by Darryl Price
I like how you completely disappeared
inside a undetermined and yet planned point of
pretty view, like a rabbit with a chained
pocket watch, like a stunned, frozen bird with
a still burning bullet in its tiny
feathered brain. You could say that one life just
somehow carried you away into the
other, like a used candy wrapper piece,
roughly grabbed at and thrown in the air by
an ill-mannered wind, but we both know you
let it go. I suppose the rushing gobs of
wet green and dried brown scenery was as
good as any long blue goodbye might have
actually been for you. It smeared my
normal reaction time to certain tall
shade trees down to a crawl for years. And the
hidden places in rivers where the sun's
searing fingers poked out momentary
clear holes now seems obviously empty
of all possibility for freshly
pumped water meanings or even gladder
secret meetings. My sad guess is this has
nothing at all to do with your face. You
don't want to be remembered that way. That's
the tricky part. Your wish is my command.
I'm setting these words on fire even as
we speak, for the last time, even as we
wrinkle into lying portraits of our
own dusty memories, into deserts
of impossible thirst, into soft cracked
mirrors of hard regrets. Here's that smooth black
stone retrieved, not shattered, not worth a damn.
Bonus poems:
by Darryl Price
They knocked you just for one more
Day, but the number had been
Rolled. When you offered me your
Friendship, I felt my feet were
Both slipping overboard. They
Marked you from their first bite, but
They don't intend to share the
Rest. They rob you in order
To sell what's left, but when you
Offered me your friendship, I
Gave away everything for
Free. Now I have been placed at
The end of your telescope,
An individual stamped
Title for a casual
Star. They chased you hoping to
Claim you as collateral.
I wouldn't think of such a
Dodge. When you offered me your
Friendship the fabric of my
Guitar turned into a shroud.
They hunt you for your joy, but
That's like killing a flower
For its color, what little
There is. When you offered me
Your friendship, you missed music
That had only the two of
Us holding it together.
Now the one thought holding this
Room is the click of fingers
Weeping against the keyboard,
Lost in rain. When you offered
Friendship, I ran into walls
And tossed down stairs. They prayed you
For your light, but that's smashing
The moon for luminous shards,
The glow is false. You offered
Friendship like you'd forgotten
Your name, but made sure I
Never would. Yeah, I hear them,
Too, complaining about us.
Believe me, I'm trying to
Live through this the only way
I know how. The poet begs
To differ. When you offered
Your friendship it was almost
Too sad to contemplate. All
I could see was your pink face.
The music has its own sweet swinging by Darryl Price
pod child hanging in the soft balance
like an emerging star between the
maybe and the lonely. We were once
caught kissing in the tunnels where the
lazy sky drips into the fields like
honeysuckle juice. I thought you would
probably turn into a soulful
magnetized swan with your full sun eyes
shut so tightly to hold in the new
tongue taste. It was heavenly to make
up a simple song out of nothing
more than wind and debris and sing it
like a magical incantation
to no one for the first time. These things
only happen once before they are
forever blacked out by intruding
voices of the fearful overseers
of any childhood escape plan. They
really don't want to see us go, but
honestly we're already gone the
moment we touch each other's warm hands.
8
favs |
1333 views
10 comments |
632 words
All rights reserved. |
Think about it. A frozen bird is still a bird, and yet it doesn't, can't , perform the full function of a bird at all. How can it be happy then? Leonard Cohen says we must search for a state of grace to survive our many misdeeds and misgivings, but I say we must thaw some of these things ourselves by saying them out loud and not being afraid of the messy process we find ourselves puddled in.
This story has no tags.
Heartsick as bleak as any I've felt. *
I feel this more than I can articulate.*
Frozen Bird is a good poem, DP.
Enjoyed.
*Better with each read.*
One of your best, no slack, plenty of sharp original images, and a strong spine of development.
Strong surprising imagery. *
Great level of frustration.
In terms purely of poetry, oh, yeah!
*
Thanks so much everyone who commented above. Lately I've been trying out some new approaches. I love words and sentences and poetry, so it makes sense for me to gather these things together and try to make something unique. Bill I'm not sure what "in terms purely of poetry" is supposed to mean, but at least you ended with a positive Yeah.