WARNING by Rod McKuen You must get out of me and I away from you. In these inner canyons, some have withered, some have died, their ghosts will push you out unless you leave.
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THE OUTER REACHES OF THE HEART by Rod McKuen The outer reaches of the heart are never fully tracked but I have seen the limits of my own heart in the distance and now I know its boundaries to be unlimited. I had begun to feel that sorrows fought and conquered could not touch or threaten me again, but this new grief is wider than the sleep of reason. I have moved through solitaire to some unnamed place beyond alone and I am stranded here without a map. I wish that I had not gone swimming in the distance without an island or a raft as harbour or safe floating place. The after wish is always harder to make so than the dream we call a starting place. Safety always lies -out there-. How to get from here to there, the question. The answer, wait for transportation.
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MIND SHIFTS by Rod McKuen If I could wrap the rain around me I would not Nor would I willingly go beyond the reach of the clouds. There is comfort in the drizzle of an afternoon and something sure and constant in the roar of gutter rivers when I awaken at night Why is it thunder's first anouncement of impending black can calm me easier than daylight? It may be that the rain outside drop by drop and drip by drip builds up a wall of safety. I lie about security. I want the safety of familiar arms while holding freedom to the light as blueprints and the prize. There is no freedom without familiars, no safety without the speed to drive away from safety. Moderation is but one more yo-yo snare. I should have been a seaman or a miner, learning flag code signals- lamp wick warnings, ready for each mind shift and each mine shaft down a life. Instead I am a yeoman and of no convincing guard.
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EMPTY HARBOUR by Rod McKuen Those of us who sleep alone are like abandoned boats- we become accustomed to lack of ownership We believe our chosen paths are only where the sea drift takes us. I have come back to where the cedar hills wear darkness like a stocking cap, where morning comes the way the fish hawk comes quickly and on silent wings- not because I had to or so wished but because I found myself moving in this sure direction. I am still here looking for you. There are no days when I do not seek you out, no hours anymore when you are not paramount when I am not sure beyond imagining that I will meet you in the hills or on the street. I never do. But I still go and come to places we shared first together. I always travel alleyways we knew; these journeys need no compass and no chart. They have been tracked before and I will go on tracking them alone if need be.
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EMPTY by Rod McKuen Empty as a string of dirty days held toghether by some rain and the cold wind drumming at the trees again. Empty is the color of the fields along about September when the days go marching in a line towards November. Empty is the hour before sleep kills you every night then pushes you to safety away from every kind of light. Empty is me. Empty is me
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BEGINNING AGAIN by Rod McKuen The eternal magic of eternal things sends the dreamere out into the world, brings him home again. One wind makes another. Recent rains remind us of a rain ago. Sunshine is the same every time seen through different eyes, felt to different skin, it is still a wonder and a prize as love and loving always is again. I begin today. In life, in love, in everything the same start I had every yesterday not concerned with where I am, where I have been, only where I go and to what end. Does rain provide a resurrection or plow a final resting place, does love once done inhibit love, life once lived stop life from sprouting from a dying limb? These must be winter questions since answers only come when winter comes again. Some songs do not exist without the singer certain rhymes are trapped and lost on certain pages but these are only songs and rhymes. Eternal magic still rampages on the inside of eternal things. Fire. The river. Plum and cherry blossom and the vigilance of all the visions the dreamer carries back from traveed worlds. I have been thinking about the absence of love. How useless April or December is without another ear to turn to or another's eyes to see a certain wonder exactly in the way it came to us. A little melancholia for the final act a bit of excess baggage shuffled off and old coat traded in for new. Nothing is quite what we think it is. Chiches become so for good reason, the best contain a universal truth. It is never wrong to want, but you cannot have everything- Where would you put it?
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BEST FRIEND by Gary N Boone I am my own best friend and I Despair the need for more than my Own steps upon this narrow walk around the unrelenting clock That beating shadow, pushing me Toward my dimming destiny And should I ever hesitate I hear it mock our crueler fate Your hands to touch, your eyes to see your fragrance, taste and melody. All must be sensed! I cannot block sensations in me as you talk Nor can I to cruel time deny That I need you more than I
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Alone by Kilteer Alone, In the dark, Nothing, Absence of all things, Hurt, Pain of all forms, Alive, Drawing final breath, Searching, For peace everlasting, Tired, Of the failures of life, Alone..
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Kilteer by Kilteer A darkened corner of a crowded room, There stands a lone figure. Something radiates in the air about him, Charisma, strong and attractive, Yet there is something else, His charisma attracts, people try to draw near, He looks to then with a sneer, There is a barrier, unseen, but certainly felt. The barrier is around his heart, a barrier of fear. Fear of being hurt or hurting others. Thus he stands alone, alone forever... Dwelling in fear and anguish.
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Drip by Jora the unceasing pain Always dripping dripping dripping Always hitting the worn part of my heart causing it to scream in silent rage I can1t stop the pain from dripping I can1t stop the heart from screaming But I can give it warmth To turn the pain to love To calm the anger To catch the drip To mend my heart
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