Daily Archives: February 25, 2003

A Tavern in Spring

Where have the dancing ladies gone,
those fair and merry maids,
that once so sweetly filled the air?
Too soon, their laughter fades.

(It must be spring that bids them go
and seek for other haunts;
once winter’s grip has loosened on them,
they have other wants)

And so, the tavern echoes now
with silent, mirthless men
who sit and sip their bitter brews
and think of shady glens.

(It must be spring, but if it be,
this place should feel it, too,
Instead of fading with the night
like stars are wont to do)

The bard is set to sing anew,
but needs attentive ears;
for when the place is bright and gay,
then inspiration nears.

(It must be spring, the waking world,
that brings on such a need
for dancing, song and tender smiles –
Pan plays upon this reed)

Oh, ladies, come ye back again
and share your warmth and grace;
and I’ll endeavor by and by
to liven up this place.

2000

The Road to Find Out

On the road to find out,
did you stop to lose your way
and play upon your fiddle
for the breaking of the day
In the midst of the confusion,
stepping back from the melee?
Was a merry song upon your lips
as you slipped softly away?

There on the wind,
the beginning of the world
Will you miss the grand production
of the play?
Beyond the map,
where the edge is bent and curled
lies the ramble bramble essence of today

Do you smell the pretty pansies
growing there along the quay
and dance a jig of pleasure
in the leisure of mid-day,
as the world around you fumbles,
tumbling onward, come what may?
Are you building dreams although it seems
your feet are made of clay?

On the road to find out,
where the songs of life still play,
do you listen to the gentle music,
learning more each day?

There on the breeze,
in the fragrance of the trees
Will you sense the world
is changed from yesterday?
Beyond the map,
you can grow just as you please,
find the ramble bramble essence of today

25 FEB 2003

For some reason, this morning thinking about Ian Anderson and Cat Stevens (did they ever collaborate?)

The First Time

I can clearly remember the first time:
there it was, in the back of the closet,
the case a little dusty. Not too sure
exactly what it was, I carefully

lifted it free of the stored winter clothes
(breathing in that sour faint lingering scent
of mothballs and dry cleaning plastic wrap)
and set it carefully down on the floor.

At the moment my fingers hit the strings
and that big sound came out, filling the room,
vibrating down and through my whole body,

I knew I would spend the rest of my life
hearing things I just had to learn to play,
and wanting all my friends to sing along.

25 FEB 2003