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I Wish There Was A Way


by Darryl Price



 

To still make Emily smile

Today. On the street where

Paper lives and works I'm

Making this small effort out

Of a few letters and

An attitude like a chip

On a shoulder. I don't

Know, I think she deserves

That. Even if nothing happens

But time going by, if

 

There's no heavenly trajectory far-flung

Enough to reach to her

Sunday morning elbow and give

Her a friendly jostle from

The future. You know I've

Been in trouble with the

Reality police before, what poet

Hasn't? Emily's smile seems a

Lot more important than listening

To the wagging of fingers,

 

People with no imagination. Just

Because they scream something is

Impossible doesn't mean I have

To buy into their religion,

Or be part of that

Kind of closed mind thinking.

Maybe I'll draw her smiling

Back from a cartoon picture,

Or put her smile in

My song, our secret, just

 

Accept that it's already there.

I kind of like that

Idea, seeing light stretch out

In the darkness in spite

Of all the guns aimed

At our dreaming faces. John

Lennon said, whatever gets you

To the light is alright,

And I believe that. Your

Smile is worth every word.




Bonus poems:



Bone

 

We built a secret road and rolled it into a crumpled ball and pushed it deep into an empty wine bottle

And dropped it into the laughing ocean for much, much later, but like all young dreams it was

Found out by busy strangers and turned into mounds of vanishing cash. We still had a perfect

Picture of what the innocent sun looked like through red broken glass. There's

Always something you can do with the sea and a little leftover sunlight if you're willing.

Maybe those few drops of pure dreams were only alive for those people we were. I

Honestly thought we would help to remember who we were before the

World came knocking on the door and took us away in separate cars. If

You cared as much you would have shouted something amazing and sweet from your window.

If you cared you would have thrown something at me that only I

Would ever know how to catch. I don't blame them. They are

Nothing more than partly animals, nothing more than hungry, hungry mouths,

Nothing more than nibbling plants with perfumed hidden agendas, but you, you were

A close friend and that makes things infinitely worse. The stars grinned all of a sudden

And their rotten teeth were terrible to behold and smell. All because you thought it

Was all a sleepy little game to be dressed up for and later abandoned to some gruesome

Sort of creepy scrapbook for adults only. I never thought we'd sink so suddenly into

The solid ground like that. It didn't make any great sense to me. Until I saw your reflection

In the reflection. Then I knew. And my heart snapped in two like a broken fish.




For Birds

 

The tree outside my window

Suddenly lit up like a tortured

Lamp and then it was simply

Gone and the room felt

Like an abandoned monastery. That's

 

Just one explanation for your

Departure that doesn't involve dumb mutiny

Or sad motive. I haven't got

The time to solve the

Mystery to everyone's literary satisfaction.  

 

One-way trip was started and

A slipped-away trip was taken. It's

The same for all the contestants,

Probably even those who choose

To stay in the darkened

 

Room and wait for the

Lights to turn back on. A

True love is always left behind

When there's free fun to

To be had. Do you

 

Really need a metaphor to

Read between the betrayed lines? People

Are left frozen on the grass,

For no more than a

Shared cigarette and an illegal

 

Gun in the mouth.  After

All these years, has it been

Worth it? I'm a poet, you're

Whatever you are. It doesn't

Matter anymore. Other stories have

 

Covered ours up like something

Forgotten underneath snow. The thaw is

All mine. It's just another piece

Of art. It's not even

For you. It's for birds.





 That Rare Moment

 

Words are only the windows I want you to look through

For now. Mostly because they can give you a seeing key

To unlock the many rooms of my feelings. Don't worry. It's

Nothing more than a vase for some flowers, a glass for

Some spilled sunlight. I know it's momentary for you. But you

Can't pretend in the face of the big reveal, or else

Everything falls apart, and that would make a disastrous picture of

A singular spectacular sky. I don't know where the brightness comes

From that illuminates you to me. I mean I know it

Is you, but it is also me, some part of me

That recognizes in your voice, in your face, in your hair

 

A movement that gives me a raw courage I never knew.

So the words become like curtains, they are meaningless in themselves.

They need these alphabetical walls, the whole spinning language outside streaming

Through the Inner airways to make their introductions, to ask you

To dance. That's its whole, strange phenomenon, like a favorite song,

You can't help but feel fantastic in its presence if only

For that rare moment it plays around in your head. The

Silly artistic purpose here is only to not be a liar.

The real purpose here is to be authentic as we live

And breathe. The personal purpose is to be honest without faking

A special boredom with you. I didn't make this up. The

 

World existed well before the spark created by our crossing paths.

I felt it enough to bleed forth this poem. You may

Not have noticed it happening at all. That's not my problem,

But it is my mortal awareness, owned or disowned, soul-wise

Speaking for the taking. It shouldn't matter to you. I'm only

Saying you made a big difference in my heart that deserves

A little notice of thanks on my part. You probably receive

These kinds of awards daily. I'm more than happy to add

Mine to the shelf because it certainly belongs there among all

The others, but I will not be lumped in with the

Strangled stars when I am the one bringing you the moon.

 

 

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