She pours poetry in her drawings When her age is only four Answering her talent's callings That were never seen before. Zealously she churns the marker Into spirals,into circles Making scribbles on the paper And connecting miraged circuits.
Should her teacher see her now She probably would interupt her Would hold her hand to show her how “Let's draw a flower!” she might spur, "Let's glue these neatly precut shapes!" And then her muse might start to flicker, Her talent steadily reshapes Just for another “well done” sticker…
I am ashamed, I almost stopped her But then I felt the rithm in her hands Saw her rhymes in her joyous stir Picking her idea’s strands.
“Look mama, it is a cyclone!” Finally I see the meaning, In your poem that you've drawn With your wide smile, and eyes gleaming You add quickly Dorothy's house A triangle on top of square, Reminiscing ‘f old type schoolhouse, Your poem starts, right there, mid-air...
I want to hear the echo of my own words. I want to know that you’ll be there even when you know a storms coming I need you there. I’m so scared that one day you might be gone, you won’t be the first to go won’t be the last. Everyone from my past are ghosts and i hate pulling out the ouija board. Don’t make me have to visit our friendship’s grave because I will be there everyday for months wondering how to bring back the dead. Rituals, sacrifices, spells, and even prayers. God whispering to me telling me he knows how it will end but i have to wait to see the road bend. Seeing the storm coming from a land far far away knowing this isn’t a fairy tale knowing I’ll never get my happy ending. Even when you know the storm is coming take my hand and maybe we’ll get to Oz. There’s no place like home. Home isn’t a place, It’s the feeling of comfort you get when you hear your echo. It’s sitting down and knowing you are here for a reason. Understanding that we are one with the earth and this is my place on earth. It’s seeing a picture of the beach or woods or mountains and saying proclaiming “I’d rather be here.” I’d rather be here with you. I’d rather be here with you because you haven’t left yet. I don’t think you will but understand that I have never had that extra hand, a friend to reach out and say “please don’t go away.”
It’s a bit like shock therapy When you’d come to. It was the Depression, sure, And I was barely clothed and fed But I woke up refreshed Realigned and adjusted. A clean sweep! Surrounded by my loving family. Back. So this is the way things are; The way things were, Before But it’s not so bad in comparison.
That over there was a disaster The so-called “Loss of consciousness” Was I in a coma? With witch’s feet And those dancing trolls A road leading where and why? There are no other roads, so who cares the color?
It was a horror story, not a morality play They were so presumptuous, What I needed! They told me that I had killed someone, a complete stranger and That’s how it all started.
Bluebirds fly Yes I suppose they do! You are right! I got my wish in a sick way I went beyond a “rainbow” as it were
It was bad. I liked those gorgeous orange woozy poppies but so what, I was asleep anyway. Do you see what I mean? Chased by monkeys and people who don’t really like me. Not really. Not any more than anywhere else. Despite what they say. Everyone had his own agenda. It was a matter of convenience and opportunities. What was mine again? Oh yeah. For it to stop.
The Wizard was a Kansas Man He said so himself And when I showed up Well he decided to clear out I guess we were two Kansans too many
Stay with us Dorothy! We love you! All of us! We don’t want you to go! Doesn’t that sound a bit odd?
So I came back with this bit about Well “if I ever look for my heart’s desire again I will look no further than my own backyard Because if it isn’t there (It gets good!) I never really lost it To begin with!” Can you believe that? I also relentlessly repeated HOME over and over and the word LIKE And somehow it all came to an end I can’t really explain it but It could have been a Jim Jones situation.
But do you think I believed any of it? I escaped And now I think that I know how to do it. And I can do it again. But to someplace Else.
shall we meet if only for the first time though I feel we have danced briefly in times past in the life I still live in these fields of gold songs that haunt me with their beauty
yet somewhere over that rainbow of dreams I sense you wait for me when Autumn leaves fall how dare I love a spirit I do not know yet it is my conviction that we are bound somehow in time after time
awaken me in those darkest nights in the absence of purity before my soul is taken by the abyss a whisper is all I need whisper the word from that song... somewhere
oldie - slightly revised - I was motivated to write this piece after hearing Eva Cassidy' s version of 'Over the Rainbow' which she never knew became a hit in England as she passed from cancer without ever having a record contract. She was offered, but they wouldn't allow her to choose her songs, so she refused to sign. She grew up in my town. https://youtu.be/2rd8VktT8xY
I gave up somewhere along this road— When it was I don’t know. So I’ll sit here, underneath the shade And wait for the Tin man, Now rusted in time, far behind me. I discovered, sitting there, that day— That losing a heart Was actually an easy thing to do.
Long ago relationship poem, that still has some bearing on the present, almost funny how these things come right back around sometimes.