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The Lazy Clouds


by Darryl Price



 

This is a nice illusion, here with you. The world

Is meant to fill your eyes. You remind me of

Everything right now. This is a nice illusion, here with

You. It's all morning light. The wind playing with your

Hair lifts my spirits, too. Seagulls seem to be writing

 

A poem with your face in mind, they are eager

To paint the sky with your presence. I don't mind.

I can't blame them. This is such a nice illusion,

Here with you, knowing that the waves are blocking out

Most of what lies out there, beyond your hands, your

 

Feet, your eyes. So, let us celebrate the sand as

Our own floating island. The lazy clouds as our own

Reclining reflection. Here there is laughter between the gushing silence.

Here there is always something jumping into the wind, turning

Even the smallest bit of something into a swirling circus

 

Of scarves. This is a nice illusion, here with you,

And that troubles me beyond comprehension. I don't want you

To think of all the inevitable rains, to put on

Shoes because you must, or replace your perfect smile with

A different set of circumstances. I want that park bench

 

Feeling to stay just a little longer, but I know

It can't. Still this is a great grand illusion, isn't

It? Let's take no photographs. Let's make no diary entries.

The only thing I want to do is be. And

when it's all over I won't say goodbye, just hello.  dp 




Bonus poem:



Meadow Grass for the Lonely by Darryl Price(a draft)


"In my life
Why do I give valuable time
To people who don't care if I live or die?"--The Smiths

 

For all the young poets

 

My broken heart is still alive,

You can't really trust me to just

Sail away. My broken heart is

Still wounded and perpetrators

Of war are still at it like the

Little naked emperors that

 

They always are. My broken heart

Is still writing and there is more

Death than bees in the friendly skies

These days. I suppose that is to

Be expected. Broken and still

Alive and some persons have been

 

Shown to be more conforming to

Cultural pressure than others.

Even if my heart's alive you

Don't owe me an explanation,

I don't need to be forgiven.

My broken heart is still around.

 

So many machines, so little

Kind words. Is there an answer? Gun

Sadness, little gun sanity.

I would never leave you behind,

But I don't need to talk to you

Any more as a matter of

 

Urgency. I don't want to go.

My broken heart is still alive,

You're still being personified

In your female form as cool, blessed

And tempting. My broken heart is

Still kicking and sometimes I don't

 

Know what I'm doing here at all.

My sad self's still here and I'm just

A silhouette of strangeness. Each

Broken heart brings a cold ocean.

The disappointment tides on your

Face like a mathematical

 

Problem. My ruby heart is sunk

In a circle of overgrown

Stones. My broken heart is very

Much alive, sentient as the

Earth itself. My broken heart is

Still active and sometimes I wake

 

Up in the middle of the night

Lost in moonlight. My broken heart

Has elected to finish this

Song's journey. My broken heart is

Spouting a tiny blue flame. This

Broken heart is still human and

 

Not a databased illusion.

Still beating, I believe it may

Yet do good if I don't stumble

Sorry-eyed and afraid over

My own words. My broken heart's

Against the loss of any real love.

 

 


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