Beginning, Another Bright Red Day

by Darryl Price




Pick up any stick or stone and

you'll find the path again. Pick out any

lone star and it will shine just

for you. The rascal wind simply enjoys

messing about with your serious

nature. Listen to its screeching


(on purpose) love moans. It starts

the challenge you could say. Stems are

like short wires that supply enough

juice to the leaves to brighten up even 

your darkest days. It's not a modern

miracle, it's a well-known (made-up) 


every day factoid. When they're gone and

sunk back into the horizon

again, just get up and look for certain corners

of the sky that glow like skulls

on a bright sunny beach. This still won't take you

home in an instant, like a blast


of cartoon dynamite, but it can 

give you a somewhat truer meaning to carry

forward with you on your search. A small torch,

if you only will use it, or

a super sudden, cool looking flashlight

to help you solve your latest mystery


of being surrounded

by so many footprints, within & without

the ancient stone circle, in a

foam-drenched dream by the sea kind of way. Something smooth

and tangible weighing slightly in your

pockets, besides your own diamonds to


warmly connect you with your own

unfolding sentences and help you

remember what you came here for in the first place...yep, you bet

this is love. This is worth the salty rub, up and down the coasts.

This traveling far and wide with no more

courage than a careful crab blinking


at another bright new day from a

moist bed of stranded seaweed and

gently swaying pebbles, all gleaming

at the lifting sun like bathers

with no more urgent care than finding

the next wave to collide into.



Darryl Price                 Thursday, January 31, 2013

Adventure Story

by Darryl Price

"No one is your perfect fit/I do not believe in that shit."--Stephen Malkmus


We got lost looking for the way

to be ourselves. You took every

jump into the ocean as a

personal challenge to your new

humanity. You believed in

every dinner to come as plates

full of possibilities and


endless adventures into the

unknown. And maybe they were, but

you were the adventure I was

looking for, while you were using

me as your buddy buoy. Didn't

know the strain that places on the

heart. Wasn't aware that you would


leave me lonely. I was a cup

for your tears. A bed for sorrows.

And now you want me to give you

points for issues. Because the game

was cruel for both of us. But you're

not sorry. I am. We got lost

when we should have been looking out


for each other's sanity. I

suppose it still turned out to be

a kind of love. But that little

bit, by definition, really

threw me down to the ground. We got

lost; you went your way and I went

out of my mind trying to remember


your kisses. We got lost because

you left all your windows open,

even the one that was my face

and your smile. Sooner or later

something's going to get in and

come between us, promises,

mutual understanding


and the meaning of life. We got

lost because we quit believing

in the connection we made that

didn't exist anywhere else

outside of being together.

And now I've got another song,

another poem in your name.

An Old Bonus Poem:

Practicing My Trees

by Darryl Price

I know you don't want to see me bleeding together

these next groups of words like this, not until the 

tee-shirt's fully washed, finished up for its fine service to 

People-kind and hung out to dry somewhere nice and airy. 

Then it has every lucky chance I'm told of flying 

away on its own powerful flailing arms and becoming someone 

else's lost treasure or trouble. Just not mine and not 

yours anymore. That's where the cut's the most awful,the 

deepest, I think. These new thoughts keep tumbling out of 

my eardrums like spinning jacks and putting on their oh 

so long glowing robes and taking their rightful places right 

behind me—ready to swing the daylights out


of the 

most sadly written chorus you've ever heard (when I give 

them the silent cue ball,that is). Well I can't 

help it if someone strange thinks I can swing. I've 

opened my mouth to speak undiscovered fountains of youth like

winding stairs full of flutes and gotten several alarming angles

of menacing clouds instead, to regurgitate fresh meadows I'd almost

forgotten and gotten blotches of poisoning factories belching their overstuffed 

noonday snacks back at the distended sun, to moisten the 

heads of dolphins with a perfectly planted and well-meant kiss 

or two and gotten sand in a bottle for sale 

at an enormous price tag. All these things I hereby 

lay aside to push before you at some other crack 

in time because they are failed attempts to say something 

new without pretense. Why does it have to be explained 

any further than that? If I could I'd tie



all up in a big blue blanket and fling them 

up at the sopping stars hoping to watch them brilliantly 

sink back into a black cosmos of their own making 

like the little stone sharpened stories that they truly are 

underneath their shells. But we all know that's all but 

nearly impossible with modern life being as it is. Here's 

only two reasons I can't throw off light any farther 

than that for now. One. Because you are like a 

drifting petal of exquisite hue that just so happened to 

fall on my head one day when I wasn't looking

out for it. And Two. Just because I don't believe 

you are a lie to be told to anyone I 

know--at all. Maybe I don't care enough, period. That 

would explain a few things between us right off the 

bat. Nevertheless we find ourselves here at a moment of 

true beauty—it stays riding fast and furious between us 

for as


long as we both shall live and breathe 

the dream of our boldest dreams. Of that I am 

sure. But no more.Not one word more. Nothing else 

makes any real sense to me right now. Nothing that 

I would invest with any kind of soul power. This 

map then that I place in your hands only works 

when you look at it—no one else will be 

able to read its stick figure messages as well as 

you do. That is its sole purpose on this earth. 

To give you alone complete access to its funny looking 

mystery boards. And if you have not the wellness of 

mind to discover the gooey center then let it go 

unexplored by tongue or mystic Eastern thought pattern. It has 

been created with you in its engineered seated mind, that's 

all. Why do you think only in terms of faraway 

people and places anyway? There are so many 


more good 

things going on within the contortionist surfaces of pages than 

pressed together wood fibers and an otherwise inky pulp from 

a host of ghostly squid might otherwise indicate. There's the 

black pressure of life itself stealing behind the ink to 

be sure, but that's not to say there isn't still 

a raging fire swimming on beneath the boiling water's craggy 

concerns with going somewhere after all. Wherever you are being 

you know that life knows its rightful place to go 

with it. I don't care if there's proof or pudding, 

there's feeling. We can't always listen to their selfish, hateful 

nonsense. Sooner or later it's goodbye to the death squads 

as we know them. We have to fly. We have 

to try. We know we might die at their hands.

 But this old death march they have been putting us 

on--on a daily basis-- already has forsaken way too 

many of us to a crippling loneliness. We want more 

to dream. And we want it to be as us 

dancing wonderfully unbound together.  All of us. To hurt even 

the hurtful is not our way. We are not like 



Can you deny us that one feathery pleasure forever? This 

is the history of the world you are fooling with. 

It happens every single day of the year. It happens 

every single minute of every single day. It's happening to 

you right now. To your mind. To me. And to 

all of us. To the very blades of grass we 

walk upon. Will you really shoot the stalks to torn 

apart pieces for a mere laughing lark among fellow killers? 

More will grow you know. More will come. In one 

form or another. They'll raise their sons and daughters to 

be loud mouth poets. When the daylight breaks something new 

and good and even great is born even when the 

weather is at its bleakest slowest hour. Always. Come on 

inside the words right now my friend and take a

seat. Take my hand. Just for a brief and a 

restful moment to stand alone without fear guiding us, let 

us here celebrate something real in this world together. Ah, 

I say, a big,fat yes to all that and 

much, much more that I see living still in your 

deepest set of the all seeing eyes. Do love anyway.