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What I'd Like to Say is That Something Special


by Darryl Price


 

that doesn't need any words to arrive

fully formed, or too many words

to be believed in at all I should

say, a little something we can simply

send back and forth across your time

and my space without having to talk

at length about it, but being a

poetry man this is the only

honestly likeable language I

am somewhat fluent in. So if you

don't mind. I wish it were more of a

universal given like music,

 

say, or laughter. Yeah I'm sure that the

other side of this somewhat flattering

mirror of a page is full of

a million flooding tears. No one is

deaf to all the sorrows. But it means

the same thing. You see? We are here in

the digital age and in my mind I sit 

and inside the paper windmill I look out at you and,

well, because of you I want to appreciate

the dead leaves blowing up

a charming ruckus across the still

life lawns of autumn. No, that didn't

 

come out right, although it is kind of sadly funny.

No I mean appreciate whatever

is at the moment it is because

you are also in that moment

like me somewhere. There. That's close. But it's

no hand rolled all natural parade

ready to take you off to see the

wizard. Haven't we already done 

that bit a little too many times 

already to make anything newish 

happen? Ah the cultural references.

They never die. They mean

 

so much to us still. But the real thing

is out there. The scary as a black

feeling gnawing at your shoulders like

an escaped monkey from a local

exotic animal farmer's personal

zoo out there real thing. Where anything

can happen, but where the sun actually

is happening right now. Go

outside and live. It's your world, too. You

are as good as anyone else at

who you are and what you love doing.

Your spirit is needed. I need you.



My Own Amazing Weariness


by Darryl Price


This poem is how far we got before 
they started killing us off under the hill. 
It's not like we didn't expect it, but 
the sadness is almost unbearable. What was that
line Brian came up with? Something about a walk 
in the woods. Can't remember now. When you 
stand up and see that certain of your 
best friends are missing, it makes you feel 

haunted, not lucky, nor blessed. Not humble, just 
lost in a snowstorm of stinging grief. Friends 
are better than all the blessings ever uttered 
by anyone. The coveted books only got bits 
and pieces right. The only way to know 
if that's true or not is to live. 
I'm not a stranger knocking on your door. 
Bob was right, that's an unkind act, if 

ever there was one. That's what I couldn't 
put down, your willingness to use your power 
to do me or anyone else real harm. 
How did it not make you sick to 
act that way? Maybe that's the point, it 
did. You are. Was it worth it? To 
poison everything. There's little to do among the 
burned out trees, but hope that flowers are 

only waiting to happen again, with or without 
us. In the meantime we drag our warped 
fences behind us up the mountain looking for 
something like a thing called love. But the 
rotten clouds just laugh and pelt us with 
ice clocks. That's what it feels like. You 
still willing to make the journey? Then you're 
one of us. You always were. Welcome back.



Bonus poems:



Rise and Shine

by Darryl Price


"I don't know how nobody told you how to unfold your love."--George Harrison

"They don't know. They can't see. Are you one of them?"--George Harrison

"I can't save you. You can save you."--John Lennon

The source of one love is always there. All 
sources have a little darkness in them.  
The source of radiant light is always 
there. The sources on which this poem is 
carefully based are truthful. All sources have 
a little darkness in them. The source of 
any kindness is courage. The source of 
real courage is kindness. But only if 
you allow them to swim together and 

make one clear all-seeing eye out of the 
magic moment you wake up and are still 
dreaming. The source of having some caring 
perspective is love. The source of all love 
is always there. The secret is there is 
no secret. That is what's written in plain 
enough sight in the holy books. They are 
simply talking about you, you turning 
yourself from a painted leaden soldier 

into a beautiful golden phoenix, 
but no one can do it for you. The source 
of true love is in you, but it's also 
in the dirt below the floor. In the sweet 
or foul enormously crowded perfumed 
air we breathe. In the banks and walls of clouds. 
The source of love is always free. Always 
there. All sources have a little darkness 
added to them. The source of love could be 

an edible mushroom. But it's not. But 
it could be. But it's not. And yet you might 
just find that it is there anyway. Was 
there all the time. Anyway. The source of 
healing love is always there. Mushroom or 
no mushroom. The source of love is always 
there. All sources have a little darkness 
in them. The source of love's available. 
The source of love is the story within 

the story. The source of love, I notice, 
is working extra hard at building up 
your lagging trust today. Why not pay the 
source of love a friendly little surprise 
visit? Do us all and yourself a big 
favor. The source of love is always there.
All sources have a bit of darkness in 
them. The source of love is getting into
your speeding car as easy as all that.  


I Burn My Tongue On the Stars

by Darryl Price


"They just want to steal us all and take us all apart."--The Psychedelic Furs

"Tell your friends/when you see them again/I love you."--Wilco

I'm not running out of coming up 
with some new things to say, sitting on 
the indifferent couch. Tell me. Have 
you also seen the strangest bunch of 
stars tonight? Count them as words you have 
never heard before. I'm running out 

of things to care about saying. That's 
all. But even I know that is just 
another form of tender human 
bullshit. That awful kind that breaks your 
already broken heart into my own 
again. As my friend John puts it, you'll 

never be without the muse. Okay, 
so we are old friends. We will make a 
tenuous song out of anything, 
anywhere and at any time, day 
or night. All blessings are curses. All 
curses are blessings. If you live long
 
enough. What's a pretty thing to do? 
Break down the moment or the meaning? 
Death or dying? Is it the joy or 
all the sorrow? Sometimes it's hard to 
tell the difference. Days go by. Days 
go by. Days go by. Trying hard to 

understand. I'm all right. Not holding 
back. Our sound will be drowned out and there 
is nothing any of us can do 
about it. I'll make my cricket noise 
in front of the door when my time comes, 
but only because it's what I do 

to say I love you all the way to 
the end. I've never been a liar, 
but I've been everything else. For you. 
I want to live in my time. I came
bearing a whale song and a tiger
claw. The rest I made up to please you.



A Flat Sky

by Darryl Price


I'm pretty sure I've never been 
a noble man, but thanks for the 
hard to come by vote of confidence. 
Being lost in the wilds of 
the poetry lands makes a person 
turn around and around quick. 

Just because I remember how 
it feels to be falling through a 
solid object doesn't mean I 
believe in the lovely view. I'm 
only reporting it because 
you might enjoy colliding with 

all the other lonely wheels out 
there. But what was once mine is nothing 
more than a flat sky on a 
moving surface. There's no way to 
hold it still anymore. But I 
get handed the film and the time 

frame. Otherwise it's too late forever. 
There's nothing noble about 
it. I want to say your name 
one more time to make sure its sound 
exists somewhere. Simple pleasure.
That's me. Those white sparrows are false.




H's Poem

"Ain't married, she's my friend."--Bob Dylan


I  hope I see you again. 
We don't get to go back and 
softly fix things. I like to 
look at your face and be with 
you. Thanks for all the times we 
spent together. We don't get 

to go back and slowly fix 
anyone. I don't pretend 
I don't know what's right. I'm not 
that kind of guy. I hope to 
see you again. I can't stop 
what's now happening to me 

any more than you can stop 
what's happening to you. We 
spent some thrilling times being 
together between all the 
words for sun and rain. I'll see 
you again. I always do. 

We don't get to go back and 
change things. Don't pretend. It's so 
unbecoming. I see you. 
Just laugh and move on. We don't 
get to go back and repose 
for the moonlight on the sand.  


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