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The Cliffs at Fayburrow


by Darryl Price





Whatever the world is it is also
you. This leaves me smiling. I'm glad you are
in it. I'm glad for the deepest color
blue like the Mediterranean sea,
for instance. Baby orangutans. For
clouds and mushrooms and seahorses. Songs from
treetops. Whatever the world has it has you.
That's just how I feel. I feel your being

there makes all the difference in the way
things might find their courage in this world. I'm
glad for caterpillars who walk out as
butterflies. Stars that can be used as maps
to pin our ways home. But mostly I'm glad
you are somewhere in the garden, too. And
glad for musical instruments. Ours is
such a little time together. This world

was also made for you. I'm glad for those
unexpected spaces between branches
where the light waves back at you. I'm glad to
send you this letter. The bombs and the men
who throw them want to destroy everything.
It's nothing new. Remember, whatever
happens you have known something wonderful
in your mind. In your heart. In your body.

Whatever the world breathes in it's breathing
with your lungs. Take in something good. Something
pure. Like horses on a hillside. Like a
yellow submarine. Don't wait. It's not too
late. It's never that hard to use your self
to open all the locks. They'll never know
what that means. You know. That's my gift to you.
Flower to flower. We're getting close to

the station. Whatever the world is it
all comes down to a single kind act. Just
one. I've had a good time 'cause I believe
in a good time. I'm glad you are diving
into your very own best life without
me. This is as it should be. But I'm still
feeling every bit my poem. I hope
this finds you like it found me, dreaming wild.

6/4/2018



Bonus poems:



The Elephant by Darryl Price

in the room is secretly
satisfied to be no bigger
than a bread box. A shoe box. There
are no bread boxes anymore.
Hardly enough elephants. The
one in the room is flying high;
no one knows what is a trapeze
I suppose. Welcome bowlers! Our
elephant in the room would like
you to count all the sky bones--make
sure they are still there. The you know
what inside the room would like to

remain anonymous throughout
these proceedings. The elephant
in the room wants to know what is
happening in your backyard. What
are you thinking and believing?
The elephant in the room needs
you to stop trying to belong
to a normal world order and
focus on survival with some
empathy on your dignity.
The elephant in the room thinks
you cannot be mere spectators

when love is at stake and lies have
become laws. The elephant in
the room, by his very fact, feels
we must listen but we don't have
much time. Let's talk out the front way
then. Together. The elephant
in the room explains: to give your
gifts well is to make a loving
person out of yourself, to not
be angry with anyone.
If we don't see each other just
remember the good things first.

6/5/2018




Someday


by Darryl Price



 

It's not near the end. It never is. This

moment is just what we know now. They are

always running a monstrous war against

the very stars. How far do you think they

can take that evil prejudice? The stars

have never lost a battle. Someday they

 

just might. Someday we might remember what

it is that we liked so much about each

other. Someday we won't be living our

fresh new story with all the beautiful

possibilities at our disposal.

I've never been a big fan of equal lies.

 

They may get you something you don't really

deserve, but like little devils they may

also eat a part of your soul, which could

be lost forever. I could go on. Like

someday we'll have to get rid of you know

everything. It won't matter anymore.

 

Someday our true and false words will be dried

on the page. All the poets will have gone

home to their tomorrow beds. I get a

weird prickling in my head when I think of

living life fearing life. I reject the

culture of a Fascist Christ. How dare you?

 

A weird prickling for the poor Japanese-

American citizens rounded up

into concentration camps, for profiled

African-American citizens

shot with their empty hands flung in the air, 

female-American citizens told

 

by old white men in gated suits their peer

health care counseling is a crime, gentle,

misunderstood lovely children whose tough

gender identity issues make them

a target for dumb bullies, immigrant

families torn apart by war behind

 

them and official cruelty in front. I

suppose I could go on. Well then, let me

condemn the actual paranoia of

hate. In machinegun hands. Your mad campaign

to outlaw compassion, misrepresent

kindness. Your mad threat to kill us all. Your

 

equally mad campaign to deny all

further understanding, misrepresent

hope. Your mad campaign to outlaw peace on

earth, misrepresent masculinity,

dreamers, anything you disagree with.

Your literal love of death over an

 

organic, flexible way. Your love of

death over humanity. Your love of

death over poetry. Your love of death

over joy. I reject your offer. I

stand by all good men and women as much

as I can, long as luck and grace allow.        


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