Circa Summer 1986

The Child Of The Soul

He sits in silence, staring down the wall.

In hand the torture instrument carves deep,

Leaving a less-than-fantastic image

From which his imagination must creep.

The lines and curves create a rising child

Who will kick, fight, and scream to be let free.

--------------------------

The conception's attributed to him;

Across the miles is she who helped conceive.

He wants to be the modern, free father,

Providing small chances for that created.

inside a battle rages over rights

Which by all laws are now long outdated.

Looking far into eyes he cannot see,

He pleads, asking for sensibility.

She's assumed equal guilt by this moment

To take half control, the monstrosity.

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When you going to dance,

Taking the moonlight home with you?

How many smiles

Will you pack in that suitcase?

I know you understand the Wind Among the Reeds.

And you spark your own fire --

Burn out of control,

Taking pretenders for an open-air ride.

Seek the never-ending light

That's only eight hours away.

Revel in your own respite --

Get to know Fire and Ice.

---------------------------------

If this were a few years ago (quite a few!),

I'd appear at you in shining silver,

Rapier drawn and ready

To battle the firebreather

That had you caught and in distress

(With perhaps tattered dress!).

Blood on my hands,

Blood on my sword,

Chivalric passion pounding in my heart -

Boom!

Boom!

Boom! 

                   Or

As Arcite I might pray to Mars

That the maidenly hand might be won

In a battle full of color and glory.

But if Palamon took that prize

As I lay crumpled at Fate's feet,

I would have misread again.

(Poetic justice!)

------------------------------

Alas today is today, and so far away,

I cannot protect you from pain.

Stones may fall from the sky,

Both in and out of the bar,

But the rain just falls steadily here,

As my heart pounds in passion -

Boom!

Boom!

Boom!

--------------------------------

"Daddy, when can we go back home?

I want to walk through the waters

That flow through your eyes

When you think of something long ago.

A woman, perhaps,

A mother, maybe.

I'll hold your hand

So that you won't lose control."

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Here, my friends and I sit in still silence,

Drinking a cheap California wine,

Laughing at our lyrical legacies,

Or at least finding flaws present in mine.

Tom knows I can't even unite movements

Or allude to any important scenes

That talk of war, or death, or love, or God?

Couldn't I just prune it down to what I mean?

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Cradling his stemmed glass with a steady, aged hand,

Twirling the clear liquid with a steady swish, swash, swosh,

Lifting the half-empty bottle to level with the pondering eye,

Smacking the table with the fist of enraged fury,

Cocking his hat back and angling the brim across the forehead,

The grizzled self-proclaimed guru laughed at my craft:

"When the doe by the road does not run away from you,

When the squirrel will not cease his nut-gathering,

When the robin hopping from branch to branch stops to sing,

When the skunk feels no danger to raise his temper,

When the mouse pauses by the door to think twice,

When the possum plays live and plays without fear,

Then you can look nature in her warm, twinkling eyes

And create the indescribable."

------------------------

"Hah, nature!" laughed the yankee loudly.

"Let him put the man in pastoral scenes.

Where grass grows all gangly and spitefully,

The solitary cutter finds all truth,

Perhaps finds Jesus and all that, also.

In his landscapes, the lover sees his home,

His bedfellows, his neighbors, his children,

Farmhouses and simple cottages warm,

So that the complexities work out right.

When the lover looks on the horizon,

He finds man intersects heaven and earth."

-----------------------------

The wine was still passed around.

I had to fight to keep mine down.

--------------------------------

Could he arise?

(He arose a little tipsy.)

Could he speak clearly?

(The audience didn't care.)

Suddenly, as if by accident,

He let the true emotions show.

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What becomes important in the long run?

Common bonds between two cowards

Who see themselves ending up on opposite sides of the globe.

----------------------------

Despite all the despair, 

We drive on down these roads,

Forgetting the best care

That these lone hearts have known.

--------------------------------

Silent musings similar to souls

Who don't see themselves on the same side of the fence.

-----------------------------------

Without the weathered feelings,

We make up surrogate reasons,

Knowing that we are still dealing

With actors true and seasoned.

------------------------------------

The child is not sure she really understands,

Or even if she wants to.

At the foot of the crib is a gold plaque

Etched in splendour

If she could read:

Love yourself.

Love what's in store.

Someday, maybe,

Love the rest of us even more.