Saturday, December 19, 2020

You Know What They Say About Dreams

I found you once in New Orleans,
But you know what they say about dreams.
We walked down Bourbon Street hand in hand,
And nothing was what it seemed.
Your voice echoed in my head,
“I’m here because I need to hear,” you said,
But you know what they say about dreams.
So, I remained silent instead.
“Hand me back to the day you found me in”,
She cried, as she threw the I Ching
to tell our futures, which she then tossed in
her stew, but you know what they say about dreams.
“You know what they say about dreams?”
asked the jazz-man in, notes of blue and green.
“In dreams no one can hear you scream,
So that’s where I always play my best.”
So, let’s put it to the test
In my dream tonight I’ll scream for you
And you scream for me
And if we hear each other then I’ll rest

Saturday, December 12, 2020

New Moon

There’s a new moon rising
I can barely see it there
except for the hint of silver light
reflecting in your hair
and there’s a piece of a star
here in my pocket
when I’m gone,
put it in a silver locket
and pin me to your heart

Saturday, December 5, 2020

The Broken Mosaic


The Broken Mosaic
    after Lowell George
(Begin with a pixelated image of a 20th century man, a 21st century version of a 15th century mosaic, bits instead of tiles, electricity instead of clay and pigment. Randomly remove 1 of every 10 pixels and tell me what remains. Not a man, no longer even the image of a man. Yet, still, what remains can be beautiful, can be profound.)
He’d been entertaining angels,
unaware of broken tiles
in the ancient mosaic
which was all that remained
of a life lived in spotlights
surrounded by darkness.
His pockets full of pride
and eyes half closed against the sting
of smoke in her bedroom
above a Mexican saloon
where his friends were shooting pool,
for always he had been a fool
in love with love.
A burning in those eyes
from the fumes of
a lamp held high above the rafters,
an effort to reveal
the secrets hidden from us all,
but casting only shadows of thought
upon the dust devils swirling
in the corners of a mind shattered
by too much knowledge
and too true a vision.
And yet despite the burning
and the tears he sees through
the darkness that surrounds him.
and the horns blow
and the steel strings whine
and the heart cries
and the dust and the smoke
bring tears to the eyes
of the man whose voice
pierces the silence
and finds its way
through the crack in the door
to your soul