I don’t want to be the pope in Rome, Sitting underneath Saint Peter’s dome. When the cardinals come knocking, Then I guess that I’ll start locking My door, and send those hopeful clerics home. That’s the first of four verses; the accompaniment is slated for viola and tuba, but here it is in a form […]

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I wrote this for the Holiday Recording Party, which Meg Reichardt organizes every year in Brooklyn.  You can hear it over here; joining me are Doug Roesch on guitar and Ralph Hamperian on tuba. Poor little Jim and May!  I hope your holidays are better than theirs.

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But then, who isn’t?

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A round on an epigram from Benjamin De Casseres.

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I drew this in my notebook at school, rather than listen to the teacher.  I think it was in middle school — then, of course, called junior high.  

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Do you want to be like the inchworm?  We have a rather glum song here, as befits the subject. The inchworm’s life is mild and meek; His prospects look a little bleak. All day he creeps, and creeps, and creeps, And creeps, and creeps, and then he sleeps. When morning comes, he wakes and eats […]

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An insistent number, written as I was enjoying a new piano.

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This is the only piece I ever wrote, or ever will write, in Beggs, Oklahoma.

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