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by Mickey Chalfin
scattered conversations low yield fire irish tunes wafting nighttime a clan gathers one liners sex, sick, pub, genies, jewish, polish, irish, german, puns, light bulbs, blonds, rednecks, talking dogs, sheep over fences, three legged cows, bullfrogs, hamsters all for a laugh together once a year to carry them out into the serious world mick 8-4-2007
was this the first one hard to tell they all blend live up to any hope turn us into whirling dervishes keep us up all night sensations to last a year sign us up for the next one please mick 8-4-2007
redwoods never die they just lean along with us propped up by music lining the pathways from turkey to mexico nothing but music marshmallows on sticks smoke swirling and entering every bagpipe mosquitoes laughing we pack up each dusty harp scratch out a living bacchanalia seven hundred musicians planning for next year mick 8-7-2006
up and down steep hills huffing, puffing, and plucking fiddles or bagpipes total immersion it's not about the music floating together marshmallows on fire expensive guitar sweetened everybody wins no need for dinner late afternoon percussion good single malt scotch darkness falls from trees seductive belly dancers hiding what matters Mick 8-8-2005
fire tranced folk exchanging glances and stories a weave and warp of irish fiddle tunes balkan and belly dancers twisting stepping gliding conjoined by the canopy of towering ancient redwoods here we are, now for the taking and giving for the magic juice of musical love Mick 8-7-2005
fire pit is cold lark moments begin to fade into new countdown photographs abound lark music really happened once upon a time turkish coffee booth fractured and stacked into truck lark and cardamom so many choices juggling seven women last night talent show soft sounds all week long breaking camp to a bull horn lark into traffic cranking them out now musical notes flying fast redwood cones and larks nothing can be lost we shall travel like the lark finding perfection Mick 8-15-2005
suspended in honey liquid fun redwood canopy sweet acceptance music of spheres splashed upon our faces fires burning into our guts and gusto chock-a-block feasts panoply of friends limitless ardor days/nights, nights/days all one moment without hiatus we revel and reel home is here moving with us into completion before we return to earth Mick 8-9-2004
sounds of paradise we'll have to do it ourselves steel tent pegs sod-bound morning air pan pipes hot-cake breakfast can just wait south america a folk gathering one year of soaking it in sponging up juices who needs a haiku syllables aiming to dance lark in the morning mick 8-30-2004
lark in the morning bacchanalia in extremis we lucky few hundred to ply the waves of the world's folk in its strings and blow holes its skins and feet trippingly balanced in wafts through mendocino woodlands air; we might turn to the fire a circle of glowing friends within reach of coffees and cakes and fantasies! into the late night's easy pace; a chance encounter with luminous irish stringed melodies holds us and leads us and we levitate without care; in the sheltered dining hall a tearful audience witnesses five women in old rags of the balkans bring us to our birth and back they know we are with them and with our tears streaming we carry them what secret ecstasy the dance-hall floor must feel; what secrets to tell! packing up one year leads to packing for the next and the next might be as soon as a year of tunes mick 8-8-99
he has no front teeth but sings in fourteen languages his hands are gnarled yet he plays fifteen instruments he is suleiman the great and each year his reputation expands along with his beard his fetching wife dances as he plays gypsy dulcimer his grit and grime carry the melodies into an amber-soaked cosmos we are spellbound and begin to discern that this music is his shackle to our world every note forging a link into his radiant chain mick 7-29-2000
where the music played for us like the fire each day and night burning for us like the ancient redwoods towering for us and, of course all the loving from four hundred faces cheering us on such is lark music camp for one week each year all for one and all for all mick 8-5-2000
many eyes around faces in fire blazing rum cake on warm chins walking up steep trail mostly pleasurable feel snoring on all sides pipes playing through trees ancestral red hair flowing everyone dancing not lost amid jokes musical summer showers jester spraying crowd night falls over heat familiar sounds of kissing lovers in shadows happiness right now time wanting to stop and play must we wait a year? mealtime under sun work is an oxymoron lark in the morning mick 8-14-2002
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