The Colored Paper that Folded Itself Into a Singing Cricket

by Darryl Price

Sometimes the beauty just makes you want to say aaahhh. 
There are a lot of things floating around, so it's 
no wonder that some things get sadly lost, like minds,
like people, like feelings. It doesn't make anything spin any 
less. That's what keeps us centered I suppose. That and 
dreaming. I'm always surprised at the magnitude of the gifts. 
Mine came to me. I wasn't given a real choice about it, I mean I 

just kind of woke up walking on a rocky road, 
naked in the moonlight. Turns out the zombies don't look 
like zombies--they look like us. I get it. Sometimes 
you just want to close your eyes and feel something 
close by. That's what the words are for. They aren't to 
scare you or scold you or to trap you. They're 
just a sculpted reminder that you are not alone. That 

the world is still full of wild possibility. You may 
have been thinking that you were stopped in your tracks,
tied to a post, but the words open, like a 
switchblade, and beg you to cut the ropes. But they 
are not like tied to your hands. They are pieces of colored paper. 
They are a bunch of punched out falling stars. They are restless, 
winds inside the open mouths of hungry, rolling shells. You are
the translator. You are the transistor. Sometimes the beauty degrades 
into another kind of beauty, sometimes of loss, sometimes of 
a surprising abundance of freedom, shouting again, but keep watching. You'll 
see a light through all of the branches. Look up and 
remember who you are. The hate they constantly espouse on you is
useless to travel by. You'll know that somewhere inside you.
I know this because I feel it too and I 

wouldn't feel it if it weren't for you also being 
a part the journey. That's what a heart is for. The words
keep the fire going strong if you need one to fight 
off cold fear. Maybe their words do a different dance for them altogether. 
Everyone has their superstitions they grew up with. I gave 
all that danger to myself up a long time ago. 
Because I wanted to be a real boy. I didn't

say it wasn't lonely, but the beauty you get to 
behold is well worth it. Sometimes the beauty is the only 
light on in your heart. It's nothing new. It's something 
timeless and true. Memory like a song without any false 
modesty. Love is a nice diversion, but there is a 
greater task waiting for you back in the garden. But
probably not for me. It's okay. The only reason, the

only reason I would ever go back there now would be to 
tell you I love you one more time. That would
be good I think, but it wouldn't change anything. I
think we both know that. And I've got a song 
to sing. It's the thing I've decided to do with my life. Sometimes
the beauty hurts pretty badly, but then it goes away
and I'm left with another poem I must let fly to your open window. dp   

Bonus poems:

  A Holiday Message from Darryl

"Love is the answer and you know that for sure"--John Lennon

You are loved. You deserve to be loved. I 
wanted to tell you this because it's true.
Everybody's just trying to get where 
they are going. You shouldn't judge them for 
it. Feel their love. Be kind enough, accept
the other person's journey without harm

to yourself or anyone else. Because
your life has the power to do great good
if you want it. Because you are free to
think and to act on your own, mistakes will
be made. It's okay. You will never not 
be loved. We deserve to be forgiven.

You control the amount of compassion
you send out into the universe. And
above getting what you give, which is the
law of Karma, there is a greater source
of healing that can always find you. It's
within you at all times and places.No

one can access it but you. It is you.
You are it. You are there. You deserve to 
be here.I wanted to tell you this and
more. Everybody's afraid of dealing with
something unknown. The fear is natural.
It's also human. So is our capacity

to care, and comfort one another, to defend and to
protect. You don't have to let go of anything
or anyone. But don't let the
hate grab you. You grab it, it doesn't grab 
you, grab it with love, release it into
the wild with love.This changes everything. dp 

  This Note by Darryl Price

The world is cold, but it can be warm. You 
won't find home again until you learn how to love 
yourself. As long as they can get you to hate 
anything they will have you captured by your own hands.

The world is cold, but it can be an inviting 
place to rest your head. As long as they can 
get you to hate anyone they will have you captured 
by your own words. Remember when we used to have 

adventures? We didn't know where we were going, we just 
started. Somehow the adventure always brought us together. The world 
is never in the same timezone, but it remains a 
thin line between boring and insanely amazing, between poetry and 

dreaming while still awake. This doesn't make anything impossible, only 
illustrates the wide zen range of possibilities at your willing
command. The world is cold, it can be harsh. You
won't find home again until you learn to trust someone.
As long as they can get you to fear the 
next different person they will have you trapped in a 
box. Remember how much we believed in each other? I 
still do. That's why I'm leaving you this note.You 

are not alone.Feeling lonely is a normal response to 
their constant annoying habit of trying to sell you a 
barrage of  reconfigured things supposed to make you happy at long 
last. The world is cold all right, but there are 

warm fires everywhere. Some are within you. Others are being 
shared freely throughout the winds, smell them, listen for them, 
you'll know them by how they make you feel. The 
world is cold, but people can often be warm. You can 

be one of them, a living warmth, through natural acts
of kindness and caring. That may not be poetry, but 
it is a kind of poetic justice. This note is
to say stay strong, my friend. The game's still running smoothly. dp     .