“Love Will Be The Answer” — Lyrics

1.
if you search the moon and stars for clues to who you are, if you search the wind,..
if you ask the morning why it skips across the sky, ask where you begin…
how can it be, you are here with me?
I can see these questions point in only one direction, I believe…

Love will be the answer
Love will be the dancer
so light on its feet, giving and sweet
Love will be the answer
Love will be the answer to everything

2.
in this miracle of light where we are shining bright, in the arms of spring
hear the music of the leaves up laughing in the trees, hear the angels sing
feel heaven’s power in the mountains, in the flowers
anything we wonder in the sunlight and the thunder we will see…

Love will be the answer
Love will be the dancer
so light on its feet, giving and sweet
Love will be the answer
Love will be the answer to everything

3.
speaking gently to yourself and everybody else go dancing through your day
take the children by the hand and you will understand everything’s okay
sailing by the chart in the ocean of your heart,
anything you’re searching all you need to know for certain is one thing…

Love will be the answer
Love will be the dancer
so light on its feet, giving and sweet
Love will be the answer
Love will be the answer to everything

All I know. All I know.
Love’s the way to go.
Do you see? Do you see?
Love will set us free.
Love will set us free.
Love. Love. Love. Love!

~~ end of newest lyrics.

Heading out to the studio Right Now to sing them, whooohoooo.

Snapped that photo down the street a couple hours ago.  That biggest bloom is about 1.5″ across.

I think it’s jasmine?  On a spray-type vine, and for sure loaded with heaven’s power — like you!

Happy Sweetness, y’all!!

xoxooxoxoxoxo

One Of These Days — a poem

One of these days I’ll write a poem

that strips down to its macrame bikini

and flings itself from a NY Plaza Hotel

chandelier onto Donald Trump’s hair.

It’ll be a poem that crashes the hotel’s

pastry kitchen, samples all the wares,

then whisks a bottle of champagne up

to the suite with the finest Park view.

Yep, one day I will.

But not today.

Today I’m writing a poem

about the Versailles of my

parakeets’ 2-bedroom loft.

It’s come a looooong way, Baby.

My offering today for dVerse Poetry’s Open Link Tuesday .

🙂

Thank you! And happy poetry-ing.

Jannie

xxoxooxox

P.S. Angel “Van Halen” Funster, my little shredder, has an orangish face from her love of carrot demolition.

just a short ebay-inspired poem

So, we tap on weird little things called computers

to buy stuff we’ve never seen from people we’ll most

likely not meet until at least year 1, 459, 397, 682.

Kinda like in the days of butter artisans when Hilda,

Dot and Mary Katherine with their silver silk bustles

a-swishing, didst order from les grands catalogs.

Gold hair clips often. And mirrors made from melted sand

and the dust of wind-whipped chariots of uncorseted desire.

And seeds, oh yes — seeds whose children keep on singing.

My Open Link Tuesday share for this week of dVerse.

whooohoooooooooooooooooooooooo.

xooxxo

Oh, and funny what you’ll find when you Google “Victorian Seed Packets…”

Poem Written After A Night Of Songwriting, Laughter & Sweet Leaf Tea

I’d like an old woman
to wrap my tired shoulders
in a shawl of sleepy seaweed.

I’d like the seaweed to wrap
all my Christmas presents this year
in yellow pansies and cedar shingles.

I’d like my shingles to hold fast
through days and nights of snow
and dusty misplaced bedroom slippers.

I’d like my bedroom slippers to be
made from Doc Marten leather that
has danced in Australia at least twice.

I’d like Australia to move a little closer
to Texas, and I suppose with tectonic shifts,
Australia soon will be at my front door knocking.

I want Milo to open my front door
and step robustly inside, leaving his
wet umbrella out on the bottom step.

I want my bottom step to welcome
all peoples from all lands and invite them
in for tea and poached eggs on toast tomorrow.

I want tomorrow to be as awesome as
this moment seems to be for me, here after
midnight still up with the aroma of earlier burgers.

I want my burgers to all be organic,
on softest nine-grain buns, with dashes
and lashes of relish from an old woman’s fridge.

I want an old woman’s fridge to be full
of apples, celery, carrots, and walnuts
and I want her to invite me to lunch daily.

And if she felt so inclined to pop in with Milo,
take up my broom and waltz around with it until all
the dust was in the old cast iron frying pan, I wouldn’t mind.

And if the frying pan should marry the vacuum
cleaner to the dishwasher I wouldn’t mind that either.
I’d only mind if I forgot to let Milo open the door to your heart.

~~ end of poem

When I was a teen I thought that Pete Townsend song went “Let Milo Open The Door.”

Years later I realized the lyric was actually “Let My Love Open The Door.”

🙂

Sweet Leaf Tea — made right here in Austin, Texas, USA, whooooohoooooo!!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Inspectors

It’s all tea and crumpets

until inspectors in fedoras

and restless 3-piece suits

stand pointing at your

railway car and leaning

on your tiny caboose.

Other snoopers,

as you possibly know

from your own tangos

with clipboarded eyes,

are the popcorn police,

the chain-link fence patrol

and the nudity overseers.

There are even

government spies

ever on the watch  

that farmers’ spring

grass fires never burn

wider than a 2-square

meter patch per year,

farmers whose

great-great-great-

great-great-great-

grandfathers cleared

said land almost two

hundred years ago,

farmers who, by age 10

had already forgotten

most of what had been

handed down to them

about ash fertilization,

ladybug June cotillions

and the pull of the moon

over October stallions.

Did I mention a good

many stout farming

lads and lassies were

conceived those April

grass fire nights as the

last puffs of snowmelt

were seeping back into

the love that still is and

always will be recreating

itself from the lungs of

the universe breathing?

~~ end of poem inspired by above photo of a model railroad scene.

~~ and brought to mind the time a clip-boarded kid told Dad to put his burn pile out,

~~ Dad who still loves and lives! Great Typo — in the farm house he was born in 75 years ago.

My dVerse Poets Open Link Tuesday offering.

xxooxoxox

Thank you for your comment.

I look forward to getting over to your blog in the next day or so!