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MeetingsThe images in this journal are "walking in the cold wind" by *glenox66, "walk in the sun" by *partiallyHere and "Dancing Solo" by =LaurieLefebvre

I met a man on Monday
who did not know wrong from right.
I said that he could be my friend,
but we could not be tight.
I met a girl on Tuesday
with a weapon in her hand.
She said that she knew how to use it,
but that was not her plan.
I met a wolf on Wednesday
with a woman by his side.
I said, "Are you okay, babe?"
and the wolf said, "I'm all right."
I met a man on Thursday
who held an open book.
He said the truth was in there
but he did not plan to look.

I met some folks on Friday
who gave me cheese and wine.
The cheese was blue, the wine was red,
I liked them both just fine.
I met someone on Saturday
running as fast as he could.
I said, "Should I keep goi

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

Winter BluesI went down to the orchard
and I shook the apple tree.
I went down to the orchard
and I shook the apple tree.
But it was the dead of winter,
no fruit came down for me.

I remember when the winter
would come and it would go.
I remember when the winter
would come and it would go.
But it hangs around my house now,
like it does not have a home.

No bare feet in the daytime,
no kind word on the street.
No bare feet in the daytime,
no kind word on the street.
I exchange those chilly glances
with everyone I meet.

Could I even face the springtime
if it should come one day?
Could I even face the springtime
if it sh

Tea with my monkey

The spotted men are walking and a storm is close behind,
it's bound to get them soon and I hope they do not mind.
Sometimes you check the mirror and a storm is what you find.

I was going to bake a cake but my sugar had a flaw -
it was the meanest sugar that you ever saw.
I think that kind of sugar ought to be against the law.

I bought a can of freedom, so glad to make it mine -
freedom is not free, it cost a dollar forty nine.
If the can would only open, things would be just fine.

You still can see the pipes sticking up out of the ground -
the trucks would pull up to the place and make a pumping sound.
They don't deliver any more, we have to go to town.

I have a funky monkey who says his name is Stan -
on Tuesday he goes out and plays the banjo in a band.
When I have tea he comes to me and sits upon my hand.

Some people like to stay indoors with all the curtains drawn

Streak of Bad Luck BluesI believe I am having
a bad luck streak.
Yes, I believe I am having
a bad luck streak.
I went off a cliff on Monday
and I've been falling all week.

On Tuesday I was singing
a song that I wrote.
Tuesday I was singing
a song that I wrote.
But it went up too high -
I could not hit that note.

On Wednesday my lawyer
called me up on the phone.
Wednesday my lawyer
called me on the phone.
He said my case was hopeless
and he was going home.

On Thursday I thought
that things would be fine.
Thursday I was thinking
that things would be fine.
Then a six I had my eye on
turned out to be a nine.

On Friday I heard a trumpet
blo

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. &#

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.

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

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Submitted: May 4, 2012

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Feed the wolf

Journal Entry: Fri May 4, 2012, 8:56 AM

You have to feed the wolf.
He does not want a grandmother.
He does not want a girl in red.
They would not enjoy it
and he could end up dead.

You have to feed the wolf.
He does not want a nightmare,
he does not want a dream.
Nightmares taste like old, dry bread
and dreams too fresh and green.

You have to feed the wolf.
He does not want the moon.
He does not want the stars.
He swallowed half the moon last night -
stars make his throat feel sore.

You have to feed the wolf.
He does not want a language
he never knew till now.
He swallowed seven just last week -
they all turned into howls.

You have to feed the wolf.
He does not want tomorrow,
does not want yesterday.
Despite their lovely fragrance,
when bit they slip away.

You have to feed the wolf.
Try roses. Yes.
He wants roses.

Image: Hanan Kazma

AKA

Words:

^{CSS Journal Coded by ~FleX177}

34 Comments

Mood: Content
Listening to: mid-day birds
Drinking: Mokapot coffee

Feed the wolfby *RichardLeach

Journals / Personal

~JakezDaniel May 15, 2012 Photographer

Excellence!

*RichardLeach May 22, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

Thank you most kindly!

*MissUmlaut May 14, 2012 Photographer

Wonderful.
Almost made me howl...inside.

*RichardLeach May 14, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

thank you most kindly, Noëlle

*Colornote May 10, 2012

I hate that wolf. I'm not sure yet what I want to give him. Nice poem, nice change from the blues!

*RichardLeach May 10, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

Thanks!

Well - the blues is a wonderful neighborhood in the city of poetry but sometimes you want to stretch your legs, go for a walk, see what's up in a different part of town!

*djailledie May 8, 2012 Hobbyist Photographer

That's the first time I realize how grand mother and girl were dangerous too!

*RichardLeach May 9, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

Yeah, it didn't work out so well for the wolf

*Athalour May 5, 2012 Professional Artisan Crafter

You never fail to move and astonish me, Tink. This is wonderful!

*RichardLeach May 7, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

Aw, thanks so much, Victoria!

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