Saturday, July 30, 2022

Do The Murmuration, Baby

When 10,000 starlings fly

They mur-mur-ate

Make a kaleidoscope in the sky

They mur-mur-ate

Dancing without holding hands

More precise than marching bands

Just doing what the dance demands

They murmurate! They murmurate!


Humans on earth, let’s do it too

Let's mur-mur-ate

Let’s join together like starlings do

Let's mur-mur-ate

Can’t we learn to take a page

From those starlings who engage

To make the whole sky their own stage

Let’s murmurate! Let’s murmurate!


We too can move in a big formation

Let's mur-mur-ate

Rising and falling in a great gyration

Let's mur-mur-ate

We don’t need leaders, we don’t need rules

There’s dances you can’t learn in schools

Come on all you dancing fools

Let’s murmurate! Let’s murmurate!

Let's mur-mur-ate!




This is a 60s dance craze-type song for my dear friend Larry Starling.  Because he's dark-colored and lives in a birdcage he's hard to photograph.  This is the best I could do:




Sunday, July 03, 2022

Epithalamion

I also wrote this one for him.  (Ned Stone = Philip van Ouse.)


Yesterday we wept

Tomorrow we will fight

But let there be no tears,

No anger on this night

And even if tomorrow is

The day the world ends

Tonight there is still time enough

To celebrate our friends


Though I am not a believer

And barely an agnostic

I do believe in this union

Of Van Ouse & Tomasic


Tonight there is no room
For the fear we all have carried

Tonight there’s only room for joy

For our friends who’re getting married

Don’t rise up from the table

Don’t turn away the cup

Tonight all sorrow’s chased with joy

Tonight we’ll drink it up


Though I am not a believer

And barely an agnostic

I do believe in this union

Of Van Ouse & Tomasic


Sonnet 43 or so

 My friend Ned Stone's getting married next month. I wrote this song for him (by way of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and John Cage)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the droop and breach and heft
My soap can reach, when feeling out of samples
For the ends of buttons and ideal grandmother.
I love thee to the liver of every day’s
Most quaggy niche, by soup and canine light.
I love thee frizzily, as men strip for Richard.
I love thee purple, as they turn from prairie dogs.
I love thee with the passport put to use
In my old gravy, and with my chicken’s fade-in.
I love thee with a love I seemed to loop
With my locked saints. I love thee with the bakery,
Smock, teapot, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after Delaware.