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Alan S Bailey Mar 2015
It took me years to get where I am at, and now I'm "nowhere"
It took me months to plan to move and now I'm "stuck here"
It took me days to come up with ideas to write poems, and now "this one stinks"-like always
It took me hours to get to sleep, and now I can't go back to sleep
And for once in my life, I just wish the world could just go away or I could just disappear and get people to *stop looking at me like that!
Alan S Bailey Mar 2015
There was a doorway I wanted to go through,
The darkness and heartbreak blocking the way,
Flooding me with memories of pain
And I never thought I'd see you again.
Through the town we drove with our friends,
Painted ourselves naked with words of love.
It's lovely to be different, and good to depend
On the people you know are not hiding above
In towns and streets and houses and valleys,
You could almost have known them but never seen.
And then the piano I was starting to play
I found lovers and friends listening
And I saw you and called you by name,
You answered it was you, your eyes glistening
Alan S Bailey Mar 2015
Cradled in her care, life begins young and fair,
Somehow over space and time
We seem to know  what's really there,
And when we die we are strewn
Like fallen angels made of dead leaves,
Around the yard of nature to be raked,
No matter what we want to believe,
Through all the years that it will take.

No matter how far we will traverse,
Even with unquestioned religion well rehearsed,
Renewed in morning dew, mile after mile,
All become the fruit of a compost pile.*

But that's not true, is it?
Life began with one quick sentence,
A crack of light-it must be legit,
Moulded clay, a rib from Adam,
In the end we all just turn to dust,
Hell will freeze over if it must,
So you can never ever trust us again,
New-age science is just stupidity then.
Alan S Bailey Mar 2015
The lakes and streams filled with natures goodness,
Skys eerie and filled with only questions,
The lilting laughs of the young playful women,
And the prompting for springtime suggestions.
I was always laughed at then, ridiculed, a joke.
In the mornings I would bring with me as always
Oats and honey for breakfast. Your beautiful doe
Eyes always batted at me. I was youthful, bearded face,
Strong lean body. My friends had all but abandoned me.
Everyone said we were evil, poisoned fruit from a tree.
The bon fire lit agains all of our faces, sparks flying into the sky.
The woven basket filled with dates, nuts and rice,
My work never finished, speaking of kindness, of life.
They thought I was there to ruin them, to give them over
To the authorities. My dream was to inspire them and give
Them a better understanding of innocent philosophies,
Never once did I mention eternal suffering or grief, let
Alone the way a life without pain. I was there to enliven
Their lives with music, with fine art, wild unruly entertainment,
I never quite respected the forceful authority figures or
The scorn of those who wanted us to "behave,"
But for one reason or another, everyone sought to clean
Up each of my statements.
But you were there, amazon lady, with such strength,
And I your effeminate match, how could it be that I'd found
Such a catch? Our story would go on to be silenced,
Bound with lies, why? Because when they found
Out the truth about us, they sought to change
It to something popular, so they could sell it.
Alan S Bailey Mar 2015
In just moments*
All were blown away
By the exposure in red,
All I could think of
Was the pouring "blood,"
That my values were dead.
Focusing on my face,
The camera takes an image,
What I looked like seconds
Before my imagined carnage,
Unfolding right in front of the lens,
Spilling my feelings out for once.
Still I only dreamt of it every night,
I'd finally ended it now in hysteria,
Spraying  my worthless "blood" that
Spattered and ruined your camera.
Alan S Bailey Mar 2015
I have a little light left by the stream,
Between the narrow side walk
And the highway that ran over
My silly pointless nature dreams.
Alan S Bailey Mar 2015
A person can speak a thousand words
And still fall short of grand or ill works,
Listen well if you will, these may in fact
Be my last statements,
Should I die tomorrow,
Next week,
Next month,
Next year or in decades,
I've written all you can withstand,
Expressed my feelings too soon.
Why should you need to care? I'll write letters of
Apology, sent via telegram from the moon.
This poem speaks words itself, those that I can never get out of my head.
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