I could end where you begin
Kerala Dust

some mornings there is a dawn in me
and there I begin, I look at things
and they don't look back
I rehearse your name with different whispers as if
I rehearse the pulse or a pirouette of silence
You give birth to I, I give birth to you, a strange happening
some mornings  I disappear into a satin breeze that carries my almost thoughts
that's how I call your name, my almost thought, only the body knows
there is a fresh dawn and there I begin

-

Harmonic dreams
in slow dance tempos,
melodically sing to you
the music of my heart

Performed whispers
in the key of love
echo from a twilight sky
of stardust concertos

On gossamer strings
upon a moonbeam guitar
tuned to the symphony
of your serenade smile

As mesmerizing lyrics
of forever poetic promises
resonate from our heavens
*creating the perfect duet

.

“The lunatic is on the grass”

Signs don’t really matter
Spelling corrects the mood
Dancing on the scattered blades
My word, he’s such a crazy dude

“The lunatic is on the grass”

Park place settings filter
In silverware and dreams
Sidewalks offer no relief
That’s when the pain excites the screams

“Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs”

Memories grow within the weeds
Flowers cast in sad defeat
Caretakers watch as footprints carve
Barking out orders, then repeat

“Got to keep the loonies on the path”

Herding shadows singular
Days to nights of gloom
Read the writing on the wall
This is the dark side of the moon

Sensual entrapment,
Heart, mind, soul, unifying in
Emotional *******.

On Sunday afternoons
Vinyl lulls me to rest
I'm reminded of those days
When life was so simple
I dream like I'm there again

On Sunday afternoons
Vinyl lulls me to sleep
I lay there, close my eyes
Or stare at the ceiling
Lost in a sea of ever changing thoughts

On Sunday evenings
The vinyl has ended
And the sun has vanished
My dreams fade away
And my thoughts swell

On Sunday evenings
I put my vinyl away
I hit my lowest points
Not even the music
Can save me now

There's music in my soul,
Only you can make it whole.
Your saxophone calloused fingers,
Tap me inside and out until I sing.
Oh baby, I can feel the notes threatening to pierce me,
Never have I felt so free.
Place your lips upon me like your saxophone,
I can feel it in my soul.
You love is so sweet,
I can feel you play me into a melody.
Hold me like your saxophone,
Hold me that close.
Even when we're fighting,
We make perfect harmony.
Move your fingers on me,
Play me.
Move me to your music, my love,
Take me to all the notes below and above.
You have my love, saxophone player,
You're the only one that can take me there.
Use your music on my soul,
And play me like your saxophone.

With love and respect to a "National Hero" who gave his life
for future goodness. This coming National holiday January 16th 2017
his first name was Martin; let us begin...


And so you came and left Alabama
   on words that blew sharply
piercing even the most covered ear

Great cities welcomed you
   and some did not

Pride from a long struggle
     subdued anger
     bringing about a glimpse
     of worldwide HOPE for everyone
     and all the poor

Prophetic visions were shouted
   in strength to all four corners of the globe

Yet a crucifixion was waiting
for you in the guise of a missile

And too early a wheat was razed,
                                                and the loaf became bitter

Your body was passed from mind to mind
       as we ate of your bitter loaf
And so the dirge-drums were struck
  And so the cadence bowed
      And so the tears were shed
             And so a brother in spirit was dead

All colors mixed in unison-
   And out from that dark cloud appeared a rainbow
And rain tear-cheeks dried
And a resurrection of pride
soon flooded the country-
We all became baptised
                        in blood and truth...

Dancin'  shadow on dat wall,
white-blues-boy sing yawl song,
harmonica cry, guitar scream,
to dat beat beat so sweet song,
dat dancin' shadow is ah swayin'
in ma head.
Yawl blues echo like dat shiftin' breeze
and shiftin' bayou winds in time dat blow
so sweet, like da shiftin' silt and sounds on breezy thoughts
about red fiery dusks.
Yawl black shadow on dat wall
dances like dah vanchee* in heat.
Clamorous mixture is dat beat
frum dat white-blues-boy smooth-song
dat fills dat *** in heat of vanchee*calls
and his shiftin' black silhouette on dat wall,
dat smooth-song black man yawl becum...


RW Dennen (c)  2008