The Big Time Band

The big time boys
in the rock and roll band
will always play our song...

The music
speaking to more
than just our ears

It binds us to the moment

a touch

a kiss

Or just
a life-is-beautiful look--
The clandestine language
of knowing eyes
has a million and one
words
for what what I see
for what you see
and
for what we know

It's all music baby;
any time you want
just tell me...

"Shut up and dance,
you silly poet"

Not one word needs
pass your lips

Let the moment speak
and I will always

listen

The band...

is playing our song.

--------------------------

Yep, the top picture is actually the cover of Pink Floyd's superb album, Animals. Had to lift it for this one. Since I make zero profit from this blog, it ought to be OK with Roger...

Breathless

Winter sun glared outside the picture window, pushing a warm blush through closed curtains, hiding the pallid drifts of winter snow. She and I lie breathless under a thick, maroon wool blanket on her front couch ignoring the Jerry Springer show and smoking her dad’s secret stash while he was at work on the Alaskan pipeline. Her hand reached up form the heat and brushed miles of blonde locks from her face as she asked me if I’d marry her, if I’d take her away to an island somewhere in the Caribbean. Take her to where nobody would know us and we could work at a hotel by day and play ska music for the punters at midnight beach parties, languishing together in the balmy nighttime salt spray breezes. The full moon would follow us like the eye of God and the stars would light our way to our own piece of Avalon. But I was too young. She was my best friend, my first smile, breathing heavy, close, asking me to take her away and make her happy. Neither of us spoke any more that day except to say goodnight. Words were paltry things, useless in the mouths of young lovers like us. But we felt more alive than we ever would be. Alive and breathless. The curtains closed to the winter outside; we could have smothered, as we melted together in the heat beneath that thick, maroon wool blanket.

I once won $50 in a poetry contest for reading this prose poem. I present to you the edited version. You know me, I cannot leave well enough alone. That's just not my bag, you know what I'm saying?

So glad to know you all are still here. Talk to you soon.

Peace out.