Band Cohorts

This is my band of cohorts, my compadres.

My fellow schemers and dreamers.

My tribe, posse, parliament and parade.

My brothers and sisters.  

My mothers, fathers, nieces and nephews.

My elders and youngers.

My friends, folk, kin, and gaggle.

It's my pack, group, gang, clique, and cartel.

It’s my band.

We are thinkers and tinkers,

inventors and renters.

We laugh loudly and often

rousing rebels

and skipping pebbles.

We make fun out of the mundane,

we act insane

with our fortune and fame.

We wrestle and cuddle

and play in the mud.

Playing and jesting

while jiving and thriving

we contrive, wonder and desire.

We inspire and encourage,

educate and enhance.

We charm and romance

the rhythm of life

and the joy of being happy.

We tread lightly and brightly

on the serious goo and the smelly poo.

It is true

this consortium is made of me and you.

We see things through

to the finish, “to the end.”

Our path is winding,

it curves and bends.

Smooth and steady

all are called when dinner is ready.

We dine in a group, a gaggle, a pack

there is plenty for all

with nothing to lack.

We snack on the quorum

of quid and quo

imagining a future

with lofty glow.

If you need us

we are surfing cloud 9,

enjoying the cushiony breeze

feeling fine.

We shine

superly, duperly, and dandy indeed.

It is time to roll on

with God-speed

and Goddess-deed

the Great Spirit we feed,

our universal creed –

each other is all we need.

Come on.

Come along.

It is the group

that makes us strong.

Let go

and have some fun

in the sun,

rain and snow,

which ever way the wind blows –

all we need is us,

so off we go.