To us, time does not belong
And since reality is wrong...
Live with me in legacy
You're so close already
Residing in memory

Only a hearts twinge and without cringe
My pleasuring in teaching to uke  
A warranty insurance for a more creative you

Ill stand on the needle of your thread, fixed and stable without dread

Get ******* and dragged around by your apron strings

Feel the chain around your neck swing as it stings and swings

Be what your tongue tastes when taking all varieties of temperature

Be the brush you use to finish assignments when they get to be too much

As wine deminshes and glass comes clear, take the role of servant, pour countless refill, until you're ready to be bed in achieving complete fulfill

Rest assured, If you feel fear or need a mirror, allow me to transform into reflection to tell you how beautiful everything you wear
and how to me
you are so dear

so you saw the recruitment poster
and naturally, you thought you’d come
thinking it would come naturally-
being artistic yourself-you came to class
equipped for the jaunt; the saunter in the park
where the sun is bound to shine-
with a new ukelele in a case
like a little hamper with a little rug of hope-
what are you letting yourself in for?
not this assault course, maybe?..


Let me tune you up.
First off, this is not going to be
some slack strung Hawaiian picnic,
where you can catch everything with butter fingers
where fizz sends it straight to your brain,
where you’ll just inhale and exhale music-
no. you’re going to have to jog on the spot;
get your knees up, star jump and listen
and fail and feel musically immune
to anything remotely infectious or
resembling a tune; you’re in the army now
so excuse me while I just whip away
that table cloth of preconception
laid out in your mind;
now
get down
give me twenty
count yourself lucky

Your origami snapper came along
tucked into my wallet
things like that don't travel well
but I managed
they suffered a lesion to the spine
snappers are apparently weak there
maybe we can work on growing a backbone together

handmade gifts mean the most
less, when it was made in whimsy and flimsy
more, because it gave me false hope
maybe it's a sign
like a uke-playing octopus
maybe friendship is all I need right now
your origami snapper is a great listener

It sits on my desk
Either mocking or pondering, I can’t tell
Snappers are hard to read that way
Maybe if we showed more emotion you’d
           notice

but action requires reaction
and somehow the origami rose I made forgot it’s origami thorns
But there could be blood on my hands
From a beautiful friendship I so recklessly slaughter
pulling up roots like weeds
adding wistful thinking to inimitable memories

He lived down the street from us,
And came to be known as,
The man whose wife left him.
We speculated and surmised.
None but two knew the reason why
He became
The man whose wife left him.

He stopped cutting the grass
And weeding the beds.
He won’t play his uke
On the porch like he did.
From all accounts,
He was a good Dad,
None ever heard him
Explete a foul word.
He worked till retired,
Never was fired.
I'm told he lived a gentle life;
Never started a fight,
Or ran from strife.
That's what I heard
About the man whose wife left him.
Left to his own devices,
The man whose wife left him,
Left.

but i don't understand how i'm supposed to sleep when nothing will be the same when i wake up
how am i supposed to lie down and stop existing for a fleeting lifetime while the seasons spin around me
why do i have to stop to let time pass when no thing stops for me so i can pass
and why do things have to change anyway


forgetting happens but it happens too late but it happens too soon
and soon and lately you can't remember what he smelled like or what his shirt felt like against your saltwater skin or his hands on your face but you remember that he pretended not to know you the last time you saw him and you remember the girlfriend that you pretended didn't exist and you remember that you are a ******* idiot for still remembering these things but the color of his eyes is gone, gone like the summer sky and the salty air that he kissed your temples under and the trees and the song and the muddy sides of the mountain and waterfalls and uke lessons, fireworks and roadkill and you are gone somewhere without a name

you are gone somewhere just past consciousness but just within belief

the belief that maybe you honestly didn't see me walking right past you and this is all just a mistake and soon you will send me another sleepy message with all the periods in the wrong places and when i call you out on it you will respond earnestly and sincerely sorry and when you've lost me nearly i will mention the movie that i really want to see and you will take me and share popcorn and fingertips and nervous giggles and maybe this will end with the linen sheets and cold coffee and soft acoustic caresses and the eyes that remember to shine green in the golden afternoon glowing through the miniblinds of your dorm room that i have imagined a million times over


be calm and be brave because these things will work out and none of this will even matter in 10 years time
i said these things but i never said be patient because none of this will even matter in 10 years time
if you make it 10 years
if you make it through the night

i was playing my uke with my friends
when you entered the picture
i was
so speechless
so wander struck
by
your presence
something about you
is just
so -
--

Usually, I'm pretty impatient about well... anything. Like this trip for example. I kind of wish we were already there. But at the same time, I'm not too eager to rush through today. Making this experience last as long as possible.

Getting as much out of it as I can. Living like to the fullest sort of thing. And yet, this plane ride is becoming sort of draining. But plane rides are usually like that. Not much to be done about that.

So for right now, I'll enjoy some time to lat back and try to relax. More air time above the ocean.

There's really nothing more to be done about the time left on this flight. And writing seem like the best time killer I've got. But it's not that I'm bored of writing. It's just that I'd rather be singing or playing my uke.

I could still be writing... But I'd be creating a song or poem or something new.

Something good. (So like I don't know, the bachelor?)

Something... (Yep. Definitely the bachelor.)

But I have to continue to wait out the flight. But again, I'm not really complaining.

I have the whole trip ahead of me.

I'm a young man in the spring,
Looking forward to anything...everything;
Undaunted in the offerings.
Nothing's too demanding,
What's out of reach is possible:
If I lift my arms I can fly,
Open my mouth I sing,
Close my eyes, I paint;
Reach out and envelope
What others too soon reject.
It's the spring of my year,
And summer's coming on.

I'm a thirty-something in summer.
Disappointments and expectations abound
Under a cloud-split sunny sky.
I can flap my arms, looking chicken-like,
I'm asked not to sing so loud,
I close my eyes, one at a time,
To read the chart.
My arms are getting full,
But I have room for more.

Autumn comes on my heels.
It's a time for preparation.
Savings, spendings, give-aways
Fill forty years of duty.
Taxes, mortgages, tuition,
Weddings, christenings,
Hellos and goodbyes to the loved.
Winter is coming in off the lake.

Today coincides with the solstice;
The least amount of light,
I can feel it now.
I close my eyes to nap,
I am grounded, well-grounded,
I accompany the singers with a uke,
And lip sync.
I hear every note.
I'm skating again at the arena,
Sugar Shack is playing.

Scattered books
Empty bottles
Misplaced shoes
Hamper full
Drawers askew
Sheets fumbled
Books
Books
Books
And
More books
A forgotten uke
Hiding by the wall
Longing to be played
To be touched
Poster of Italy
Begging me
Calling me
To return
Paintings of a dear friend
Reminding me
Encouraging me
To be good, to be kind
To love
He helps me see the way
He helps me see the path
He reminds me to pray
Reminds me to study
His word
Yes, He is the Lord
Jesus Christ
My Savior
And friend.

When I'm sad
I feel crumpled.
I'll play some lonely chords
on my uke.
Next I'll get shivers
and tingle
all over.
Next I'll feel cold
especially in my arms
and in my chest.
Finally
I'll fall asleep
with a relieved heart.

Maybe it’s in your smile,
Maybe it’s in the way you look me in the eyes,
Maybe it’s in the way you shout my name out loud,
Maybe it’s when you grabbed my wrist to run together,
Maybe it’s when you touched my back,
Maybe it’s in how you touch my shoulders when you’re about to leave,
Maybe it’s in how you held my hand while dancing,
Maybe it’s in how you spun me,
Maybe it’s in how you can tell me anything,
Maybe it’s in how you make me your photographer,
Maybe it’s in the way you trust me,
Maybe it’s in the way you sang,
Maybe it’s in how you played the uke,
Maybe it’s in how you motivate me to run and do sports,
Maybe it’s whenever you give me the heart sign,
Maybe it’s when you wanted me to go with you,
Maybe it’s when you wanted us to go first without the others,
Maybe it’s when you were supposed to tell me something but didn’t,
Maybe it’s in how you tell me to believe in you,

Maybe, just maybe,
Maybe it’s you.

Once a band gathered and then they sang for my father
Everything sang for someone in the world
Someone sang a song of an old photograph Photograph

It's about how he said that he wants to be a child

But how can you turn back the flames of time
A faded image of a bride playing this uke
On a journey, in a car, closely related

Still maybe a girl will show you how to use the wire

Sentient bob is a man who often asks
What should we do when we carry the water
Everyone likes the birds  

maybe someone has a big fat plan

come on may I say all the good mother's play
Now we're on a sailing boat
Telling the truth

Sometimes that's all there's to do

Thank you for having a gift
for all of those gentle songs
that you sweetly sang
with your melancholy voice

Thank you for everything
for all the advice you gave
through the good and the bad
for lifting me up when I'm sad

Thank you for giving me a home
and baking me banana bread
for taking care of things
thanks for just talking to me

Thank you for showing me
that everything is temporary
my pain isn't here forever
you were always with me

Thank you for the nostalgia
the sweet uke from the UK
the rhythms that found my soul
and the calpol for my heart

Dear robin, thank you.

I have blisters on my fingers
from playing for too long
because I was trying
to learn your favourite song

I have a croaky voice now
from singing far too high
from trying to sing a melody
that reaches towards the sky

My guitar is out of tune
because of what you said
you told me I was good and
I let it go to my head

My uke is sitting sadly
untouched for quite awhile
because what I play isn't worth it
if I can't make you smile.

The roll hit
just after
I played uke
with a bunch
of ****** hippie
kids.

I thought of you
Euphoria
and my brain
Booted up the
drug.
molly.exe

"Rolling hard"
is interesting
Terror and bliss
Dancing a woozy
Tango in the night

Terror had her fill
and so subsided
so all that
was left
was Bliss

On the beach
With friends
So much
Bliss

Almost overwhelming,
Terror may
threaten you,
but Bliss
checks that *****

I ran into the
waves
of that infinite
Ocean
And screamed
into them
I screamed
Into the Ocean
With the full
force of my
Voice
for the first time
since my last
Mental break

She will always
Roar louder than
you,
That infinite Ocean

The worry the dread and all the doubt,
I think out loud but will not shout,
I know what other people may say,
They don’t know I was born this way
Strumming my uke sets me free,
Then I wonder…..Do penguins have knees?
Obsession, starts,
I cannot quit,
Does my gold fish have lips?
Distracted,
Annoyed,
I don’t know the answers,
I think I am okay,
Do I have cancer?
Over whelmed,
Did I pay that bill?
Fu-k!, it on the mantle still
Its 2 in the morning,
Saturday,
There’s nothing to do but shut up play
©B L Costello 2020