The Hungarian rhapsody
by dear ol’ friend Franz Liszt
as I’ve read the words aloud to myself
and feel that I
might recite them all
as they become
bonded to my own
in soul, as I proclaim
this new music of ours
o’er the cliffs
of Cambria
at Moonstone Beach, as
my forebears brought
me here and yet
I stand on my own
still, for it’s always
been me.
and that’s a mighty
good feeling, friend
—
singing songs here
we are now, folk
songs
we might know
well beneath new
morning sun dreams
of Italy and
creekside Venetian
operatic visions
by Puccini
Rossini, as I
sing these lilting
lyrical melodies
and songs of Don Giovanni
we’re riding on a motorcycle
heading straight
into this new world
only being born.
Ren Michael 