Remember to Sing

by Darryl Price


“Not all the birds are to be trusted, and there are other spies more evil than they are.” —J.R.R.Tolkien


This may well be our own about time, time

to walk out that comfortable front

door forever into danger. Nothing will ever


be the familiar same again.

The soft heartbreak is that all fellow-

ships even good ones have an arc and


turn back on themselves as they are 

ending. There is a permanently

ugly danger now that is rising


in front of you and one more and more

pronounced coming up behind you like

a crawling and hissing predator arrow. That


is only the facts, they are not the

rightful answers you seek. Any way

let's say peace is a bit of luck for


anyone only lasting for the 

moment, but there will always be this

romance; the adventure is always


better for a touch of merriment.

Remember to sing the songs you love

and share them with the stars. This the dark


enemy cannot fathom in its

bolted down fields of sharp ended painful fits of sleep.

Never forget what you are living


one more tired and hungry day for or

the most beautiful and important

faces you can remember seeing


like shining bright windows on top of

the world. Help is ever there in the

true nature of all things. As your poet,


this time around, I want to be with

you constantly in these few words. Take me with you

and take care, friends. I believe in you


as I believe in the quest for more thirst quenching love.

We are bound together to the end

Of all actions and all dreams as well.   

Bonus poems:

Soft Shoulder Work Ahead

by Darryl Price

We've already messed it up. I could have 
told you, but you would only take it and 
use it against someone softer than you. 
We've already messed up, but that sad 
fact doesn't mean we're done trying. That's what 
they want you to think. Because then they can 
always charge you as much as they want, and
you die alone. Basically. Love is 

rare even when it doesn't match all your 
favorite childhood perceptions. You've been 
forced to swallow down a bunch of utter 
nonsensical junk, so naturally 
your body wants to get rid of it in 
any way possible, because it's as 
bone-tired of your full-time grumpiness as 
everyone else, and as we all know, the 

possibilities are endless. We've messed 
it up, already forgotten how it 
goes. It's like trying to remember an 
incredible dream. You can hum bits and 
small pieces of it, but you've forgotten 
most of the best words. Like, I need you. I 
love you. I'm a fool. Still doesn't matter. 
It becomes sad comedy. Some folks are 

still out there daily marching in the freak 
parade because they refuse to accept 
that day is gone a long time now. They think 
it would never leave without them. Are you 
one of them? We've already messed it up-- 
royally. I'm still falling. Falling. My
heart is fallen in two. We've messed it up,
and a lark says more than we ever could. 

Art Department (an Early Draft)by Darryl Price


It's all about seeing what you can do

with what you are given. Take as much time

as you need. Construct something that looks like

something you'd like to see constructed. Don't


worry about what the other guys might

think. This is yours for the entire time it

takes to be complete, finished to your

satisfaction—something only you will


know. None of us can say when, we only

know what your attempt makes us feel like, and

that may be colored over by our own

desire to create something out of what


is already there in our heads. But if

you are true to yourself then it should speak

a familiar sounding language

we all understand like music, laughing,


like food, like fun, like dancing but with your

unique signature on it. Tell us a

story, we are listening. Show us a

sign, we are looking for another way.


Leave us a handprint, we will know you were

here. Beam us a signal, we will read the

cloud's faces with great interest. Use all

color and shape to bring us deeper, and


into your images, if the texture

feels right we will respond with our own dreams

and ideas, we will release our hearts

from their self-imposed cages. We'll thank you. dp

Filling a Hole by Darryl Price( an unfinished draft)


You have no idea what the angel said to me. She made high promises

She had no right to keep those to herself. She locked me in the

Eyes and said, “Why are you so sad?” I don't know. I didn't

know then either. It doesn't matter anyway. She has always been silent on


any other subject since. The angel spoke to me and many people thought

I was talking to myself. I took it for granted that everyone saw her, too.

What I saw. A young vision in a brown overcoat with brown caring eyes

And a kind of memorable even voice like a telephone. You have no idea the feeling of


Miserable loss I experienced. I didn't ask for her visit. She spoke to me out

Of the blue canvas uninvited. I trusted her quiet sincerity like one believes in

A beloved love apple. It makes no difference now. No poem ever brought me to

Her face again. Look, I said to a friend, she gave me her


Phone number, so how could she be a phantom when there's a piece

Of proving paper lying here in my hand? Don't cry, he said. There's nothing there.

Only a fool remembers such a waking dream all his life.  Who would

Play such a blinding game on someone, I beseech him? Love can't see itself.