poemThe Guitar
I see she’s sitting there.
She’s softly strumming her guitar.
Who needs applause?
I thought I’d lend a hand.
And still she's sitting there
And sudden seems her stroke does find its pause.
Says she she’s got it down.
And she don’t need a man.
I see the heaven’s break . . .
Dance on the dainties of her wrist
All the rains and thunder
Kneel themselves to pray.
She plays that crystal lake;
I’d swear her fretting rings of violins
And they tear sunder from the fingerboard
And back.
And still she sits . . .
Right there,
Beneath the shadow of a kiss;
Beneath the brimming of the music
In the dawn.
I saw her sitting there
And all the world’s a silent moan.
She lit one final chord.
The music's gone.
The Guitar
I see she’s sitting there.
She’s softly strumming her guitar.
Who needs applause?
I thought I’d lend a hand.
And still she's sitting there
And sudden seems her stroke did pause.
Says she she’s got it down.
Says that she don’t need a man.
I see the heaven’s break . . .
Dance on the dainty of her wrist
And all the rains and thunder
Kneel themselves to pray.
And still she sits . . . right there,
Beneath the shadow of a kiss;
Beneath the brimming of the music
In the dawn.
I saw her sitting there
And all the world’s a silent moan.
She lit one final chord
And then the music's gone.
The Plum
Hither, singing bird.
Who’s dancing on a plum?
Come watch me
As I watch you
Watch me fly.
And who is better
But who can’t breathe the rising sun?
Come be with me.
I’m with you.
Share my sigh.
And twist a feather
And kiss the passion on my brow.
I’m breathing.
Can you feel me
Feel you now?
Here and yon, sweet bird.
Who’s dancing on a plum?
Come watch you
As you watch me
Watch you fly.
