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October LightOctober light is shining like the horn of jubilee -
the trumpet blown after seven times seven years.
All debts are canceled and every slave set free
in that sweet year that follows forty-nine -

a year we have not known. The high and mighty pay
to have the calendar reset, and our forty-ninth year
goes on for thousands and thousands of days.
We owe and owe, our burdens borne and borne.

October light is shining through leaves that were green,
and now are red, orange, yellow, gold. Most will fall soon,
though oak leaves may stay on the tree till spring, brown
and dry and dead but fixed in place till new growth comes

Your Man BluesI don't want to be a fat man, so I can't find my feet.
I don't want to be a thin man, seeking something to eat.
I just want to be your man - not too fat and not too thin.
I want to ring your bell, babe, and know that you will let me in.

I don't want to be a strange man, so people try not to stare.
I don't want to be a plain man, so people can't see I'm there.
I just want to be your man - not too strange and not too plain.
I want you to feel love, babe, as natural as rain.

I don't want to be a wild man, like a mule kicking in a stall.
I don't want to be a tame man, with no surprises at all.
I just want to be your man - not too wild

Not the one that appears every two or three years -
the one that appears once in forty-four years.

Not the one that is full for a single night -
the one that is full every night it is in the sky.

Not the one on which to see a man or a rabbit -
the one on which there are branches and leaves in silhouette.

Not the one that is drowned out by a glowing city -
the one that is as bright above a city as it is where the sky is darkest.

Not the one by which you might read a newspaper headline -
the one by which you can read what had been invisible.

Not the one whose name is part of a figure of speech -
the one that asks us to say something new.

Something fell. How could a sound so loud
have been a dream? Yet how could a sound
so loud have left a silence thick as this?
There is so little sound you might be deaf.

You say, "hello," softly, to the dark.
You hear your voice clearly through the air.
The lighted clock says four A.M.
Did something fall? It could have been a dream.

It may have been the picture in the hall.
Why did you hang it with a single nail?
Or was it something not so near as that,
whose size and mass you cannot say?

Was it here in the city, a block away,
a mile? There would be sirens, surely.
Or was it something both near and far -
did a world slip dow

Here is an orchestra of forty-two -
not too many instruments nor too few.

What happened to the sixteen violins?
Each one has blistered varnish, streaks of soot.

Some reeds and horns have injuries as well.
But many shine and show no sign of harm.

Tonight there is a problem with the score -
the pages disarrayed and on the floor.

We look to the conductor - shreds of light
press in upon the darkness where she stands.

She stands with head bowed down for much too long.
A singer walks on stage - has this been planned?

And the conductor lifts her head and hands.
There will be music. There will be a song.

Cool BluesI'm stopping at the stop signs,
I'm signaling my turns.
I am trying to be cool,
I know about what burns.

I'm older than my daddy,
I'm not walking in his shoes.
He ate his milk and honey,
and you know he paid his dues.

Green glass on the sidewalk
that I don't always go around -
because my sole is solid
I just hear a crunching sound.

I sit at my favorite table,
it's the one where you are too -
I love to sit and listen
as you tell me what is new.

Soldiers on the street,
moon in the sky -
owl in a tree
getting ready to fly.

I hear voices in my head
as I fall asleep at night. &#

I am so brittle

I am so brittle I could crack
and fall in pieces at your feet.
Sweep me off into the corner -
all I want to do is sleep.

I am so hollow I could melt
into a smaller puddle than
you might expect to see.
No need to step on me -
I only want to sleep.

Is there a code I have to crack,
is there a solid I should melt?
Give me the key and raise the heat -
let me sleep!

In the heart

In the heart, doubts

In the doubts, a small room

In the small room, a table

On the table, a map being soaked by rain

On the table

In the small room

In the doubts

In the heart

What is this fire
within me now?
Is it contained,
will it break out?
How can I sleep
when I must keep
burning?

Gift of the night,
play of the light.
What will not burn,
that I will learn.
Morning will come
when I am done
burning.

What will this fire
be in the day?
Out of the night,
something will stay.
I will show,
you may know
burning.

I have a mirror that shows another face.

I have a face that asks to hear a song.

I have a song with room for light.

I have light that is the red inside every color.

I have a color that is waiting for its name.

I have a name that means tenderness.

I have tenderness caught in a mirror.

Waiting for My Rider BluesWell, I'm waiting for my rider,
I hope she gets back soon.
We really should be leaving
if we are going to reach the moon.

My rider is a sweet one
and she likes to navigate.
But we got to get a move on
or we are going to be late.

She went into the city
to buy us bread and wine.
If she got lost inside the market,
getting out could take some time.

There may have been bad weather,
and she was caught by a storm.
Just as soon as she gets back here,
we will both be safe and warm.

She may have met a crowd of people
who were watching a parade.
She may be waiting till it passes,
and they move a barricade.

She may have heard s

wars of the Pipersthree marched away to Civil War,
two brothers and a cousin.
spent many months in Andersonville,
where Yanks died by the dozen.
one brother fell among those dead.
the cousin left his arm,
and came to be my dad's granddad;
they worked a dairy farm.

i lost my dad in '51
when i was only twelve.
they said, "he worked himself to death".
i never knew him well.
two of my brothers have passed away.
they echoed our dad's short life.
the other tells me i'll go to hell;
he's the one who murdered his wife.

his 'faith' is one of the reasons why
i'll be agnostic until i die.

llp - dA - oct2012

Barbed Wire Ballad

Bring more barbed wire. Bring the heavy rolls
of twisted steel and metal thorns. Wear
heavy gloves, unspool the wire from the roll,
make loops atop the wall. Bring more.

Bring more barbed wire. Here are metal stakes
on which it may be hung. Go on and on.
Here is a wire cutter for when we are done,
but that will not be soon. Bring more.

Bring more barbed wire. Here are people
to keep out, there are people to confine,
here a place to make secure, here we are
on our side, thank God. Bring more.

Here are people, there are people,
here a border, here a barrier,
here are places, here are people,
here a wall and here the

Thin IceThe ice is thin, the ice is thin -
the shore more distant year by year,
and nearly sixty since I left it now.

There is no going back again.
And I am old yet not so very old -
I bless the ice. I pray for cold.

Wild Place BluesThe place I live is wild, babe,
and that is not just talk.
There are rattlesnakes in the bushes,
so be careful where you walk.

The place I live is wild, babe,
the dreams are ten feet tall.
They carry you just like a child,
if you can sleep at all.

The place I live is wild, babe,
there are poets on the street.
You may hear things never heard before
from anyone you meet.

The place I live is wild, babe,
no map can show the way.
But I will tell you if you ask me,
and you could come today.

You say your heart is wild, babe,
you don't know what to do.
Well, I think the place I'm living
might be just the place for you.

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Gap

by *RichardLeach, Nov 12, 2012, 11:36:19 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

At one end of the restaurant table it is the year 2012
and C. has just returned from a trip around the world,
to Brazil and Egypt and South Africa, India
and Thailand and New Zealand. At the other
end of the table it is 1945 and M. is in a jeep
beside a highway in Germany as 27 Sherman tanks
roar by at sixty miles an hour. I sit in the middle
and perform the spell that keeps the tanks from
crushing the table and my grilled flatbread
and my India Pale Ale and my wife's tomato
soup and grilled cheese sandwich and all of us
who are here beneath their treads. I can do that
with ease, yet spectacular sparks arc across
the voltage drop between now and long ago.
The voltage is high but the amperage low -
the sparks seldom harm but oh, what a show.

Gapby *RichardLeach

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

©2012-2013 *RichardLeach

A little slice of life.

*djailledie Dec 1, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

What a show, indeed!

Reply

*RichardLeach Dec 3, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

Get the right people together and entertainment is certain!

Reply

~All-My-Darkness Nov 19, 2012

I fucking like this!

Block text verbal explosions of
rubics cube experimental creativity.

I felt like it was lunch
At a greek gods table of the world
And Ares was telling you of is latest scrap
And you were Zeus being all like:

"Very good son, now be a good lad and calm down
your upsetting the cats"

Reply

*RichardLeach Nov 19, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

I love that, Dark! Thank you!

Reply

~All-My-Darkness Nov 19, 2012

Welcome!

Thank you for a spark to start my brain rolling.

Reply

*LancelotPrice Nov 16, 2012

I like that a lot.

Great imagery. The speed of the tanks is much exaggerated, but this is a world of minds.

Reply

*RichardLeach Nov 16, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

Thanks, Lance.
And lol, yes - their real top speed is 24 mph but this was the story. A world of minds indeed.

Reply

*LancelotPrice Nov 16, 2012

Reply

~TeresaClark Nov 15, 2012 Professional General Artist

"The voltage is high but the amperage low -
the sparks seldom harm but oh, what a show." - Brilliant!

Reply

*RichardLeach Nov 15, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

Thanks, Teresa!

Reply

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