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 May 2014 Kitbag of Words
Sjr1000
It's a sad tale
It's true
It happened to me
Don't tell anyone, please.

Darcy was a fifteen year old
runaway
1969
Came to San Francisco
that
was the place.

The most beautiful girl
I had ever seen
but
then I was only 19.

A different story
a different tale
Hugh Hefner
had given her
a flirting stare.
Just to let you know
how beautiful she might have been.

I lived on Homer Lane
Darcy and I, of course
lovers became.
She moved right on in.

As young lovers often do
3 months is 3 years
and
Darcy flew off to Wycoff
to see her crazy parents
he had built a wall
blown down by the wind
she dressed like Anthony Quinn.

As young lovers often do
three weeks later
I followed her
just to
see what we
were going to do.

The next thing I knew
we
were living on 12th Street
across from the New School.
Jimi Hendrix
down the block
screaming guitar jamming
from his fourth floor apartment
we'd all stop and listen.

I was going to
Gerdy's Folk City
singing my version
of my own written
Bob Dylan songs.

Darcy was putting
Huey Newton posters
on our rent controlled apartment
front door.
Somebody kept ripping them off
She added more layers.

Needless to say
we were evicted the next day
as young lovers often are.

It was summer
Woodstock came
Darcy bought us tickets
to
get us in the game.

I was working as a copywriter
writing movie ads
Every father's daughter is a ******
that
wasn't one of mine.
My claim to fame
for a short time running
trending you might say
"Up Madison Avenue"
a girl dancing on the top of a fist.

Darcy
had an ill fated
voyage to France
to
smuggle hash.
I
almost got us busted
at
the airport
Darcy's friend
who bought the plane ticket
hadn't told her about the ******
he
took the hash
and
was coming back.
We
never saw him again.

1969

As young lovers often do

We met at 5pm
at
the Port Authority
on
a Friday summer night

There were a lot of people
jammed together
knocked around
really tight
pivot point
it wasn't all right
claustrophobic bound

You know the drill

Heart pounding
hands tingling
sweating
hyperventilating to.

What would you have said
what do you think you would do?

"I gotta get out a here.
Let's go to the movies instead. "

She was very kind
went
and saw
Putney Swope
Up Madison Avenue.
The city was empty.
I
thought
I heard a pin drop
in
that warm summer night
in
New York City.

The very next morning
Darcy
was gone
Woodstock bound.
I was watching bowling
and
thinking something profound.

Two things left
to say:

will this shame
ever
go
away

And
guess who didn't
keep
his *******
ticket.
Today is the 45th Anniversary
8/15.
~~~~~

Even at this point in my life, i still,
could never have my back to the door...
I always face the window
or the door itself...
When the opposite is inevitable,
there are no airs of safety,
or thoughts of peace.
What is it about doors, even windows?
They are supposed to be symbols
of new beginnings, new chances...
But why don't i trust them enough,
to have my back to them...
Like someone,  or something evil lurks,
waiting for me 'til i have relaxed my reflexes...

The door and window, i always seek,
always glad after I've gone out of each exit...

But then, behind you, no matter what,
there will always be another window,
another D O O R
                              O         O              
                   O         O    
                  R O O D...

I sometimes wonder:
is it the doors?
Or...is it me?



Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***Some random thoughts that  came out of my mind after reading Gonzo's DOWN THE HALL. and while looking at the glass door.***
Deciding to carry a plastic bag
was all I needed
for a spark of belief!


It was raining hard
and I saw a gain
in carrying it
for my experience told
people in the bus don't find it funny
when drip on them
raindrops from my umbrella.

There was one window seat empty
as if in wait for me
itself drenched in the pour
upon which the plastic bag I spread
reflecting on the divine design
god's kind grace
in protecting me in warm dryness
when in that ******* relief
was born in the atheist's mind
a belief!
In the crowded platform
he sure was the dancing peacock
in his heart was blowing a storm
he feigned though looking at the station clock.*

Not the clock he was eying that one lovely girl
her face storm gatherer like her hair's black curl
he blushed every time she would catch his eyes
stealing her a look in indifference's disguise.

He was within enjoying this farcical foreplay
didn't know her train his was an hour away
imagined she too was singling him out
from the flock of men his contenders no doubt.

Did a wispy smile float on her cherry lip
few moments' encounter could it be that deep
still in his wondrous thought the girl he did own
on that absurd stage for her his love was grown.

One could not tell what was going within her
her eyes were they touched shone there a star
was she too mindful of him held him once in gaze
or her mind was too far away on a different page.

The hour passed quick in the young man's trance
between changing trains with the peacock's dance
when chugged in her train flew away the butterfly
the whistles of his train drowned his rending sigh.
Fellow traveler
As you leave
You leave me your love.
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