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GapAt 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 bet
42
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.
Three A.M.
You sit in the saddle as you were taught.
Sleep is beneath you, still as a statue.
The reins are loose in your hands. You squeeze
with your legs as you should, below the knees.
Sleep does not move.You cluck with your tongue.
"Walk," you say clearly. "Walk." Sleep does not.

You sit in the saddle as you were taught.
You hold the reins, you kick with both heels.
Sleep does not move. You sit in the saddle.
Where is that crop? Your feet leave the stirrups.
You dismount and stand close beside Sleep.
You look into its wide eye, then step back.
Sleep gallops off. You have to laugh.
A mirror
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.
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.
Honey Bee Blues
Sometimes I wish I was a beetle
and I had a chitin shell.
Oh yes, I wish I was a beetle
and I had a chitin shell.
Then I would not even feel it
when you did not treat me well.

Sometimes I am a moth, babe,
flying toward a flame.
Sometimes I am a moth, babe,
flying toward a flame.
This cannot have a happy ending,
but I keep flying just the same.

Sometimes I am a hornet,
if you crowd me I will sting.      
That's right, I am a hornet,
if you crowd me I will sting.
You'll be sorry, you'll discover
there is more to me than wings.

Let's get together, baby,
and we'll be two honey bees.
Let's get together, baby,  
and we'll be t
Pursued BluesThe speed limit here is fifty,
but I'm doing a hundred and ten.
If my luck holds out till morning,
I might make it home again.

I've been moving since October
and they haven't got me yet.
I keep my eyes wide open
for every trap they set.

Sometimes I say a prayer to heaven
for the damage all around.
There is justice high above us,
but who can call it down?

The speed limit here is fifty,
but I'm doing a hundred and ten.
If my luck holds out till morning,
I might make it home again.

If I do get home tomorrow,
I will not be there long.
I'll put my arms around my people,
and then I will be gone.

But it's not so much the staying,
No Time for the BluesI had no time for the blues,
but they had time for me.
They came to my house
about a quarter to three.

I had to get out of bed
when they knocked on the door.
But why had they come?
They would not tell me what for.

I was awake with the blues
for the rest of the night.
And oh, I saw the blues
by the dawn's early light.

It was a quarter to nine,
I had things I should do.
But I couldn't go out,
I was feeling so blue.

And so I said to the blues,
you must have somewhere to go.
They glanced at the time
and they answered me no.

I had no time for the blues
but the blues didn't care.
All the time in the world
is what the blues h
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
I am a silence
I am a silence, a small disturbance,
a flatness in the field of voices.

Voices rise like weeds and flowers,
rise like chimneys, rise like towers.

And there are voices high as hell
from whom we hear that all is well -

with some exceptions, we should know.
These are the fault of those below.

Weeds and flowers, for shame, for shame.
So much wrong and you to blame.

But I will not curse, I will not bless.
I am a silence, a small disturbance.
No Turning Around Blues
Going ninety miles an hour
down the highway alone.
Yeah, ninety miles an hour
down the highway alone.
Looking for a U-turn
so I can get back home.

Sometimes I go slower,
to check out what I pass.
I may go slower sometimes -
to check out what I pass.
Nothing ever looks familiar,
so I step on the gas.

Other drivers pass me,
going too fast for words.
Well, other drivers pass me,
going too fast for words.
They go off into the distance
and vanish there like birds.

The highway can be narrow
or it may be ten lanes wide.
It may be one or two lanes,
it may be ten lanes wide.
Is that the sea in the distance
or just a trick of the light?

My home is
Fall
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
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
Old blue dog
I have an old blue dog, as big as he can be.
He eats way too much but he keeps me company.
I call him Jim and he always calls me sir.
I don't make him do that but it's what he prefers.
He sharpens his claws on the oak tree in the yard.
His claws are nice and sharp but the tree is kind of scarred.
If I sit at the piano he gives me a sideways glance.
But when I play boogie-woogie, he always starts to dance.
He goes to town on Tuesday after I help him groom,
comes home again on Wednesday smelling like perfume.
One time he fought that orange cat that lives a mile away.
But then they licked each other and they are friends today.
He saved a lot of people that time the sky fell down.
They gave him a nice medal but he doesn't wear it now.
One thing he never learned to do is play the violin.
He says he played the banjo once and he thinks he could again.
If I can't sleep at night, he turns the radio on
Browse More Like This

More from *RichardLeach

Blues for YouI'll sing you up a storm, babe,
and then I'll keep you dry.
I'll sing you up a storm, babe,
and then I'll keep you dry.
Come on into my kitchen -
we'll watch the clouds go by.

If you should need a driver,
you can always count on me.
If you should need a driver,
you can always count on me.
You will be my only rider,
we'll go from sea to sea.

The way I feel about you
is a natural fact.
The way I feel about you
is a natural fact.
I was sleeping and you woke me,
now dreams won't take me back.

I can sing about your secrets
and no one will ever know.
I can sing about your secrets
and no one will ever know.
All the people who

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Waiting for My Rider Blues

:iconrichardleach:

Well, 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 some people singing
and gone to see what song she heard.
She may have stayed to sing soprano -
you know she sings just like a bird.

She may have had to show her papers
to a security man.                                                      
They don't make you that much safer -
they stop you because they can.

You know I will be waiting,
however long it may be.
She is my rider and my baby,
and the only one for me.

I want her back here with me,
I want to see her smiling face.
If we do not get to the moon, well -
we'll be fine some other place.

And the moon will be there waiting,
if we do not go soon.
We could go a week from Friday,
we could go in May or June.

148

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:iconrichardleach:

Waiting for My Rider Bluesby *RichardLeach

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Blues.
©2013 *RichardLeach
Category: Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Songs & Lyrics

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January 8
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:iconteresaclark:
~TeresaClark Feb 3, 2013  Professional General Artist
Beautiful!
Reply
:iconrichardleach:
*RichardLeach Feb 3, 2013  Professional Traditional Artist
Thanks, Teresa!
Reply
:iconm-lucia:
Mood: Love *m-lucia Jan 14, 2013
lovely! and sweet, yes, as it has been said before! and smile-provoking... :aww:

:hug:
Reply
:iconrichardleach:
*RichardLeach Jan 14, 2013  Professional Traditional Artist
those are all nice things to hear - thank you very much! :hug:
Reply
:iconalisinwonder:
*alisinwonder Jan 11, 2013
very sweet :boogie:
Reply
:iconrichardleach:
*RichardLeach Jan 11, 2013  Professional Traditional Artist
thanks, Hanne :aww:
Reply
:iconalisinwonder:
*alisinwonder Jan 11, 2013
a pleasure to read :)
Reply
:iconhoaxeye:
~hoaxeye Jan 9, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
Excellent. And yeah, the Rider and the journey itself is always more important than the destination. Because after all wherever you may be..... there you are.
Reply
:iconrichardleach:
*RichardLeach Jan 10, 2013  Professional Traditional Artist
Thanks very much.

And lol - Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension!
Reply
:iconhoaxeye:
~hoaxeye Jan 10, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
Wow, good memory.
Reply
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