Ptanksters

I went out to the forest
To soften my soul among the ancient
Trees and leaves and birds
Sifting songs of spirits
Like dust of the earth

I went out to the woods
Not knowing what I'd find,
Blind but nimble bat of daylight was I,
Hoping home was made of essence, not edifice
Seeking shelter with no rooms, sanctuary with no walls

Morning bloomed like infant flowers,
And Sun sprinkled its shine upon my skin,
Its rays, like tentacles, feeding fortitude, dispensing clarity
And the bumble bee blessed me with a dance
And whispered electric prophecy before fluttering away

At noon I drank from sacred streams,
Refreshed myself with rain water,
And spent many breaths,
For hours had been forgotten,
Held by a carpet of grass,
Soothed by the shadow of a willow

And I awoke to find that all around me were
Wizards
And Spirits
And Skies,
And many other beaming beings
With smiles in their eyes,
Plucking guitar strings,
Wearing tall hats, rainbow colors,
Bearing a light as warm as kindness

And we loved under the brilliant eye of Jupiter,
Grew tender under vigilant Mother Moon.
It seemed to me I had lived this moment many orbits ago,
Found a footprint of the past the size of my shoe,
And was here to gather
With sisters and brothers in the land
Of magic,
To dance to the beat
Of unity.

From the bridge, the city looked as if you could scoop it with cupped hands.

She was no longer the damsel of the big screen and the big words, but rather a specter cloaked in symbols and metaphors to the individual imagination, a stubborn unreality one refuses to let go of. Slain by the weight of a thousand ideals, battered by the strengths of our youths and impracticalities, she became less of a charmer and more of a chain to the disilussioned dreamer. Stoic as her statue still, yet tired and wrinkled, she could no longer feed our fire with her bright lights, her innocuous flame.

-gypsywrites

Rainy Nights

My love lives in moments that have nothing to show for themselves,
Like that one time we were part of a play your friend had written;
You played five seconds of Come Together on your guitar,
I played the xylophone for the first time,
Chiming away, like bells on Christmas Eve.
You held my hand all night,
Let me rest my head on your shoulder,
Give you short kisses on your sleeves
         Every once in a while,
And every time you looked at me you smiled,
With a tenderness that spelled love with no vocabulary,
The edge of your smile crating dimples on your cheek.

The walk home past midnight,
Eyes heavy, shoes wet,
Cold.
Getting stoned on our bed,
Eating granola bars and BJs donuts,
Watching family guy out of your phone (this was the time of no computers),
Drinking milk like little kids,
Shutting the door to let the others sleep,
And to keep ourselves for each other.
Only.
Moments that have nothing to show for themselves other than a mutual laugh
     Or two,
An inside joke about our toes,
Minutes spent aroused by the sound of words like freckles,
(Your freckled shoulders always turn me on)
Rubbing our noses against each other like baby cats,
And falling asleep buried in your arms as you wrote your novel.
You always did what I wish I could have done.
But I loved you still and more,
Because rain tapped against the window pane like corn kettle,
(Remember the time we disagreed about that simile?)
And I had the night, a roof, and a closed door
To keep ourselves to each other.
Only.

-LBCH

The Fall

Maybe it was the fact that we loved each other way too much, too soon, too desperately, as if there could be no other second in life without us belonging to one another. And we forgot about our broken souls for a minute, and ignored our wounded pride, handed our history over to the past, along with that last second lived without knowing the taste of each other's kiss. And when pain came back and found us, like it always does, to remind us of who we really are, it stared at us from the eyes of the other. My faults lay cold and frigid in your river green eyes, your hurt nestled in mine, like a butterfly with broken wings. We knew to love like autumn: beautifully, gasping for our last breath.
-gypsywrites

One day we will sing to the rythm of crickets,
Tell life stories under stars,
Run naked under moonlight,
Love and dance among shadows, to the rattle of leaves,
Defeat cold and rain with the warmth of our bodies,
      the friction of skin against skin,
Tell time by the chirping of birds,
       the smell of fresh dew,
       the rumbling of hungry tummies,
Wiggle our toes in wet green grass before looking for shoes,
Kiss before speaking,
Giggle like babies at the touch of sweet sunshine,
Find peace in the expanse of skies.
      One day we will love simply again.
-gypsywrites

I remember that moment like an old family portrait,

Your hair, bright as red sunshine, tousled by slumber,

The creases on the pillow still there, 

Where you lay your head to wake a new day, 

Our bed still redolent of dreams, like lover's perfume,

And your voice, singing folk songs, soothing as a breath of ocean waves, 

The smell of fresh coffee, 

The distant clank of pans, 

The soft trickle of sink water, 

And you, coming to me like an apparition,

Magical as morning. 

One day we will love simply again. 

-gypsywrites 

Road Song

I follow the trail of the shadows. Midnight howls its solitude to stars that shine like dilated pupils; howls its dark like the whelp calls for the wolf, the wolf to the moon. My wife sleeps by my side, entrusting Mother Mountain with my vigil. Voluptuous like a whale surfing the waters, Mountain stretches herself against the sky, silent with the wisdom of old ages. I roll onward, disrobing the pain of mortals, pain ancient as night, singing my sorrows with the hoot of the owls.

And I roll onward down the road of those that give their stories to dark skies, who know no hymn sweeter than the hum of their engines, who confide their dreams to no one but the shooting stars. I follow the trail of the traveler, the trail with no Time.

             Rolling,
rolling onward toward the city,
where man goes to die.

-gypsywrites