Jul 1 Joel M Frye
Tonight’s moon
is like the light years
of a hermit’s ear
held to a conch

The things that can pass
through  your mind
on a night when only
the mosquitoes are biting

Splinters, clouds,
pianos, the breakwater
that goes on bruising,
five dried up minnows
like a coon’s paw,
a woman holding a guitar
made out of driftwood
and a breathing squid

Anyone that would strum
some tentacles
must have something
wrong with them

I feel the stars
with my eyes
shut, they are like
cornbread crumbs

Don’t follow me tonight,
you know I’m not going
anywhere with this writing

I can hear the dew
crawl down my neck
like a watch chain

I think it’s time now
for me to go in
and dream of the dark
shadow music played
on a driftwood guitar.
Joel M Frye Jun 30
There are no more bad days.
There are moments
          of ingratitude
          of rage
          of self-pity
          of hatred.
Those do not last.
There are
          kind strangers.
These are evergreens.
Bad moments need not
become bad days.
The song of life
plays on between them.
The cancer has returned.  I will begin treatment later this month.  Thank you to my many friends here for your continued support.
  Jun 30 Joel M Frye
Marsha Singh
the world aches to de-
light me – it shakes its
wild hair and struts; it
also lies and philanders
and sometimes it cuts.
  May 28 Joel M Frye
Marsha Singh
I like when you
invent fire, when
you discover the sun,
when you say hush woman
hush, believe this – we are one
  Apr 22 Joel M Frye
If only I could
cleanse you of your sadness,
clear it like the dirt
from a grave diggers fingernails
after a day spent singing
to the bones laid still.

Steal from you this sorrow,
rob it like the gold coins
rattling in the old chests;
spill it in the streets
and watch poor men rejoice.

I could be the thief of untold
heartache, and the water
needed to wash it clean.

I could be the bones that sing
back from the dirt unsettled,
the light shining from the cleansed
side of the gold buried deep
inside the heart of your earth.
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