They paddle with staccato feet
In powder-pools of sunlight,
Small blue busybodies
Strutting like fat gentlemen
With hands clasped
Under their swallowtail coats;
And, as they stump about,
Their heads like tiny hammers
Tap at imaginary nails
In non-existent walls.
He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.
About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light blue trees,
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,-
Ope not thy lips, thou foolish one,
Nor turn to me thy face;
The blasts of heaven shall strike thee down
Ere I will give thee grace.
Take thou thy shadow from my path,
Nor turn to me and pray;
The wild wild winds thy dirge may sing
Ere I will bid thee stay.
The hair falling on your forehead
Suddenly something stirred on the ground.
The trees are whispering
in the dark.
Your bare arms will be cold.
where we can't see,
the moon must be rising.
I was hoping to be happy by seventeen.
School was a sharp check mark in the roll book,
An obnoxious tuba playing at noon because our team
Was going to win at night. The teachers were
Too close to dying to understand. The hallways
Stank of poor grades and unwashed hair. Thus,
A friend and I sat watching the water on Saturday,
Neither of us talking much, just warming ourselves
By hurling large rocks at the dusty ground
And feeling awful because San Francisco was a postcard
Trees stand like strangers in the dark
cigarette still smoking smudged on the street
lonely wanderers hunting to make their mark
Brazenly searching for anyone to greet
Sometimes I sleep, wishing there won’t be a morning,
That the drapes on my window stay shut,
Just like my heart stays shut now.
I close my eyes, seeing nothing but dark,
Begging the dark to sing me a lullaby,
To soothe and comfort me,
For I might not open my eyes again,
For the dark might have to become my home.
Born in brilliant rose dawn, when dreams were still possible,
I'm a silent ebony shadow, who has never felt the fiery sun.
In cool, dark regions I live, where colors have come undone.
Yet, in this world of dazzle, it is I who ofttimes feels invisible.
But I am all that it is, waltzing on the far side of gold beams,
Until the time of my cheerful undoing, in the rich noon hour!
Then flower scents whirl, as my creator flourishes his power,
Before mellowed afternoon, when he lets me reign supreme!
Little Billy Chapman was a good boy he was,
Madam mummy and sir daddy he dared not cross.
"Go stand in the corner!" the teachers would say,
At the lunch table the mean kids often chased him away.
But for little Billy it was not all bad,
For special company he always had.
In the dark solitude he did find
A magic mirror of some kind.
His little secret the world did not know,
The mysterious magic he swore to never show.
Strolling in the evergreen park so slow
Head sinking to the speckled concrete
The cracks mirroring a broken sentiment
Press play and a sweet song blares
Then the black veil lifts ever so slightly
The feeling unsustainable yet welcomed
Vibrations echoing deep through each fiber of being
Melancholy holds no sway in this domain
The beat builds as runners pass by in cardiac bliss