Snakespeare

---

Christi’s Chicken

In the event
You may want
something more before
I can return,
There’s some of my famous chicken
Here somewhere
behind the milk
(in the yellow Tupperware).
Remember how Christi
Would beg and plead to me
"Make your chicken, please!",
those rare times I came home?
I thought of that
This morning
when I turned the fryer on.
the chicken is here,
The recipe is still the same,
Although I’ve tried a time or two
to take something out,
add something new,
I always find that I come back
To the way I made it just for you.
the chicken is here;
should you prefer
Something else
There’s lunch meat on the second shelf.
you’ll have to thaw the bread.
I regret that it’s not fresh,
But I rarely use enough
To keep it here that way.

In the event
That you find
that you get bored before
I can return,
There’s some of my old poems
In the parlor
by the chair
(you’ll find the shoe box there).
Remember how you used
To beg and plead
"Write something for me, please!"
when I would call each day?
I think of that
Every time
I put my pen away.
the writing is here,
And the style is still the same,
Although I’ve tried a time or two
to take something out,
add something new,
I always find that I come back
To the way I wrote them just for you.
the writing is here,
should you prefer
Something else,
There are pictures on the second shelf;
moments frozen, like the bread,
from softer times when love was fresh.
We did not use it quite enough
To keep it here that way.
enjoy the chicken.

---

JUST A DREAM

It is time to put away the pen
And clear the crumpled pages from the floor.
It’s time to discard dreams
And time to dream no more.
Time to leave without good-byes,
Slipping, silent, through the door,
Like a ghost ship in the mist
Disappearing from the shore
To leave you contemplating,
But knowing you cannot be sure
If I was even there at all.
Perhaps it’s you who has been dreaming,
Perhaps it’s you who can’t recall
If I was real, or nothing more
Than some brief shadow in the hall
Slipping, silent, past your door,
Never to return again
To this sleeping queen that I adore.
So rise and rub those soft green eyes,
I was but a dream you’ll have no more.
As you wake my love, think nothing of
All these crumpled pages on the floor.

---

SHADOWS

Do you remember me?
I’m the one who watched you
From the shadows in the gym
While you danced and laughed with friends,
I’m the one who dreamed of you
Even though I could not know
What it was I was supposed to dream.
Do you remember me?
I’m the one who loved you
From the shadows in the halls,
Between the ancient classroom walls
Of the school that isn’t there,
Existing now in images
As you are, in my dreams.
Do you remember me?
I’m the one who is still here
Where I will always be,
Where I cannot break free,
Forever in your shadow,
Forever watching, longing,
Forever lost in dreams.

---

YOUTH

It seems I’m always looking back
On the youth I left behind,
A part time job and a ‘54 Chevy
That didn’t run half the time;
It wasn’t much to look at,
But that car and the world were mine.
I was always going somewhere
Running headlong down the road,
Dreaming of the time I’d leave my youth behind
Never knowing I would leave my soul
Parked in a small town alley
In my rusted out Chevrolet
Sitting there alone, still close to home,
But planning how to break away.
Those were the days when I had it made
All I had to do was dream and drive
And think about a long legged girl named Connie
Who didn’t know I was alive.
Those were the days when I had it made,
But they’re days I cannot go back to.
I wish I was smart enough back then
To see that dreams just don’t come true.

I guess I’ll always search for
The youth I left behind,
I scan all the ads for a ‘54 Chevy
But they are so hard to find,
But do I really want one
Or is it only in my mind
When I sit behind the wheel will I finally feel
That those dreams were never mine.
And still I’m always going somewhere
Running headlong down the road
Forever trying to find what I left behind
And wondering why I left my soul
Parked in a small town alley
In a rusted out Chevrolet
Knowing all along that you can’t go home
Once you finally run away.
And gone are the days when I had it made
So all I ever do is drive
And think about my long legged wife named Connie
Who wonders if I’m still alive.
And gone are the days when I had it made,
The days I’ll never go back to,
But at least I’m smart enough to see
That dreams just don’t come true.

---

SIREN’S SONG

You are the one
Who taught the sirens
How to sing.
I am afraid
This does not mean a thing
To anyone, except those men
Who’ve smashed their souls
Upon your shores,
Who’ve dashed their hearts
On jagged reefs,
Disguised as promises of love
No one will ever keep.
Men who’ve drowned in dreams
Or faded at your feet
While you stand
Upon the sand with no regret,
For another ship will come
And you will soon forget
The others came at all.
I know you,
I have heard you call,
You are the one
Who wrote the sirens’ song.
I have known this all along,
But still I point my ship
Toward your shore;
Anchored there, I wait
For you to sing to me once more.

---

FINDING YOU

I have stood
on the Alpine slopes,
gazing down upon
the rolling fields below,
where castles glisten in the snow
and vineyards wait for spring.

I have seen
the sun come up
through the morning mist
on Ponchetrain
and the softness of the rainbow
in the cold Seattle rain.

I have sat
on Virginia nights
as a thousand stars
fell from the sky
and the moon danced, broken, in the stream
while crickets sang a lullaby.

I have been
to many places,
near and far
and in between
but all the beauty I have seen
has paled since I saw you.

---

DIVORCE

Close these doors softly,
Let’s not disturb
The dust of dreams and memories
That we have left within;
Walk away in silence
From these empty rooms
Where empty hearts and empty lives
Will not dwell again.
Close these doors softly,
Without a sound,
Without a sigh, without a tear,
Without a single word.
Walk away in silence
From these empty rooms,
So that the ghosts of promises
Are all that can be heard.

---

Poetry Tour buttons
Poetry Page-
Back Next

Send comments, suggestions, or submissions to: