He always knew I watched him.
I made no secret of it.
A child obsessed with ancient gods I chose him.
Did he choose me or I choose him?
I neither know nor care.
A bargain had been struck,
Just as his foot struck the earth
before he took to flight
and where he went, I followed
inspired by happiness or sorrow.
I don’t know why I write this now
It isn’t me who holds the pen.
Now my youth is gone
He compels me in the task
Of speaking truth to men.
I see open eyes and closed doors
as I see faces pass in the crowd,
all those secrets within,
all those wishes and dreams,
the dark sadness so often seen.
What would they say
if I asked them to stay
and give all their secrets away?
Would they lie or tell me the truth?
Do we sing from one page?
Unfulfilled?
Whatever their stage,
whatever their race,
whatever the date of their birth,
are their feelings so different from mine?
And where is god in all this?
Does god even exist?
In our breath, in water, in fire?
We all die, but are we divine?
What I hear is one voice and one choir.
I came to this place
to express my youth.
That’s the truth.
But I’ve watched it all
with a very old head.
All I see is the quick and the dead.
I look back to a path
that’s paved with regret.
I don’t forget.
But I hide in a world
of positive thinking.
I might be mistaken.
I believe it’s not over yet.
If my soul doesn’t die
and fade to oblivion
(which might be welcome and sweet)
on the next path I take,
when I fall through a vortex
and chromosomes gather again,
let me land on my feet with assurance.
I don’t care when or where.
Bone, sinew and tissue are not the main issue.
I already know who I am.
I seek only one vital key
that opens the door to why.
Paris often told Helen
that her hair falling down,
partially covering her beautiful face,
and her gesture to push it away
was the first moment he felt
the infatuation
that would alter and shatter his world.
Pygmalion must have spent hours
whispering to Galatea,
recalling the shock,
and the joy,
of his granted wish
when she took her first step
from the plinth.
Philemon and Baucis
whisper their truth
through their leaves
as trees
grown together, entwined
Romeo and Juliet
never had time
to look back.
So many didn’t.
There are too many famous lovers
soon parted by death.
Orpheus should never have looked back at all.
Lovers love to repeat their stories.
Where they met,
how they watched each other before.
Their song.
Their words.
They remind each other,
adding small details,
confirming their private and precious thoughts.
Kisses are careful punctuations
and seal every paragraph.
The ritual of repetition
strengthens fond bonds
to the last.
I wouldn’t dare judge a book by it’s cover.
I might miss the silver lining, hovering there.
There is many a slip twixt the cup and the lip
and a worm can always turn.
Cut your coat to suit your cloth.
There are still more bridges to cross.
The age of miracles is past
but the exception may still prove the rule.
Speaking of rules, there is one rule
for the rich and one for the poor.
Power corrupts. Here is the wish I would grant;
May their bread fall buttered side down.
In this world of Chinese whispers,
distorted facts and appealing fictions,
all pearls roll before swine.
It will unravel in time.
If we listen with care
we may hear a whisper that’s pure.
April showers are plentiful
but they bring forth the flowers of May.
Children and fools tell the truth
and let’s hope the truth will out.
We live to be loved, and to love, again, on another day.
Blue are the hills that are far away.
the doctor is a robot
his chest is full of little drawers
where they replaced his heart
the day the sales rep glided in
and explained it all to him
he’s programmed with prescriptions
and has no finer thoughts
he looks as if he listens
but the clock is always ticking
and he’s built to silence talk
he’ll take you to a special place
you’ll feel no mental pain
(he never heard the saying,
so he’ll cut you off from gain).
he’ll disconnect your soul
and cast you into fog
to wander down a hill
where nothing really matters
except the little pill
he keeps the money coming in
he keeps the coffers filled
he controls your will to live
but offers no real help
i hate him, i despise him
he’s a door that leads to ill
replace him with a place of love
where we can scream and shout
and cry and sob and kick the walls
and let our feelings out
replace him with a caring guide
who never tells us what to do
but quietly leads the tested way
to open up and grow
and finally be real
help us find our inner truth
for god sake let us feel
push me as you will
but i for one,
i swear to god,
will never take
that fucking little pill
i, the banished, outcast rook
in a crooked, twisted tree
from far away i see you there
you don’t look and don’t see me
i see your faces as you pass
i see your truths, i see your lies
your stories written in your eyes
all these things are clear to me
outside
always looking in
feathers ruffled by the wind
watching for a winter sun
the beauty of the world, begun,
hangs above the vaulted dark,
the certainties of fathomed night,
and there, see there….the flash, the spark
i see the twinkle of the star
the door still stands and swings ajar
– he is the one at fault
remember that,
keep a note,
don’t be fooled by what follows,
– but remember he loves her
and wants her love in return
– be sure to get the full picture
he told her the truth
he needed time to think
she dragged words out of him
words he didn’t want to speak
not then, not there, maybe never
later, when the storm was over,
one romantic evening
when the stars were bright,
and music was playing sweetly,
he told her a story
one that reminded him so much of her
she analyzed it
explored his sub-conscious for clues
she only saw her own eyes looking back
she denied she was part of his vision
she twisted the tale out of all shape
leaving a big gaping hole
that only she could ever fill
– later she said she was sorry
he took her out dancing,
she probably never wanted to go,
she sat there is total silence
and when he asked what was wrong
she said she had bought the office files along
his pride, for a brief moment,
made him think he should stand up and leave
but he was fascinated by the file contents,
of course,
everything about her
and the life that they share
fascinates him
– it’s all part of their love anyway
he gave her a gift
she asked if he was trying to change her
why would he want to change her?
– it’s totally clear he adores her
if she was late would he wait for her?
yes he would, of course,
as long as she liked
– time doesn’t matter
when she returned, rather late,
she chose to remind him
(how could he ever forget it)
of her rules and his own folly
(if folly it truly was)
she had remembered the storm
and was still feeling angry
just sometimes
– just then
now he’s angry too
– angry he is sad
– sad he is angry
he can’t sleep
because
he has always
truly
loved her
– it’s so clear,
he
simply
adores
her
*************************************
for those with a short attention span
here is the abbreviated version
– he was the one at fault
– it’s all part of their love
– time doesn’t matter
– sad he is angry
– angry he is sad
– it’s totally clear he adores her
– the truth is she loves him too
with a double-ended stick
chance pokes at me
right off the chart
right off the map
can i be blamed
for not trusting that,
when it can shatter my world?
frying pan; liar
true-teller; fire
just about sums it up
why should it be, that in telling the truth,
the people that mean the most to me
are the ones that trust me the least?
protecting themselves
from the beast
i suppose
and who can blame them
for that
shackled by earth
from the day of my birth
my mind has done battle
to keep my heart free
a life-sentenced prisoner
i long for release
or a little grace-given peace
I look at this world. It brings me to tears.
No changes, no choices, no power, no voice.
Our fears come true instead of our dreams.
Our words echo, reverberate, into a void.
I have a dream, just like that man,
the one they killed for speaking the truth.
I have a dream just like the one
that lead to a man being hung on a cross.
I wish the world was more like our dreams.
People could base all their actions on love.
I wish we could be all that we want.
I wish I could be all that I need.
I have nothing to offer, words don’t cast a spell.
Be kind to each other, remember this well.
The Dreaming Path 