The poetry-lyrics of

Green-eyed Boy of the Rain

Out of Book

You look at your position and you see the trap,

your clock's running down and you can't go back,

you're looking for some strategy that's sane,

your wondering if you sacrificed just what you'd gain.

Forget the theories from the book,

close your eyes and take another look,

it's no longer black and white once again,

welcome back to where you've never been.

You're still dizzy from your success,

you can't tell the good moves from the best,

the King's in the castle face down on the throne,

your Queen is starting to feel just like a guest.

Forget the theories from the book,

close your eyes and take another look,

it's no longer black and white once again,

welcome back to where you've never been.

The black pawn puts the question to your good bishop,

are you going to take something, leave or just remain?

You'ld like more time just to analyze this line,

because you know it's a struggle and not a game.

Forget the theories from the book,

close your eyes and take another look,

it's no longer black and white once again,

welcome back to where you've never been.

*

Mr Q

Friday was the day new comics came out

Superman Green Lantern and The Flash

down to Mr Q’s comic book shop

we ten year old kids would all dash.

While I was reading squatting in the aisle

Mr Q would come up behind

and press himself against me there

rubbing his cheek against mine.

He’d give me a squeeze and ask how I was

then he’d start playing with my hair

I’d tell him I was fine and continue reading

pretending he wasn’t there.

I thought Mr Q was like a relative

that’s always trying to kiss you

even when you didn’t much feel like doing it

but your folks told you that you just had to.

Mr Q what happened to you?

I heard you got busted

I guess you couldn’t be trusted

Man you were so creepy too.

Some of my friends used to tell me Mr Q

sometimes would take them downstairs

and give them ten dollars to let him play with them

but that was something I never dared.

Don’t get me wrong I thought about it

when Mr Q would give me those looks

because ten whole dollars back in those days

bought a lot of comic books.

Mr Q what happened to you?

I heard you got busted

I guess you couldn’t be trusted

Man you were so creepy too.

*

Green-eyed Boy of the Rain

Somehow we drifted into this wet place,

I just couldn’t feel any pain,

he came and stole her away from me,

the green-eyed boy of the rain.

I wanted to kill him to tear him apart,

until nothing of him would remain,

when I thought of him kissing her mouth,

the green-eyed boy of the rain.

I thought I had rights to her body and soul,

now I can’t even say her name,

I drove her away and right into the arms

of the green-eyed boy of the rain.

Anger and sorrow become the same thing,

two sides of a dark window pane,

I’d give everything to see her look back

from the green-eyed boy of the rain.

*

The Ballad of the Gangster Paul Kelly

Quiet down children and please pay heed to me

I’ll tell you about Paul Kelly who was born in Sicily

in eighteen hundred and ninety he came to New York town

his Five Point Gang took control of the criminal underground.

Born Paolo Antonio Vaccarell he changed his name

when he immigrated from Italy pro boxing was his game

he took his fighting money and put it into whores

ran them in the Bowery and on the docks and shores.

Now the Irish gangs were dominant in the New York railway yards

the Ducky Boys, Dead Rabbits, Swamp Angels and Roach Guards.

Paul Kelly ushered in the rise of mixed-ethnic crews

he took them all: Italians Poles Russians and the Jews.

He recruited younger gangsters who later became renown

Meyer Lansky, Lucky Luciano, Bugsy Siegel and Al Capone

he spent nine months in jail for assault and robbery

spoke English French Italian and Spanish fluently.

Paul Kelly was well-dressed sophisticated- a learned mind

endeared him to the socialites and politicians of the time

known as Gentleman Mob Boss on Lower Manhattan streets

his Little Naples nightclub was the in-crowd place to meet.

Now the dearest rivals to the Five Points Gang to come along

were Max Eastman’s Coin Collectors two thousand gunmen strong

Max Eastman was a jewish bouncer and hired thug to boot

so a boxing match was arranged to settle their turf dispute.

Kelly and Eastman fought it out but it ended in a draw

a war broke out that was only settled by intercession of the Law

ten long years in Sing Sing forced Max Eastman to retreat

which left Paul Kelly undisputed mob boss of the streets.

Quiet down children and please pay heed to me

I’ll tell you about Paul Kelly who was born in Sicily

in eighteen hundred and ninety he came to New York town

his Five Point Gang took control of the criminal underground.

*

Dry Whisky Tongue

Bring me scotch whisky for my dry whisky tongue,

your wine is much too tame, your wine is much too tame.

An old girl to kiss me on my dry whisky tongue,

Laphroaig is her name, Miss Laphroaig is her name.

Six weeks of drought with a dry whisky tongue,

I need some whisky rain, I need some whisky rain.

Your tears will not quench my dry whisky tongue,

saltwater ain’t the same, saltwater just ain’t the same.

I woke in a sweat with a dry whisky tongue,

that little whisky ghost was jumping ‘round my brain.

If I go blind with my dry whisky tongue,

send a whisky dog, to guide home my aim.

If surely I must die with a dry whisky tongue,

place some whisky flowers down there by my name.

*

The Murder of Alberta King

Slain in church while she was praying,

in thought, and words, let us recall,

the murder of Alberta King.

Six years before, she felt the sting,

in Memphis, saw her poor son fall.

Slain in church, while she was praying.

the congregation heard them ring,

six shots - the killer fired them all,

and murdered sweet Alberta King.

Eyes closed, she had finished playing,

The Lord’s Prayer, from her organ stall,

slain in church while she was praying.

her husband near her, worshipping,

smoke, from the pistol, left a pall,

the murder of Alberta King.

Marcus Chenault fired, while standing,

in nineteen-seventy-four. Recall,

slain in church while she was praying,

the murder of Alberta King.

*

In the Next Life

Sometimes I think about my mother

The way she used to hold me tight

I know she's waiting for me there

in the next life.

It's been so long since I saw him,

so many things we didn't put right,

father and son will speak together,

in the next life.

There's no need to feel so angry,

there's no need for us to fight,

the puzzle's pieces will all fit,

in the next life.

*

Give Me Little Sugar With My Beer, Sylvie

Give me little sugar with my beer, Silvie,

give me little sugar with my beer,

it’s a bitter taste but I’ll drink a case,

if you give me little sugar with my beer.

Huddie met two girls dancing,’

they was fine high browns,

they asked him where he come from,

he said Chicago town.

Those two girls started jivin’ him,

he was only fourteen years old,

they said ‘daddy won’t you take us way up town

and buy us some beer that’s cold?’

Huddie ordered up two glasses,

then he ordered up one more,

he filled his mouth and swallowed down,

then spat it on the floor.

'Oh, daddy you from Chicago,

but you can’t drink your beer?'

He said, ‘No I can’t drink it straight,

‘less you bring me little sugar over here.’

Give me little sugar with my beer, Silvie,

give me little sugar with my beer,

it’s a bitter taste but I’ll drink a case,

if you give me little sugar with my beer.

*

Marie Laveau La Belle Voodooienne

Marie Laveau la mère was mulatto,

she married Jacque Paris a quadroon.

Her curly black hair reddish skin and good looks

made her the queen of voudoun.

In rituals on Bayou St John,

Marie danced with her snake Zombi,

a friend to the Marquis de Lafayette,

in the town of Old New Orleans.

Ah Marie Laveau, ah la belle!

ah Marie, la belle voodooienne!

When her husband Jacque disappeared,

she became the Widow Paree,

and bore fifteen children to Christoph Glapion,

a quadroon from Saint Dominique.

The Creole women of Orleans,

would come to Mamzel Laveau,

to confide their intimate secrets and fears,

of their husbands, their business and their souls.

The Orleans white masters feared her,

with her African gibberish and stare.

Resolutions were passed confining her dance

to the place know as Congo Square.

But the whites of every class still sought her,

even judges would pay for her spells,

for Marie Laveau was the Queen of Voodoo,

and her gris-gris could make sick things well.

Marie Laveau was more than a witch,

she practiced Catholicism,

with prayers incense and statues of saints,

nursed the sick the diseased and the condemned.

Now resting in St Louis Cemetery,

is the crypt of Mamzel Marie

three crosses in red brick dust on the stone vault

grants a wish for those who believe.

Ah Marie Laveau, ah la belle!

ah Marie, la belle voodooienne!

*

I Never Found Those Lips Again

I never found those lips again

my final preference for her kiss

I never thought that I could bend

when she had gone it felt the end

sorrow broke open an abyss

I never found those lips again

kind words from a few mutual friends

who didn’t vanish into mist

I never thought that I could bend

some lovers with a soft pretend

their touch somehow always amiss

I never found those lips again

the helpful advice that offends

(there still too much I won’t dismiss)

I never thought that I could bend

an almost heal but never mend

the unannounced recall of bliss

I never found those lips again

I never thought that I could bend.

*

Anemone

Venus wept over dying Adonis,

she wept the sweetest nectar of tears.

Oh how fragile and brief, Anemone,

petals so lightly attached, Anemone,

oh how quickly they fall, Anemone,

blow away with the wind, Anemone.

When Adonis died, flowers sprung from his veins,

buds and blossoms the fragrance of blood.

Oh how fragile and brief, Anemone,

petals so lightly attached, Anemone,

oh how quickly they fall, Anemone,

blow away with the wind, Anemone.

Venus wept over dying Adonis,

she wept for the one who was taken too soon.

Oh how fragile and brief, Anemone,

petals so lightly attached, Anemone,

oh how quickly they fall, Anemone,

blow away with the wind, Anemone.

*

Shoemaker’s Moon

And, when he shall die
Take him and cut him out in little stars
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.

Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet

He’d trained as an astronaut for the moon,

disqualified by a doctor’s report,

there on the surface, his ashes were strewn.

From Addison’s Curse, he wasn’t immune,

he’d tracked eight hundred asteroids: his art,

and trained as an astronaut for the moon.

He died in Australia, much too soon,

exploring a crater, his life cut short,

there on the surface, his ashes were strewn.

Eugene Shoemaker, that cold afternoon,

was left alone in the regolith dirt,

he’d trained as an astronaut for the moon.

Luna Prospector carried the tomb

of Shoemaker’s remains, on the transport,

there on the surface, his ashes were strewn.

A quote from Shakespeare was etched on his ruins,

a wife and three daughters, mourning and hurt,

he’d trained as an astronaut for the moon -

there on the surface, his ashes were strewn.