Music Hall Funk
The moon has risen
Venturing down a dark back alley
The night is misty
In the far off distance
Hearing music
....people playing
....people singing
....people dancing
It is a music hall
down a cobblestone street
Slipping in the side door
The music overtakes me
....into a fierce dancing beat
Noticing two ladies by the bar
checking me
Playing to them and dance increasingly seductively
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poem by Peter LeBuhn
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Rhythms of the Night
Seduced by the rhythms of the night
Sounds of People Laughing
People Singing
People Dancing
Entices me nearer to the source
The night streets covered in fog
I venture down the cobblestone streets
to find the source
The sounds of the street beat
that move my feet
The music eminates from a dark alley
through a side door.
The music Pumping...Thumping
set afire by the music
The music and my soul become one
My feet dance aflutter
Shutter I think to what the future holds
As you and I embrace into one body
Engulfed into One
Nothing around us matters
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poem by Peter LeBuhn
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En Paris Ces't Ma Maison
En Paris Ces't Ma Maison
The Paris Skylight
Shines upon your rose room in the early morning.
Portraits of the sea
portraits of Monet and Renoir...serene
boating scenes
You saunter to your full-length mirror
you comb your soft silky hair.
Joy is in your heart...You have found
Paradise.
Your morning walk begins
You pass the Luxemborg Gardens
Le Belle fleur de jardin
A smile glistens off your face
The Arc De Trimphe...The symbol of Liberties de France
The beauty continues
with the Champs Elysees
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poem by Peter LeBuhn
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Dark Forests
Dark forests...Northern...Sourthern Mountains,
Fierce tigers circle around the villages in broad daylight.
...To The red dawn of twilight
The skies shine bright
Protecting what is theirs
In the magic of the night
The tigers roam everywhere taking lives for food.
The Majesty of the tigers power,
The prey dare not make a sound.
The new kin tiger sprout every year
In the valleys low.
Male and female tigers come up and down the mountains in large groups.
There is a village near the tigers’ dens in the valley,
Where tigers often come and eat the villagers’ brown calves.
Rich young men dare not shoot the arrows at the tigers.
The Majesty of the Tiger lives forever
The Majesty of the Tiger
They only pretend to check for the tigers’ tracks in the forests.
poem by Peter LeBuhn
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