Forever flipped the finger to the present and the past
The whole of existence in the bottle and the blast
The effervescent sentiment that bubbled in my blood
Had kicked my bucket of ashes and strewn them in the mud
Hark! Slow angel, beat against my chest like a dove
Dark! Swallow me whole, cover me like a glove
There is no silence left, in the pine trees
we are covered in birds
softly cooing
and singing
their righteous
songs.
7)
6)
Rain drops patter, parroting each other
A conversation muted in the mist
Ships roll in, it's just the storms of summer
Hide the sun with echoes, windy, brisk.
5)
The patter of rain drops parroted each other, in a poetry that grew, timpani sounding as the storm rolled in echoing shades of grey, blocking out the sun.
4)
The patter of rain drops parroted each other, in a poetry that grew, in echoing shades of grey, blocking out the sun.
3)
The sky heaved and sighed, in a single moment the singing rain was born. The timpani pounded its fists in the clouds, shaking, tears came to my eye. The patter of rain drops parroted each other, in a poetry that grew, in echoing shades of grey, blocking out the sun.
2)
The moment made before the rain was born
Stopping to listen, my old heart like a drum
Timpani pounded, and gathered the storm
echoing greys, blocking out the bright sun
-
Your poet's parrot, perched on one corner
of the cage, he sits there, across from me
Your coffee's growing colder by the hour
You bide your time repeating memories
-
Hanging in the wind, a scent on the breeze
You smell it slow then fast and your nose snorts
A sneeze releases the flying trapeeze
Your hands reach out to me but I fall short
-
I would not plan a trip, climbing uphill
Yet storm clouds gather at the window sill.
1)
The moment right before the rain was born
I stopped, my heart beating like an old drum
Cramping like timpani, gathering storms
echoing greys, blocking out the bright sun
Your poet's beret, perched on one corner
of your mind as you sit across from me
Your coffee's growing colder by the hour
thoughts are racing and then one takes the lead
Hanging in the air like a swung trapeeze
My hands reach out but I am falling short
I catch the smell of flowers on the breeze
As I plan out my slow and rough retort
I would not plan this, nor take it like pills
The moment before, at the window sill.
Hot stampede came over the horizon
The cactus and the cowboys both were sharp
Dim rays of daylight smoked behind the sun
Entering first my eyes and then my heart
Coffee made on the fire, in a can
The buffalo and the railroad roared
Brown wise leather face of the Native man
Progress is pounding, knocking at the door
Revolution stopped just short, pocket watch
in the old town square can tell us the time
The gold rock in the river that he touched
He thought he was rich but it was a crime
They came selling snake oil, and playing cards
The outlaw is now pensive, at the bar.