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Even if I was a Fool


by Darryl Price


I enjoy the walk through these 
crowded woods. It's good to be 
back among deeply seated 
young and old trees again. That 
familiar smell, you want 
to always savor it so 
very much, to not deny 

any of it. It smells like 
a blue sky, the real thing, not 
polluted with anything, 
but pure air. I'm sure that's an 
illusion. I faintly hear 
the rotating sounds of cars 
rumbling on asphalt. Still the 

determined birds seem to be 
having a really jolly 
good game of whatever it 
is that they're playing at. The 
new flowers are all showing 
their arms and legs off. Even 
the dappled sun stripes on the
 
dusty trail beneath seem to 
be merrily skipping to 
a happy beat of their own. 
I know I am. My legs are 
wearing out but they don't want 
to stop and rest. They want to 
keep going and discover 

more of everything growing 
everywhere. Mushrooms, ferns and 
lit butterflies navigate 
the leafy floor with beauty 
and tremendous grace. I feel 
perfectly blessed inside of 
the moment. And the forest 

now has given me the gift 
of a living electric 
silence. I will stop and be 
thankful here. I may have been 
a fool, I probably still 
am, but this amazing  peace 
is a true reminder of 

the blundering thoughtlessness 
of the wise, who prefer to 
count the spilled stars forever 
rather than love their fellow 
men and women with some true
humility. And now it's
time for this fool to return.



Bonus poems:


Our Hearts Were Old When We Were Young



We believed in 
everything and everything 
believed in us.

We believed it
could last. We
couldn't have tried

harder. I, personally,
don't regret feeling
that way. What

more can I
say? I loved
you then. I've

always loved you.
You're my good
friend. Goodbye, old

friend. Weren't we
lucky to have
found each other

among the billions
of grains of
stars? I told

you I was
a poet. What
I didn't know

was how much
sorrow we would
have to carry

with us. Still
we knew lots
about sunshine on

water, and rain
on leaves. And
we knew where

and how to 
make music in
every honest moment. 




Magic Horse

by Darryl Price


This is what you wanted. This is what you need. God, white owls are a good luck sign that will do in a pinch. If you live in a forest that is or near one. This is what you want. This is what you need. God, give me a quick shove, wait, I'm already down, just show me the way. This is what you want. This is what you need. God,

 we are all afraid to go fetch the mail, but we manage. This is what you want. This is what you need. God, we, even those too afraid to say it out loud, hate living here all alone in a fenced in natural environment, even if it is technically a beautiful golden garden on a rolling ball of dung. We want to be free to roam around under

 the stars holding wishes with each other's eyes. This is what you want. This is what you need. God, she made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, in a good way. I actually felt better about all the bitter things happening in the world after seeing her, the way she walked barefoot on the world's stage, like it had been

 built for her in the first place, which it had. This is what you want. This is what you need. God, there is no other way to put it. This is what you want. This is what you need. God, we are being made under pressure, into what I cannot say for certain because of all the sorrows left rotting everywhere. This is what you want.

 This is what you need. God, don't look back at me so funny, it's unbecoming, looking so fierce. This is what you want. This is what you need. God, just doing my best to keep you awake. It's my job as your court poet. This is what you want. This is what you need. God, put your head down and weep, it's children who are

 doing the killing. This is what you want. This is what you need. God, who are these men who are satisfied with any of this, are they our brothers, too? This is what you want. This is what you need. God, honey bees, I mean lighten up, Dude. This is what you want. This is what you need. God, maybe now I can lose

 consciousness with the rest of them. This is what you want. This is what you need. God, I wouldn't mind a laugh together. Is that what this is? Fifteen minutes? This is what you want. This is what you need. God, we are damaged self portraits of you. We made the mistake of rolling down the window, and waving, thinking you

 might accept a little joy ride. This is what you want. This is what you need. God, I swear her wisdom was in her whole Nigerian body, shone from on top of her pretty face like a single brightest star. I saw it with my own two eyes. Nothing could refuse to grow better in her presence. Her body demanded a dance that would

 change you into her sky forever. I wasn't helpless, I was transmuted in a minute into human gold. How could she go this far, do this to me? This is what you want. This is what you need. God, give me a chance to explain. This is what you want. This is what you need. God, how is somebody going to up his game in this

 atmosphere? This is what you want. This is what you need. God, I don't want to miss the last boat back, but would you like to see the poem anyway? I have a tendency to kick the stall. I'll admit I was trying my hardest not to despair, but, I've gone ahead and crossed that street. At peace. Should I act as if nothing is final? Yeah, well said.



Nothing to Say


by Darryl Price


I could tell you what I'm trying 
to say, but you wouldn't believe 
me; even if I wasn't still 
trying to do anything but 
write a poem. That's the point at 
which realization starts to 
feel something like a piece of art. 
When the thing isn't obvious, 
because it's so obvious that 
it's mysterious and strange and 
totally wonderful, all at 
the same time. And that time is, well, 

organic and seamless, if you 
know how to be in its perfect 
presence. Meaning that you will meet 
another living essence, some 
call it the Muse, in its own sea 
environment, while standing in 
your own. Say hello. In that sense, 
it's like looking in a mirror 
at another state of fragile 
memory. We will do this to 
celebrate all that is. We do 
this to dip our toes into the 

creative currents and heal our 
wounded open eyes. We do this 
to speak and to listen and to 
converse without dishonesty 
as our primary guide. We want 
to be ourselves, even in our 
boldest dreams. But, of course, you must 
be careful. Many criminal 
minds have also learned to open 
this door. So it's always good to 
have a song or two with you to 
remind you of who you always 

are when you are just being you. 
That way you don't ever have to 
be afraid of meeting danger. 
You'll know the choices you will make 
before you are forced to make them, 
because they are the deepest you. 
And you are never alone in 
that sacred place, because a time 
of love includes everybody 
everywhere, and, as John put it, 
you know that for sure. Here, come on,
say it with me, I love you so.




Happy Birthday



It's all heart, this spirit of
our love. It's the heart, could
biology be true? It sounds like
a lie. It's the heart, fools
sometimes forget. Oh the heart, yes

we might lose something already disappeared.
It's a heart, never question. I
said heart, the clock inside, okay?
It's the heart being plowed, being
mercilessly harvested. I need a drink.

It's the heart rolling around inside
everyone. It's the heart, in the
trees above our heads. It's the
heart, and, as I suspected, someone's
making that wish. The universe doesn't

take lightly to such things. It's
heart, the joy behind the mountains.
It's the heart, not caring what
you've done. It's the heart, crumpled
to one sorrow like ten thousand

cigarettes. It's the heart, in almost
exactly the same spot as last
night's feverish moon. It's the heart,
I tell you, but you won't
listen. It's the heart, shocking you

awake, again. The heart, banging the
door shut behind you. It's the
heart, the biggest rule breaker in
the galaxy, living by stolen means,
take the chocolate and run, kid.

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