The path unknown

Riddle for the day: I am at an unusual crossroads in life, and each path has no clearly defined path or answer-completely vacant-how do I chose? Usually one chooses between something and something, I am choosing between unknowns.....

You don’t have to go, you’re my Poetry Man

It’s funny how life leads us back to the past when we least expect it. I’ve been missing me, and wanting to get back to me for a long time now, and now that I am back I am not so sure this is where I want to be. Am I lost? I am not so sure. Some days I feel as if I am exactly where I should be and others, I am so far away from the person and the place I want to be it breaks my heart.

I picked up my guitar this afternoon to pour my heart out, and it came-it came with abandon. I am willingly holding my wrist out for it to be cut and I am happy about it, such is bliss. There must be something in me that is flawed and scared or maybe I am completely coherent and cognitive, craving experience, quickening my life. Conflicted? To say the least. It’s my own personal dualism. That is what makes it all so tricky. One moment I want it all-decadence, debauchery, lust, risk, the ultimate edge- and the next moment, only purity. Who am I? Who I’ve always been…society just snuck in a little bit.

I am ready to walk freely into my decision, but I am not sure it will be that willingly, without judgment or guilt. I am not sure it will be without challenge, tears and drama. But, I want nothing else, and nothing more at the moment.

So for now, I revisit the bohemian artist dwelling within my soul. She always wants to come out to play when I am conflicted. I wish, with everything in my soul, that I have the strength to live within her or banish her once and for all. The latter will never occur. It’s impossible to let oneself disappear even if it is something that may be the absolute best thing for living and surviving in this harsh, real, financially driven, materialistic world. That world has no place for her-the sensualist, the lover, the beautiful dreamer. And so she suffers. But she willingly and almost joyfully suffers the cut that only cuts the heart.

The Poetry Man:

You make me laugh

Cause your eyes they light the night

They look right through me

You bashful boy

You're hiding something sweet

Please give it to me yeah, to me

Talk to me some more

You don't have to go

You're the Poetry Man

You make things all rhyme

You are a genie

All I ask for is your smile

Each time I rub the lamp

When I am with you

I have a giggling teen-age crush

Then I'm a sultry vamp

Talk to me some more

You don't have to go

You're the Poetry Man

You make things all right

So once again

It's time to say so long

And so recall the cull of life

You're going home now

Home's that place somewhere you go each day

To see your wife

Talk to me some more

You don't have to go

You're the Poetry Man

You make things all rhyme

**Phoebe Snow, 1975

Poetry & Wine

Temptation

Flipping through the latest Hollywood magazine

Gazing at your glossy celluloid dream

Half a glass of warm red wine

And a lit cigarette

I suppose I could wish you into my life

Find a red candle and a flame to light

Half a glass of warm red wine

And a lit cigarette

A sliver of the moon hanging low in the sky

The acoustic guitar in my room begins to cry

Half a glass of warm red wine

And a lit cigarette

Swaying and slow dancing in the hall

Press me up tight and long against the wall

Half a glass of warm red wine

And a lit cigarette

Kissing until you bruise my lips

Hands wandering down around my hips

Half a glass of warm red wine

And a lit cigarette

The heat of your touch and the palm of my hand

The sweet taste, salty sweat, a delicious man

Half a glass of warm red wine

And a lit cigarette

The initial temptation of skin against skin

Invoking waves of delay in me again

Half a glass of warm red wine

And a lit cigarette

Perfume of last night lingers low in the air

Your fingers run through my tangled hair

Half a glass of warm red wine

And a lit cigarette

We never think twice about etiquette

They don’t have to know what we’ll never forget

Half a glass of warm red wine

And a lit cigarette

The pale light of the dawn warms my skin

Pulling me back from where I’ve been

Half a glass of warm red wine

And a lit cigarette.

***********************************

Sonnet:

The Blood of the Gods

Just one grape is so precious and so rare

That has only lived in ever one place

And a lovely maiden with long red hair

On the lips of a dying man she traced

A wine reserved for Caesars and for Kings

Poets of Rome praised the Falerian

And about it often the chorus sings

The name was buried by historians

The blood of the gods and the blood of man

Long ago forgotten just like this wine

And a myth I will never understand

Covered long ago by the ash of time

From Mt Vesuvius and Mt Vulture

Aglianico is still the poet’s lure

**************************************

How can I become everything to me?

How can I conquer the world

When I haven’t even conquered

My own hometown city yet?

How can I soar to new heights

When I haven’t ever stepped

Out of the wadding pool just yet?

How can I ever love you

When I don’t even know who you are

I haven’t even met you yet?

How can I become everything to me

When I don’t even really know

What that is just yet?

How do I begin to feel

And make it real

After so many years of hiding?

When will I set it right

And give up the fight

And begin living instead of lying?