A Gypsy Dream

My friend, the gypsy, shared a dream
Of how she’d found a carnival,
A type of old tradition where
The best of their technology
Was brought to bear to try to make
A wonderland of lights and sorcery.

Where lovers could walk hand-in-hand
And feel excitement from the crowd,
As she did; with some unknown he
Whose face was handsome, though unseen.
But still the glow of love was there,
Among the scents of summer on the pier.

But love, she said, is not her way:
At least, the way that many think
That love should be: just one for good –
A night, a day, a month, a year,
That’s fine, but even in a dream,
She knew the carnival must have
An end – a letting go – a final turn.

She stared away, in shadows, then
She said, “I’m built for wandering.
The hands I hold are many, as
I make my way across this life.
I’m sure that dream was just my truth
As written on my neurons in the night.”

I watched her kiss the sunset, and
The gleaming colors in her eyes
As she arose to meet the night,
And leave me in a cafe seat
To ponder what a gypsy thing
That lives and hearts are in the very end,

That lives and hearts are in the very end.

Snapshot: The Morning After

She walked out of the trailer
Into frigid Winter air
And left the boy she’d met last night
Alone and sleeping there

She heard the softish crunching
Of the snow beneath her feet;
And pulled her jacket tighter
To keep in her body’s heat

She walked to a convenience store
A half a mile or so
Where she bought her some breakfast
And a coffee cup to go

And as she headed back
She thought about the night she’d had
And said: you know this growing up
It isn’t that half bad

Turning Heads, Twisting Hearts

And there she is, on purple roller skates;
Her purple elbow pads and matching socks –
Original, no fear of duplicates,
With longer lines than any ballot box

She’s skating by, and boys are hypnotized;
By further motions they all long to see –
She laughs, but she can also recognize
The signs that mark each future devotee

For she has no illusions on that score;
She knows they’ll come with promises and lies –
And mocks their paltry games and scheming poor,
To window shop for those she classifies

As a nice pup to pick up for a time
Then place back in its cage if it should whine

no place dramatic

… two people fell in love …

along no place dramatic, two
young people fell in love —
to you or me, a mundane thing;
to them, the world had changed

out past the yards of neighbors, they;
excited – hand-in-hand —
and you or I might nod our heads
but still not understand

for though there is a me and you
we can speak freely of:
that doesn’t change, well, everything,
the world’s not rearranged

for how we view things is our world,
it’s all we really see —
to them, there’s only them, and our
part in their history

for it’s no place dramatic, but
there’s drama, all the same;
for love, such as it is, just is —
and will its prizes
claim

Supposed to Be

Between what is and what should have been.

The way that it’s supposed to be,
We’d be out there together;
We’d watch watch her grow concurrently,
Then loose her from the tether that is us.

That’s “we”, not “me” and “you”:
A family’s what we had,
But now, that’s all a memory,
That went from good to bad —

You took my hand and I took yours.
We loved behind these folding doors
We’ve folded up and stored away –
For there’s nothing to hide now

I see you in our daughter’s eyes:
I do not think you realize
That she still holds out hope for us
That you have smashed to pieces —

The way that it’s supposed to be
I’m here for you, you’re here for me;
But there’s no “here” where we can meet,
Your smash-and-grab job’s quite complete

You lost respect for me and so

There’s nowhere left for love to go

No ground left to find empathy

The way that it’s

Supposed

To

Be

only love

my tortured mind spins constantly;
a beacon on a foggy night –
as i search on, incessantly,
to touch beyond the wrong, the right

but then, into my lighthouse tow’r,
love comes with silent longing’s gaze;
the hopeless search of my last hour
fades, as gloom’s impending stays

away from where my heart lies still.
it’s only love that gives new birth:
that calms the restless mind and seas,
and makes this life
what it
is worth