SONGS BY PAUL BEDARD-

"Beauty is a lady with a voice so kind,
play piano and sip some Wine."
                 -For The Fantastically Amazing Nora Jones.

The very first light of dawn is dancing under Nora's hat,
and Ella Fitsgerald's singing two shoe scat;
upon the conch shell windowsill theres a down South Cat
watching as the folks pass to 'n fro in the shipwright mist.
Life don't get much better than this.

There's Mountains and Valleys rolling through your songs
The days and nights they do no wrong when Love is lettering home,
a whispry leafed namesake Train take riverboat Mary free Canary tree Poem
singing in your ear about the reeds winged in velvitine midnoon Prayer.

Lines of Castle sand on my palm of hand dancing with a lady from
Ambiguity land where no one deaf or dumb.
Theres a mirror neath the stairs that light hazy skies.
Can't call Maria Mountain a fountain spring talk book shake hip morrow morning sigh
and a sweet pulsebeat breath as silky as an Angel in my ear.
People dancing and looking through one another's eyes everywhere(Repeat Chorus)

A WORLD FULL OF ELSEWHERES AND BRING HOME TOO'S

I can see ya standing old hat and undercover
under and beneath a Lampost with unkissed lips
downtown from tenement street sidewalked and rolling green gardened
Oh scuse my just a moment and beg my pardon.
Ladies and gents changing hands by the tents
that fold like paper aeroplanes in your waving hands.
Waves from the window of the wink-eye Train
that rolls wheel wing fingers through my hair
Ask my with a lamp light up your face by the gate
how much I hilltop the rolling stream home do care.

The night previous to last is shining her stars through your eyes
as piano keys braid your bordertown taylor made hair.
Look through my at your from the grape of vine
that straw your Wine. Are kind to yourself as you are to others
The ocean blue sheen Lion Lambed blue brand new is your Mother's
half sistrin Ship mast arising lets dance Prayer knowing no word to verse and chapter you home on carriage horse drawn over cobble ye ramble and roe
and the tableside pen and ink your fate
Ask me with a lamp light up your face by the gate
how much I such as hilltop the rolling stream home do care.

     Storm's End bent low to kiss the Poetesses morning lit cheek, as a train of horse and mule-drawn carriages labored past The Poetesses half open and shade raised window. Equatoria Brass Wilson was the Poetesses God-Be-Given name, and she lived upon a hill overlooking a mortar and stone Church, the interior chambers of which were vaguely vernaculared by softly glowing red candles that, the smoking flames of which were shaping(as would molding clays East and West diciphering what might've the previous twilight Mistreled birthstone bergs poled north and south into infinity's gate-listening piano keyed eardrum) carpeted spiral stairs turning back, with Cleopatra-like eyes, to look with respecting Grace at Table toward the garden stoics passing fore 'n aft the wave-clothed ocean shaking rain from Martha's waist-length doorway hair. Infinity was wanting neither a train of sundial-bearing Angels, nor naked northernmost poles to alight the hem of oak branch breast in-between by a Cross of gold-trimmed silvers mailed and moss beard universal to the momentine passage through antiquidate tunnels of matchstick Hymnals sung Tavern, Temple and slow labrous treads.
     The Poetess was, and is, a Seagull in winglet wheeling corral reef personage, and the pulse of her awaits Breadstone Wines corked, helmutted, and bringing forth from wanting shadow a swaddling clothed child of History new born ancient as the first rising Sun. Discovered Frontiers endless epistomologies are the blues of her eyes and pupils , centering there circular caves into and out of which the ancient idealizing Philosophers waunder into and out-of.

ON MONDAY:

Whats the mirror look like on monday, when cat's milk weaves your verse;
whats thumbing your nose at a dose of wednesday got to do with the Valentine curse
that books yonder passage from the well to the wink eye breadcrumb Dynasty
dunking donuts in Histories Tea; and what wrong with Loving the shadow cast mountain
that borders your scarlet letter round bill hilly will nilly by the creep willy lost and found.
I'm only talking to myself and no one else, I got the none but me to judge fudge sundae every monday by the traveling trek
and the monkey in the mink coat moo cow ruination is-a waiting on a what now vaccination
sit upon love hill as might a look out hound that found mercy kindness and the long way home
was always norway your way to the look out tower under skies-a blue
that cutes your boots by the namesake nurse