She stopped to look at me;
Of course I noticed,
It’s what’s come and saved me;
In the garden that we’ve planted,
In the life that we’ve harvested.
So long nights are star-lit,
Wisdom is a campfire,
Pride is found in a solid axe
And love is what reminds me…
Just like a well worn pair of leggings.
You’re there every night!
Roosters wake me at the break of dawn.
I smell well worn leather
And anticipate your footsteps
Coming to say good morning every morning.
Dear George,
It’s been two years since I last heard from you,
I’ve been wondering if there’s been some trouble
Flirting the edges of your peaceful existence
I’ve always known you to have.
How is Martha? Cindy and I always chat about how lovely
Of a woman she is – and of course you are, my friend.
I frequently think back to our college days.. Do you?
Do you remember that night we sat on the patio at the Gate
And drank ourselves silly?
I think you were going downtown to some punk bar
Which I accompanied you on.
Do you remember jumping into/over that tree, down the drop?
I’m surprised we didn’t break bones doing that.
How big was that drop? Must have been about 5 feet or so..
Of course you have memories. I think we’ve talked about this before.
My heart is humble these days, perhaps it’s my inner peace,
Perhaps it’s also my slow submission towards some light.
I see that light in you when we come and visit.
Do you know what I’m talking about?
I find myself believing more and more in the spiritual world,
In listening to energy around us.. I think it’s only in my nature
To want to also influence the energy around us,
But if you ask me, this is dangerously close to necromancy.
Well, that or being God.
We’ve never talked about God before. What is your God?
Hope all is well my friend. I look forward to hearing from you.
Love,
Your ol’ friend,
Hermann Flicke
Black and chrome
Ancient symbology
Free flowing ale
I am a lone libertine
Waiting for the coo-coo-clock
To mark my steps into this night
Where serendipity roars.
Sweet romantic raindrops held out their hands
For my memories and heart splashes.
But I’ve already paid for the month,
I brought my warm sweater;
I’ve come for the show.
Two ladies danced into the night,
Slow waltzes around and around
As I sketched out the scene with dirty charcoal.
Hands in the air and sing out the song,
Pale spotlight in a smokey saloon.
There are people upon people
That I have never known,
That have weaved their web to
Shatter my efforts,
Until their essence infects
Even my laziest of days,
Unbuttoning my blouse.
Here I rest, alone.
Wrestling with the little lambs
That elude my grasp,
Leaving me restless at night.
Sunsets are always so much easier for me to catch.
They don’t try to get up and sneak away like a thief,
They squabble and gobble and hiff and huff
Until they explode in the sky like a painted eye.
That, and I’m a night owl and the moon tells me secrets.
Too many nights
I’ve been
Awaiting your call.
Like a whispering tree,
I’ve spun around with wild wind.
Can you call out
My name,
So I know it’s not dead?
There’s a pen at my study,
Perhaps spell it instead?
Long howls in deep darkness
Play our lonliest tune;
A soloists trumpet,
A clear moon and my
Distancing footsteps.
There was a fog,
An “I can barely open my eyes
And the cool glasses aren’t just for show”
Kind of fog.
It started circling round my brain
Then slowly moved south towards
Innermost feelings and dire consequences
Like some kind of fire truck
Of intentions, aware and sober
And fighting the repercussions
Of a long lonely night spent hanging on
To old blues songs from the heart.
This fog did not reside in an empty bottle,
This was the sober realization of
Thirty something with a cross eyed and
Hair brained idea,
Shifting from left to right,
Idling on those soft hands full
Of dermatologically recommended’s best.
And that was the fog so thick
Sunglasses were required.
I am not alone,
I am not abandoned
In my misery
To flush out
Battling conceptions
And wish well
In long nights
That remind me of
Good times that
Never last.
I am not a mourner,
Neither have I been left
To fight this battle
With all my wisdom
– Shining bright,
And reminding old visitors
That nostalgia
Bites even the strong at heart
Who leave traces of life
In the wake of their presence.