Sky has turned on me
I awoke to a burning red
Dazzling my imagination
As fire so transfixes thoughts.
Then Rain began
Challenging my scales
Peaceful summer breeze
Turned torrential squeeze.
I closed the book of a window
To still my worried mind
Losing my touch
With Reality’s closest neighbour.
I wish I wrote sidenotes
In pages of books I’ve read
The dusty ones
I tried to identify smells in.
Meanings they’d project
To change an entire trajectory
Of the book being read;
A side thought
To my sidenote.
Clever, but not obtuse.
Maybe a little obscene.
Each saddened part of me that looses you
Slowly falls to the ground;
Anarchy amongst my body parts,
One for one is what it’s called.
There are no cryptic memories,
Just scribbled pages of a book
Bent at the corners and stained oily grey
That clearly show a worn use
Only my friendly pair of shoes could wear.
The manner at which each part falls
Leaves no question in my heart
Rummaging my old box stored away
I’ve left to dust beyond.
I heard you over every drone
That came into my eyes
Little did I know I could
Whisper every note to you
Though I couldn’t remember
What had brought me here
I slumped into your presence then
With my ginger and soft tipped pen
But you decided to remake
The last scene of every book
That had two lovers lost at sea
Who found each other near the end
But how could we remember
What had stolen each of them?
How could we begin?
I left my secrets at the door
And then I heard your secret eyes
Tell me everything again
Tell me all I had to hear
For I would wonder nevermore
As you were here as I was here
Like sunflowers in summer air
Like dandelions woven in your hair
Like cheap sunglasses you always wear
In what I see inside your eyes.
Have you ever had the chance to leave your mind?
Take a running start and leave it down there
Magic in the heart and two more memories.
Makes me wonder where you’ve been gone so long,
Followin’ a path that weaves and lifts
Hollys and ferns and lichen too;
Rhythm and your blue and jubilant see
Fire in the palm of every river in you.
Happy is a guess I never dreamt for me,
I took another train through desert and stream;
Golden hours awaited at the end of a dream,
Though I never dared come again here.
Lonely is a story best served in the dark
That smells of an old wine and gold bound book,
Flipping to a page that never looked so good.
Words don’t make sense, misunderstood,
And a hollow in the voice that spoke to me.
Gibraltar in every step at the foot of the bed;
Carry it again for the weight in my head
Is following a noise at the tip of my tongue,
Carry me alone, so I’ll suffer there instead.
This did not grow up as a chemical
We were legs and arms that took too long
But that’s the end of a string
I didn’t bring nor did I sing
But I stood there like sweet nicotine
With salt between my fingertips
That had a history of danger
So take my hand that’s never left
Joking in my Sunday best
Take me on a pleasure ride
Along the hidden tide of your good time
Take me to the ocean rise
With your breasts and lips so sensitive
Catch me in an open book
That reads like the sweet look
You’ve given to me, carrying me
Roads to anywhere that lead me to harmony
For I’m taken here with you
And I’m resting on a rock
In the middle of my thoughts
With you and a dog that took me along
Have you seen what hides in the field
What grows in between, down on the ground
My tidy shoes and a singing guitar
Take me along.
I could be falling over you,
Knocked down by time
Left here to wind my way
About books and seeds
And burnt candles
Handled by delicate hands
To the tune of Chopin
Rustling pages of a score
Over aged ivory keys
On a wooden floor
Showing signs of nostalgia
In gray and white carvings,
Had I known any better.
Counting out dollars of an unmarked womans purse
She told me I had nice hair, I said she was rather curt
That is when she told me about her dear old fathers luck
That had run its course as a scholar written from a pen of steel
I was young, she was pretty, we had fun and then we both remained
Dear friends just all the same.
When the water boiled I poured the tea for three
She hadn’t come alone but we seemed to be private
I wrinkled up my nose to an unexpected story
That had me rather wondering when I would ever read his book
So we took just a minute to choose what herbs would do
And we sipped, then we stirred, and sighed until we finished
All the deeds left to do in a scholarly mans todo.
I wrote a poem as depths of summer
Did I know it would collapse?
I followed the wind into sweet trees
And left my marrow to bleed.
I cried a last chance
Like winds over emptiness
I called and hung on to a word
Yet unspoken was my very reply.
Soon I had walked beyond
Escaped a southern wind
And opened my book to a lost page
Again, a cold and fleeting choice.