by Darryl Price
without looking at the words. I want to draw a picture of you
without setting my hat on fire. I want to swing you around in an open field
without thinking something's bound to go wrong. I want to touch your hands
without resorting to an old map found buried in a book on fairies.
To run with you in the downpour without looking for a quick squeezed
way in. Want to remember your face because it's resting in my fingers like a cherry
pit. I want to sit with you in front of the ocean without
planning to take one shell. I want to find you in a garden
without thinking I should remove my shoes first and put them under a
rose bush for safe keeping. I want to give you that dance without dropping all blanks
in the chamber for good luck. I want to embrace your name without
falling into an unmade ditch of spears head first. Want to drink your
trance without going home and putting myself to bed afterwards. I want to
play my guitar like a wounded warrior without having to explain the nature of all scars.
I want to leave my most careless poems on your doorstep without having
to fold up all the moonbeams into neat little rows before I go.
You Can Push Things(a daft draft)
to the back of your mind like a box of unpacked beloved
books if you want, but that's no life I want to explore
any further with you. We don't have as much time as we
once did to believe in something other than an empty bottle of
dreams. Love is still real even when the mud begins to fizzle
and leap out of its own way. That's all I wanted to
say. I don't believe their lies any more now than I did
before I went missing. They want you to spit your love on
the ground like bitter drugs. To tear the bells out of the
golden dragon infested clouds like a fistful of wires. To sink the
last of the flower petal boats with heavy rocks. To smash all
singing birds to death against the brick walls. But I don't buy
their latest diet wars. Their brand name barrels of bargain smoking guns.
Their greasy gravy jars full of deliciously simmering coiled bombs. Their sick
little insurance run churches of the barbecued nightmares of innocent children. Listen.
Love is always going to be all even when all else is
floating to the burning ground. That's what I want you to remember
you already knew. I'm not trying to get you to do anything
you don't want to do deep down inside. Don't join anything on
my behalf. I don't care. Just don't be boring. This poem is
where I stand. It's not some silly broken mystery rotting in a
cave. I live in the same real world as you. And again.
Love is all you need. They want you to turn in your
hopes, but you know better. Love is all around like the sky.
Darryl Price Wednesday,July 02, 2014
All rights reserved.
This poem has been accepted for publication by Poetry Pacific for their upcoming Winter issue to be released on 5 Feb of 2015.