddamm, Goddamm, ’tis why I am, Goddamm, So ‘gainst the winter’s balm. Sing goddamm, damm, sing goddamm,
I’m the queerest young fellow that ever you heard My mother’s a Jew, my father’s a bird. With Joseph the Joiner I cannot agree So here’s to disciples and Calvary. If anyone things thinks that I amn’t divine He’ll get no free drinks when I’m making the wine But have to drink water and wish
O, TANNENBAUM! Christmas trees have been part of my life since I was a baby. One of my earliest memories is the lovely scent of pine-sap from the fresh-cut tree brought into the little basement apartment where my parents first lived after I was born. World War Two was still on. It remains in my
My love, my pride, my treasure oh My wonder new and pleasure oh My son, my beauty, ever You Who am I to bear You here? 2. The cause of talk and tale am I The cause of greatest fame am I The cause of proudest care on high To have for mine, the King
Requiem For A Lightweight – with apologies to Rod Serling Donald Trump is a confidence man Who wound up in charge of our land. But his gimmicks went wrong When he bought his own con And fooled himself with his own scam.
Harvest Festival In the early 1980s, every October I traveled from New York City to Plymouth, Massachusetts, to play a Dutchman. To be specific, I went from Nieuw Nederland op den Mannahatoes to Plimoth Plantation, where it’s always 1627, to impersonate the Opper Koopman, or Chief Trader, of the Nederlands West-Indische Kompagnie, who was also
The Pythoness Speaks For Herself Theseus asked the Oracle what she wanted. “To die,” she answered.
Snow dust on dead grass. Autumn’s last leaves have fallen. My tears are frozen.