Ah, the Trouble (Has Finally Arrived)

with all these little battle worn pieces of history surrounding us all the time 

is that they don't really make up for the terrible news

of just now. Those people showed us what they showed us.

Good for them.We're the direct explosion of their emotions.They're more like  

 

tiny stained glass flags found lost among your pant's contents.

What's that sharp edged thing doing in there anyway? I

remember the white cotton kite string,the 100 year old

Indian head penny,the barely still painted blue metal jack I used to spin around on the floor when I was bored of being nine or ten,

 

the red plastic Tiki bead I found in the grass blades one day,the fossilized squished shell from

the sea of the dinosaurs,but where did this crazy little 

light catcher and all its other little friends come from into my secret life

possession? I haven't a clue. It's a cute cardboard puzzle piece to be sure, but that's just

 

a friendly reminder from the wizards of the universe to have some fun every once in

a while.Not everything is meant to be warrior medicine.It's a flattened

out prism for letting loose some flaring rainbows in your presence. I guess it could be a trick after all.

Nothing ever stays the same so you're only privy once

 

to those particular dragon faces on your wall.It's no

coin of any kingdom I can ever remember signing up

for or belonging to. It's an age old mystery like one of 

those Hardy Boy's books. Don't we have enough of those darned things lying around the house of leaves 

 

already? Or do we even need one more? Every time you unravel one of these silly things

it's just some gravity and some common sense all balled up together to

look like a crumpled short story someone threw out with

the rest of life's late night failures.I say you might as well laugh along with the singer on the trudging, smudging 

 

trail laid out before you. The sun's going to shine bright. Will you be

there to notice? I'll always notice the spaces you tore up going through me.

One of these days I'll have another cigarette I think and try to remember

how you always liked to read on top of the quilt.

Bonus poem:

Stones vs. The Beatles by Darryl Price

 

Right, on the garden, I don't

Exactly throw stones at God's

Windows, but when I get going

I ask a lot of annoying human

Questions. Right, on the

Garden, I'm watching, sad time

To heal something that feels totally lost

 

In me. On the garden, the

Old wound is the thing that shines

Through the softness of leaves and petals as always. On

The garden steps, sometimes I

Cringe at all the senseless betrayals, but

Stay ready to know love is real. Right, thoughts today

On the garden, I dig the

 

Boulder out of my own eye, keeping

One eye open in case

Some angel gets its wing stuck passing

Through the grate. Right, on the garden, hold my hand,

You'll find me fanning these

Poems to keep us warm. Right, on

The garden, like a plaster

 

Lawn buddha or a gnome in

Full cartoon regalia.

It really doesn't matter

Which ideal represents the

Bookshelf better. You can't take

It with you. Right, on the garden

I promise to stop making

 

Promises I can't be

A part of without selling

My soul. Right, on the garden

Wall, they're showing an old Beatles

Movie, but it projects

Now like long-forgotten war

Footage; I suppose it is.

 

Right to be on the garden, the sun

Seems to do a better job being itself

Once it reaches inside those

Hallowed grounds. Flowers can't help

Themselves from blooming with all

Their charming might. Right, on the

Garden, I sit as part of

 

A daily routine and crank

Out another line or two

About the lonely rain falling in

My feelings for you. Garden,

Digging for inspiration,

Just couldn't put shears to the

Quiet;you get bluebells instead. dp