Monthly Archives: April 2013

With Time

So much – so much and never enough time
A shape shifts with the drifting sand
Leaving us to wonder if the riddle has an answer
Leaving us to wonder if sunrise is a promise
Leaving us to wonder

The old man said he never loved enough in his life time
A tear danced through the cracks and lines
In the old man’s face – he said it was the wind
He said it was the wind and he said
He never loved enough
And now it is way too late.

An unfamiliar voice from another time
Spoke softly in my ear in the crowded movie-house
You aren’t even half the way there yet
I ate my popcorn – my eyes never left the screen

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Sixty-one Years In The Real World

I saw God in my father’s eyes
On the white sands of Mexico
Standing on the shore in long jeans and sandals

Sixty-one years in the real world
Running in rivulets down his golden face

Sixty-one years in the real world
Bursting the seams of his strong red heart

Sixty-one years in the real world
Calloused into his ruddy hard hands

Sixty-one years in the real world
Behind his wire rimmed glasses

Sixty-one years in the real world
And I am only half the way there

At the Avalon

It’s easy to fall in love in a place like this
Each sweet meaty juicy ass strolling by in black hose
Is a dream that I could never have
A broken hearted fantasy just out of reach

Love is no longer the everlasting
Mystery of my sister’s childhood

Love is immediate gratification that tastes great

I’d like to learn to dance the way these lovers do
But the miles I’ve run have taken their toll

So the love and the dancing will only exist
In my dusty balsa wood mind
And if that is my only consolation
I can live with that
Because the only things that I own
Are my soul and my mind
And I will have them for a long time

Images of Faces

Images of faces are clinging
To the walls of the museum
The walls created to contain the life
That whizzes and whirs past him
Like a merry-go-round
That would have delighted a child
That can only petrify an adult

Then comes the half-hungry dream
The red-faced children promising love
While all the ancient men push and pull
Expecting answers to tuck into their
Long grey beards
While the antique women heave
Holding their beads to their chest
The promise of love remains

She Makes It Like Christmas

Eileen is raining pennies from Heaven
On this typically breezy summer night
I haven’t felt this good
Since I don’t know when – maybe longer
And she can sing it like nobody’s business
I hope she keeps singing
Because she makes it like Christmas
And I can use a little Christmas
Right about now

The Silence Remains Unbroken

The silence remains unbroken
The roaring crashing booming silence
Remains unscathed and intact
His ears are ringing his heart is pounding
The pen-people wordmongers
Watch breathlessly from the bleachers
But the poet cannot perform for them
He is packing up and leaving with the circus
He has put all of his stubby pencils into a cigar box
He is taking his show on the road
Perhaps he’ll see another town
Perhaps he’ll face another crowd
But until that time
The silence remains unbroken

Your Sister’s Eyes

The strings beneath my fingers dig into the fleshy tips
The clear crisp sound bounces off of the walls of the little dining room
It bounces past your sister’s eyes following a straight and steady course
Deep into your smile – your smile is music itself

The sound travels back to me to gain energy to resume its course
It bounces past your sister’s eyes its course is strong and steady
But this time it stops at your smile it lingers there touching your lips
The way I wish I could – delicately but definitely
And when it comes back – when it has finally had enough
When it just can’t take it anymore it returns to me and settles itself on the floor
But not before it has known the love in your smile and in your sister’s eyes