I heard the sirens,
And I knew
That they were all for me.
Should I live to see
My 15 minutes of fame,
So that all the men
All dressed in blue
And driving red
Should quit the flames
And come to revive me?
But little did they know that I had flown
And my spirit hovered up above
To see them working feverishly upon my frame.
And finally, one stabbed an EpiPen
Full of adrenaline deep within the veins of my dead heart,
And wished me back alive with all his strength.
And someone somewhere must've heard his prayers,
And made me wonder what the fuss was all about?
For in an instant I was back,
Like a genie trapped
Once again inside her bottle.
And now the wishes that I grant
Must come from only there.
When that person calls you by a name that isn't yours,
Before you roll your eyes and gasp
And allow yourself to burn
From the flames of such a disregarded fire.
Stop for a moment and listen.
For this is the word
That formed in the brain,
Of this said person
When he or she recorded the concept of you
In the very mind's eye.
And if there's something in a name,
Then there might be something, too,
In the sounds and syllables that
He or she relegates to personify you.
Or maybe this person is in tune
With some lost former life of yours,
And calls you by that name you had.
And in a flash of de javu,
You'll wonder who you really are,
And wonder that this skin flint
Seems so confident to know.
But maybe your parents didn't listen,
Or maybe they gave too much mind
To the pulses of the universe
That came to light when you were born,
And maybe said jerk
With a casual glance can see
All of your forest thru all of your trees,
And conjures up a name above all names,
The name you should have had.
Or maybe he or she's forgotten you,
And remembers someone else instead.
I wish I were intolerant to dishwater
And toilet wands
Instead of gluten and lactose.
I wish my system couldn't take a microscopic amount
Of boorish behavior from know -it-alls,
Or self-absorbed control freaks.
I wish I had a doctor's note
That would get me out of empty meetings,
And prescribe for me long walks by the lake.
I wish I were averse to haters, fear-mongering remarks from insecure people, and the jealous snide of critics,
Instead of being hypersensitive
To sugarcookies and milk.
Maybe our spirits met in a time and place out in the night
Somewhere out west of the great salt lake
Where the counties are big enough to handle
The great expanse of our Love
And there we rolled thru the sky like thunder
And loped and billowed oer the clouds
And gamboled like colts til lightning bolts
Electrified the desert
And then in a flash we trembled
And in a sudden downburst of sweat
We rained down love and life in the desert
And got everything soaking wet
I want to baby baby baby you all night long,
Spread my feathers out over you and flutter,
Be all in a frenzy and stammer and mutter
and try to say your name.
I want to touch you everywhere at once,
Be as quick as Mercury
And heavy as lead
And weigh on you like glories forgotten
Until nothing matters but the thought in your head
That is pure and knowledgeable
And right and good.
This world seems to shout a constant, "No!"
And so I'm glad we oui so well.
It is so sweet to hear a rushing, "Yes,"
Roll down the riverbank
And over the falls and deep into
The pools of you that gather in my soul.
I bathe in the rainbows of that mist
And refresh permissive things to try
There where failure resides in peace with success.
And the mystery of that sacred union
Blocks all fear and the vulgar urge
To shout out, "No!" like all the rest.
But instead, I stop and think,
And agree with the beauty and the truth,
And whisper, "Yes.
Anything for you."
The land bridge isn't there anymore.
My ancient migration ended.
And now I don't know what to do with myself.
My heart longs to go north
To the forest of northeast china,
And out to the place where the timbers cross,
And the open Manchurian plane.
There are foods there that feed my soul
That don't grow in this country,
And maybe my body is starved for them as well.
And so, should I pray for calamity,
For famine or drought or age of ice
To come again,
And open the route
This is one of those days
When the empty wind blows
And slams the door
And reminds me of the thousand days
That I don't have you.
But then I turn
And see the ocean,
And the ocean smiles and waves
"But you do have me."
And I am happy again.
You're a sweet lover,
A delicious one,
Acres of unending sugar cane,
Miles of rolling sorghum.
You're the first ear
Of green corn silked,
The best creamy taste
Of cows fresh milk,
Still in the comb.
And my eyes can't even see
All there is of you.
My arms and hands expand
And try to hold you while you dance,
And try to take all that is you
Juniper berries tingle and clean.
Come sit back in the tub with me
And watch them float and gather
On top of the water and all in between.
They stop and stay in constellations
That copy, at first, then go beyond
The galaxies that we can imagine,
For they've come from the Ancient Juniper fronds, and know
Just how to make the claws of the feet of this tub hold on.
And so, hold on to me,
As we pass through the water
And the Juniper Constellations
Love transcends Time and Place and Circumstance.
Love unlocks the hidden meanings of riddles
And unfolds the map another section
To disclose a new frontier beyond the horizon,
A reason to breathe again.
Love is always there,
'The Supreme Poet, The First Cause,
More subtle than the tiniest particle,'*
Big, like the biggest sky,
With stars that you can see
All the way down to the horizon.
And if any two points can find
That they are, in fact, co-linear,
And believe me, they are,
Then, everything is simpatico,
And Love is recognized.
I wanted to bring you wild flowers
From the coast of transient spring,
Where the bluebonnets and the Indian paintbrush sway.
And a snowflake that I caught midwinter
Puzzled my eager eye.
I wanted you to have a look at it.
And the golden ambrosia apples crisp,
So sweet and so delicious--
I held one like a bowling ball
And tossed the core
All the way to Baltimore
But would time stop
Or turn its back,
For but one season still?
And I would meet you
At the Summer Mill.
And we would turn out
Flour for cakes
To eat all year
From the grains of
Sparkling sand and waters blue
And "I Love You's,"
Where Love began,
And still is new.
I'm just a pat of butter
Stuck on Baldy's beard,
Right into his whiskers,
And I can see people
Giving him hints
That he ought to take his napkin
And wipe me off.
Their plaintiff eyes are serious
They're wiping their own clean shaven chins
But Baldy ain't taking no suggestions today.
Tho maybe, in some parallel universe,
In some other time anomaly,
He may have dutifully fixed "the problem."
In this time, Now,
This particular "Today,"
He prefers butter in his beard,
And his "little problem" is here to stay,
Melting slowly into his whiskers,
Gently dripping onto his face,
'Cause, he likes it that way.