The Song

Just walking through a grocery store
And then he heard the song;
Somehow, it brought back everything
He’d buried for so long

They were so very young, and she
So beautiful and sweet;
The first time that he kissed her
He could hear his own heart beat

Why did he throw it all away?
How has his life been spent?
He loved her then, he loves her now –
He still recalls her scent —

But then, back in the grocery aisle
Her “kiss me,” fades away
And sixpence none the richer, he
Goes on
His day


(“The Song” – 1-7-2015)

Fall Carnival

Photo Aug 10, 11 50 40 PM - Copy

Young love, what it felt like. A clear Autumn day –
Golden leaves, a blue sky, the bright carnival way;
At fourteen years old with my very true love
A large crowd around us, a few clouds above

The roar and the music, the beautiful girl,
My mind in a passion, my heart in a whirl –
We watched as a pulling glass man did his craft,
And walked our wide circuit from fore back to aft

And we never touched – but somehow she touched me;
In ways that come back now in fair memory.
A crush, I guess, one hardly lasting much longer;
But for that one day, I had never felt stronger

And rarely have since. It was one of those things:
Days when your heart’s dancing and when your soul sings —
When Autumn embraces you, full, as a boy
And all coalesces with love
And in joy

I Wander Freely

I wander freely in and out of dreams
Along a path where long ago we walked;
By tires on long ropes, swung over streams,
Where crickets chirped and frogs croaked as we talked –

And as young lovers do, we also did.
I loved the shy excitement of your eyes;
Your quick’ning breath, as on that path we hid
And tried our civil hearts to naturalize –

I still recall your look, your smell, your taste;
Each element of your glowing embrace –
To sin not, nor repent, in any haste,
To watch a moonlight shadow on your face –

With you I wander there in ecstasy:
With you, who’s never spent one dream on me

Stream of Regret

She remembers them walking this way, so in love; but, as she’s sadly learned, meaningful feelings can be attached to meaningless relationships. For she meant nothing to him, and only the intensity of her own desire ever made her think he did.


When I was sentient, I knew a man
Whose hobby was to build things out of cards:
At least I think. For my attention span
Is very short, and doubtful in regards
To any but the widest boulevards
That truth or lone veracity might take
And subject to drive off, without a brake

At any rate: the guy. His steady hand
Was such that I admired, in the way
He could produce, from what his mind had planned,
Facsimiles of Paris or Marseilles,
Combining games of chance and macrame.
A balancing, precarious and wise
Of miracles set up before our eyes.

The Distorting Power of Memory

As I recall, you loved me,
And thought that I was great;
You wanted to have kids with me,
And couldn’t hardly wait

For wedding bells and honeymoon.
At least, so I recall —
It’s strange how you remember
Never loving me
At all

The Memory I Have of You

The memory I have of you
Is one that’s ever-dimming now;
As other lands and other climes
Take over my recall –

But still, I see a fading bridge,
A perfect sort of summer day,
Just past the edge of words and rhymes:
I almost
See it all