here i am alone again
one in my bed
two on the floor
one on the couch.
bob was on the other but
i told him he would feel
less pain (in the neck)
in the morning
if he
went tot bed.
He packed up the music and
took it with him.
I am still up and at the moment
don't have any real intent on
going to bed.
I took the opportunity to
play the full version of
soon to be innocent fun/lets see
the people upstairs are showering
and i can't tell if i like that feeling or
if i hate it.
With an encouragement to
stay up all night tomorrow
i feel like the only thing
i should do
is sleep
but i don't want to
even if all the others
are sleeping
themselves.

031297

Mary Elizabeth Frye.

they read this at her "life-celebration". he'd said she read it somewhere and put it up on the fridge. I never noticed it when I was there, so she must have put it up once she knew she was leaving.

Today i found out who wrote this poem. The time that he read it the true author of the poem was being disputed. She was a one time poet. A housewife and florist. I smiled when i saw they shared the same name.

Do not stand at my grave and weep;

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye.

i now know i want this someday.

i am so tired of pretending something is there.
trying to grasp something tangible
(i have never been good at it)
i've always been better at fantasizing
romanticizing
and being let down when i don't
let anything pan out.

over exaggerated smiles and two hugs in one welcome.
old faces of old family friends and genuine interest in life's succession.
leonard cohen's voice echoing over the lawn.
i'm reminded of my love for this place.
unchanging; at least on this particular day.
green grass. bees & wasps. golfballs driven into the water.
some retrieved, some lost forever (or maybe only a short time).
a dead bird,
gin & tonics, or with the fizz,
a restored engine, flooded blow-up boats,
a freshly shaved cat enjoying the outdoors.
two inside peering enviously through the glass.
foxes bounding across the lawn;
from the rock wall they've made their home.
for the most part the smile came & stayed by itself.
day three feels like age sixteen
when i feel the burden return to them again.
the burden that was (supposed) to leave with
teenage years
(but has only grown with age in destructiveness).
alone in the loving place.
trying (and failing) to keep the smile,
overshot the welcome; a day too late.
i need a break (so do they),
parted without a single hug
this time.

i miss him

all i want

Sometimes i feel like there's no point to writing because leonard cohen and joni mitchell have already said it better.

i know i have said this before

but simon and garfunkel.....are just.
fuck.

banji swan

old rhymes circa 06

i hated your jokes
i was full of spite
yet we'd always see eye to eye
but though your laughter was addictive
at times you'd make me cry.

a few months passed
a new light was grasped
this you made me see
that despite the flinty ways of the world
what a beautiful place it can be.

the sound to my ears,
you grinding my gears
at times i wanted you to end,
it was no fairy tale,
no summer romance,
but my bounty of anxieties you did mend.

your mother said don't hurt me
and ouch,
you did indeed,
it took some restless nights with my joni
and stiff rye and gingers to fill my need.

now, that ship has sailed away
the hard feelings have since been rid,
youve made me fall for you in a whole other way
that, you most certainly did.

things will change,
the seasons will range,
the bracelets will soon divide,
but i hope we remain
as you once proclaimed;
to jerry,
love elaine.