They had their roles to play
with no understudies they were pressed to perform
no matter the circumstances
The dancer with a sore toe
The singer gargling warm saline
The writer with a broken pencil
All had to carry on
finding new ways
to perform without conforming
to express without regressing
to satisfy without feeling sated
When the lights dimmed
critics would come out of their slouch
and pick and mangle and scoff
since they were unable to do more
The roles would be filled again
by new artists the next day
and those with acclaim as well as not
would all be forgotten just the same
elegance of old
when I saw her last, she was walking a bit slower
her gait still jaunty yet slightly bent
she moved with familiarity of her body
the memory of how she moved in youth
pivoting, twisting, stretching
all in quiet grace
fluid
but now she was forced to hesitate a bit
wait for her body to catch up with her mind
still sharp and bending
adventuresome
her eyes were a bit cloudy
not with tears of remembrance
but with aging melancholy
peaceful
she saw things now in a softer focus
knew what mattered
in a way she never dreamed or thought through
when she talked, it was a slower process
for her prose to come through
and when she sang
it wasn’t the cool higher tones of spring
but the warm dulcet tones of autumn
still beautiful in its season of color
wise
her time with her instrument was limited
for her grip was not as strong
but she could still sketch truth
better than anyone I have known
imaginative
she still insisted upon baking her bread
and growing her garden
until she could create no longer
for though these things seemed to me fleeting
she knew that’s what I’d remember most
tangible
she looked askance at her photographs
that filled the wall behind the sofa
some yellowed and torn, some dusty, some worn
and felt no sadness for those that were gone
but a new calm at the idea of seeing them again
anticipation
Make it Count
He was a genius waiting in the wings
Watching her grab other souls for a dance
He laughed with her as she played with their hearts
But his own cracked when she took her stilettos to tango with the statue
The granite was really clay and it became hers to mold
Somehow the simian moved with her, guiding her in a heathen tempo
He wanted to be the one to smite the Greek and step out of the quagmire and into her arms
But he was only a superman when he was alone
He couldn’t keep her from sharks and weasels and wolves and even the more dangerous sheep
Those who would teach her things he would try to erase
So she would meld her mind with others
Which was OK
As long as eventually she stopped dancing with clowns and fawners
And remembered there were good silent film heroes waiting in the wings
She would get tired and he would be the genius smart enough to read her
They would fit like a hand sliding into a glove
And they would share enough moments to make it count.
Seedy Ballad
The bats are in the belfry
the dew is on the moor
where are the arms that held me
and pledged her love before
and pledged her love before
Had he really wasted so much time, exploring dark recesses
Scooping up shiny rocks, hoping they were diamonds
When there was magic lurking beneath his skin
He was too sick to have ever seen any other path
He never saw her keeping pace but remaining a wallflower
It’s such a sad old feeling
the fields are soft and green
it’s memories that I’m stealing
but you’re innocent when you dream, when you dream
you’re innocent when you dream
His grizzled words growl off the yellowed page
Raging yet gentle like an autumn sunset
Howling, wailing, a lament for having been born
He had felt too much, drank too much, tried to tune out too much
This day was like a revival, a celebration of sensations
Running through the graveyard
we laughed my friends and I
we swore we’d be together
until the day we died
until the day we died
Breaking out of his too-tight skin, ideas poured out like cleansing fire
The years were transfigured in his memory, grotesque
Waiting like rusty weather vanes to find directions of the wind
She sharpened her pencils and softened her heart
Helping him over and through the tangled thickets of pain and despair
I made a golden promise
that we would never part
I gave my love a locket
and then I broke her heart
and then I broke her heart
They traveled through narrow alleys and wide plains
She cradled his head when he felt tortured
He caressed her with his words, sometimes roughly
She took what he gave, he hurtled through space and time
They sipped from seedy wells and tasted the fading gaudy sunrise
It’s such a sad old feeling
the fields are soft and green
it’s memories that I’m stealing
but you’re innocent when you dream, when you dream
you’re innocent when you dream
Unfettered
the canvas is too large
I am used to dealing in miniatures
how am I supposed to fill up the space
when my wit has always had narrow bounds
do I dare leave much white space
room for the eye to breathe
or is that as dangerous
as filling their heads with tripe and travesty
I’m torn
between being honest or being liked
the confines have been chaffing me
and I long to break out
the mold that used to fit so well
is squeezing me dry
my comfort is choking me
may I unfetter my thoughts
let them roam freely
what if they get picked up
and carried by the winds
will others step up
to take their place
will I always have this struggle with myself
the trees and the forest and the cliches therein
will there be at least one person who will hear
and care and understand
maybe that doesn’t matter
when it’s me I have to please
The Word Rummager 