In Dreams

This is one of my very first published poems. It appeared in the 2005 of SCC's SPINDRIFT Art & Literary Journal. 


I keep thinking this might make a nice little performance piece...maybe incorporating a weird little puppet. 


oh. wait. I've already done that...

In Dreams

I once hit my head

so hard

dreams leaked out

they were semi-solid

things

gelatinous and transluscent

like something from the dark

reaches near the bottom

of the ocean

pale, icy colored reds and blues and greens

I could never view them directly

but only from the corner

of my eye

there were not many

perhaps half a dozen?

if I allow life to slow

or backslide

my dreams, they get agitated

once, one of them even kicked me

in the shin.

May, Twenty Eleven

I wrote this poem two years ago. Last summer I worked and reworked it and it became a performance piece. I've done it in front of people twice. I think it says everything I ever wanted to say about the person living  between its lines. 

May, Twenty Eleven

In May he loaded his iPod

with all the songs they danced to

22 years ago…

Winwood,

Seagulls,

Bowie and,

(God help him)

WHAM!

And then he lit a candle,

turned out the lights

And danced on the furniture

just like they did

22 years ago

At 45 it’s not easy to

hoist yourself up

onto the kitchen counter

like you did at 21

but he made it up there

though the cat gave him

strange looks.

And he danced.

he remembered the time down

on the mall when some girls

gave them a whoop and waved

And he said, “they must be whooping at you,”

And the other said,

“No, they’re whooping at you.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, I just do.”

And he danced,

the way people 

of older worlds danced

to remember

those they loved

long gone

to celebrate the truths

left behind

And to remind the universe

that some hearts

are so strong

they live beyond their

brief, brief

dance

And he danced,

on the counters

like it was 1986.

This is and always will be

for David.