A pain, a plan, a house or car
Mouse or moose, me and you
All a vivid dream
With no substantiality
with bore and coop
Blues, is that you again?
Sitting by the door,
Head bowed, hat in hand,
Contemplating what might have been.
Slumped that way, it's so sad.
You know you can't stay,
Going on like that.
on mother's lips
in the cold dawn
As I struggle thru deep snow ..
Drifts on the way to the garden,
A bug flies by -
The gulls came up the river today,
Chasing winter north.
These are not those who wheeling, cry, plunder and breed.
They fly direct and silent with unwavering intensity,
Like white arrows tipped in black,
Shot forth by the change in season
They flash by bare limbed trees, flickering across the snow floored forest
Just a moment, dear.
Not now honey.
Take that trash out or bring it all back in.
Recycling all those triangles brings satisfaction of fresh beginnings.
Taking care, we own the world
And all delights within it.
In this play of vivid energy,
No body, sound or movement;
No trace at all is found.
They all say how it is, that never came to pass,
Leaving no mark behind.
That old truck; it's nothing but trouble on the road.
So they went out to find something they could afford;
Left the keys in it.
Now they are starting over with the same model,
Hoping for space to park it,
Or someone to take it away.
Tiger's stalking meets the dragon's spirit;
They are laughing at raindrops in water,
Moon faces all dimpled with reflections of sun.
Each has a say in painting a true picture
Of delight as it is in the garden.
This is the place you always want to be
Home of best intentions
Worthy of your care
Neighbors just the right reflections
Floodlights in the theatre of reality
There is no doubt about proper connection
When everything is so obviously in the way
No one knows what's going on or why.
Tho we give it titles and roles
It's all a big jumble of glittering confusion
Tainted with hope, fear, and boredom
Coloring itself with passion and ordered in aggression
It presents faces of seeming familiarity that should comfort the soul
Yet nothing sticks or fits and certainly won't stem the flow
Even when frigid rigidity creates tunnels of predictability
There is still freedom for the eye of the beholder
Willing to let go beyond siezing conditions
Taste the pure colors in the jitters and junk
Feel the smells of raw being
Before the play names characters.