The Music Man and Peace by the Sea

 

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The Music Man, he soothes; he plays all his chords in blue,

leans back his head, eyes closed, fingers of a poet.

He plays out his soul, in sonnets of electrics strings,

harmonies of rain and green. He’s made of music, mountain,

and silence, still searching for his home.  His melody

so sweet that clouds rain words, lift hearts into bloom.

Miles and miles away, she sits in peace by the sea,

and the mountain tells the waves the Music Man’s song.

She hears it all, Music Man’s dreams never sleep; she collects

each note, each word, each dream, two souls – and builds a home for both.

No One Ever Wrote a Poem for You

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You show me a skull, tell me you scare people,

and you don’t believe in God.

I nod and listen, smile a little, and hold out my hand.

Come with me, let’s walk together.  Take my hand –

It’s warm, you say – yours is, too, but I knew it would be.

Let’s walk the shore and you tell me why God can’t exist.

I promise to hear you, if you promise to stop with me,

close your eyes and listen to the way waves

feel as they gather toward shore, and break

their release to the sand in song.  And see the shells,

and the driftwood, each one a different sea sailor.  Listen;

they will tell you stories of voyages and places you could

never know.  Breathe the salt air, know it like home,

like carefree summer days and moonlit nights, it holds you.

Now let the words go and watch as my sun floats to the waiting

sea, his arms outstretched to embrace her.  Do you feel the yellow?

I watch you close your eyes, and I wrap my arms around you

as the shades of glow and sincerity wash through you. Quiet.

The sun has gone and sweet blue shines the sand.  You turn

around silently to hug me. I feel it. Watching you drive away,

I see you smiling.  There is love all around you.

God just followed you home.

Silent Christmas

In the dips of the Blue Ridge Mountains,

where the soft blue cast blends with mountain streams

and stone walls, I settle in to a sparse cabin

on the side of a hill.  It is Christmas Eve,

and I’ve made my journey, here,

away from what Christmas isn’t, to this

stillness that is coming home.  The cabin is bare,

and cold.  With twigs and logs left by another, I start

a fire, the fireplace making the cabin glow a gentle orange,

smell of wood smoke that makes me want to lie on

the worn blue couch and fall asleep to the crackling wood.

But it is Christmas eve, and I have no tree.  In my many

years, I have never spent one without a decorated tree.

It seems a tradition I cannot forego.  So, before I settle

by my fire with hot tea and dreams, I zip my coat and head

out into the blue twilight with the axe left by the door.

It doesn’t take long to find the perfect evergreen.

She calls to me, from the hill next to the cabin, and I go to her,

admiring her symmetry, the round of her back, her perfect point.

As the wind blows through her needles, she smiles at me,

and I know I shall never chop her down.  I drop my axe

and contemplate.  Surely she must be decorated for Christmas!

She shall look like a queen.  Scurrying around like a chipmunk

gathering nuts for the winter, I collect pinecones, and berries,

dried flowers, and even a bird’s nest.  Soon my splendid tree

is dressed for the holiday.  The sun has set, and the cabin calls.

I sleep by the earnest fire, awaiting a silent Christmas,

 and my Christmas tree dancing in her place in the hill.

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Dreams from You

You appear every night in my dreams,

your hand out, leading me to gardens

of color and scent that float like music.

I twirl around, twist flowers in my hair,

and you smile, as if you know I belong

in this place that you dreamed for me.

And when we lie on a bed of wildflowers,

you take my hand in yours, and the stars

pour into the night sky.  It takes my breath

away, but you catch it and set it back

gently on my lips. I feel every flower,

every star, every breath you dreamed

for me. The night is cold, but your arms

are warm, and peace settles all around.

I wake to find it has gone; cold has returned.

All day I smell flowers and wait for you.

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