The Replies Book

Write a song for yourself and someone will love it.

Everyone could write a song.

For fun, for meaning, for love, to test and try, for laughs, for triumphs, for trials and tests…any single thing.

Some of my songs want to give nourishment to the world and some are just the sigh on seeing colors in the sky.

That’s the lyrics.

Now for the music – on that we’ll work together.

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You don’t know.

Now.

But perhaps a few words from a wise one will change this picture.

Night becomes day.

The signs are clear.

The old saloon becomes a high-taste coffee shop.

Images form.

The picture can be completed.

Son of a gun!

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Saw the autumn leaves falling over ice cream wafers and Campari sodas.

Skating on beach lounge chairs with a lemon twist.

Anything is better than any bureaucracy. Ha!

Ice forms across bikinis and beach balls.

Take your forms in triplicate and make a sandwich with mayonnaise.

Paperwork waste and needless haste.

Ethereal cloud layers for happiness and long-told tales.

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Just a postage stamp, a quill and a quantum chip.

A good mixed antipasto contains many dissimilar ingredients.

Sometimes they go together, sometimes they cannot have a conversation at all.

The sautéed bean sprout had a life of its own.

The bells rang out in jubilant salute to you and me and physics.

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The pen was lying across a lined notepad.

It was the old type. Why they called a it a “fountain” pen I do not know.

I don’t want to look up the name and its origin as it may take away from the romantic notion of a pen that can be refilled at will from a bottle of ink.

Another page of fine prose, better than this, can start and the action with pen and ink will be repeated.

The continuity, the reliable habit at the mercy of the pen, is at times comforting.

This is in a time of chaos. A time nobody admits is strange. But I know it is.

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