Our Year One

I can tell you a little something about the Gulf of Napoli,

that's as good a sales pitch as I had for the gal in front of me.

A tall brunette beauty with her glasses scratched to hell—

a hidden stain on her shirt, but nonetheless a belle.

 

Though I left with just a maybe, maybe that's just what it took.

She'd never been out fishing, but she could clearly set a hook. 

I knew she was something special when I took her to the store.

We came for frozen cherries, but we found a little more.

*chorus*

It's dollar-fifty hotdogs

but it's fancy dinners too. 

Lazy days on a hated couch 

and dances all night through.

It's 2010 Suduiraut.

It's slogging through a run.

It's everything I could have dreamed 

and it's only our year one.

and it's only

our

year

one. 

 

God dropped his giant orange bowling ball in the land of Montreal.

I can show you where is landed, though no one saw it fall.

We were sitting eating cheese curds as I lost the words to say—

a peculiar place to fall in love, between oranges and freeways.

 

You can decorate a palm tree, for a Christmas in the sun. 

You’ll make a little pastry and I’ll sass you just for fun. 

That Biscayne Bay’s a beauty, but you’ve got the upper hand. 

What a treasure of a memory as we walked the golden sands. 

*chorus*

It's dollar-fifty hotdogs

but it's fancy dinners too. 

Lazy days on a hated couch 

and dances all night through.

It's 2010 Suduiraut.

It's slogging through a run.

It's everything I could have dreamed 

and it's only our year one.

and it's only

our

year

one. 

 

What stories will we tell at our year five or our year 10?

What time apart will we endure and loving passions spend?

Will we travel distant horizons and cross through foreign lands? 

Or be at home with new loved ones and crafting future plans?

Love's a bolt of lightning and I feel electrified.

I'm beholden to the thought of you like it's burning deep inside.

There are hardly words to type, nor songs to draft by pen 

that could ever in a hundred tries to capture the year it's been.

 

*outro*

What a year it’s been.

What a year it’s been. 

What a year it’s been. 

What a year it's been. 

 

 

Lagoons and Bays

So nice to paddle calmer waters, the only wake from me.

Turquoise green lagoons and bays from once the swelling sea. 

There is no motor humming that shakes me to my bone

just dripping drops behind me as I make my way back home. 

 

The ships are moored with sail to board sheltered from the wind.

Buoys adrift that feel the shifts, but nonetheless stay pinned. 

The ospreys watch me closely from bastions near the shore;

they're fishing for their dinner while I fish for something more.

 

I plunk the paddle right, then I dip the paddle left,

the motions may propel me, though I feel the water's heft. 

I don't suppose it fights me, just lets me know it's there.

It heals itself so quickly from the paddle's digging tear.  

 

The beach, my destination, calls me on to feel its shore.

The tides again are shifting going back to sea once more.

I look back at the water, it's as if I never came.

The banks of green lagoons and bays is the place I shall remain. 

Before the Church Bells Chime

You said you don't want flowers—they'll die here in your home.

There lives a husk and shadow where the beauty used to glow. 

How sad it feels, as endings near, they're not with us anymore

but beauty in impermanence is a beauty to adore.

 

For it's true, that we too, are here but for a time;

the fruit that swells, grows and dwells, may die upon the vine.

Ain't it sweet — ain't that neat — that before the church bells chime

if you want to taste the sugar, you must catch it in its prime.

I'll buy you pretty flowers because I like the way they bloom

I'll pick all the lovely colors, put one out in every room.

They may just last a week or so then they'll wilt and so it goes

let's take a second, see the beauty. Stop and smell the rose.

 

 

Foggy Memory

I've grown a beard to show that time has passed.

I've donned my glasses and bought a new sport coat.

I fill the gaps of conversation with tales of business and pleasure.

I exaggerate my meager trials into legends of surmounted tribulation.

I laugh.

I sigh.

I flirt.

I curse.

I live.

I walk through afternoon showers and reflect on the days of old.

The rain seeps through the polyester and sticks to my skin.

It's cold.

I saw your name on a message board.

There I sat with the foggy memory of you

and, for a moment, that's all there was to do.

The Story of You

I wrote a story, the story of two.

It's a story of me, it's the story of you.

It's got a background that leads with some flair.

It sets up the plot, with no detail spared.

Are we fighting a dragon or solving a crime?

Are we dancing and singing to song and to rhyme?

Are we racing, so dashing, through streets in the night?

Are we saving the world in a last epic fight?

Tell me, tell me, tell me how it ends!

Oh please let me see through the curves and the bends!

Are you a hero or maybe just plot?

Are you a villain or just wayward thought?

 

I wrote a story, the story of you,

I'm tired of writing so I'll pass it to you.

It's a story of love but it's missing it's end;

the reception has gathered, if you'd only press send.

 

Feel the twists of the tension as we build out the tale;

the bruises and burns from this story regaled. 

I dare not succumb to the heat from this friction,

but the dramas of life are rarely just fiction.

Buck up Buttercup

We started the evening as strangers though we left a little less so.

You'd be surprised the things you'll find, if you take the time to know. 

The rolling stone's eroding, though it cracks a lovely tune.

You'll get just what you needed, but there ain't no silver spoon.

 

I see myself a cowboy on the lonesome western plains,

allowed to sulk in sorrow, seeking pity for my pains.

Now I break mystique so quickly under a flash of wit and charm

and I'd trade the plains so quickly just to have you on my arm. 

 

Why the back and forth of the rats run 'round the maze?

If all is said, from born to dead, in a single locking gaze.

There's a lifetime in a moment, if we only make the time.

The mountains aren't an obstacle when you say you love to climb.

 

I'm bucking up on buttercups; barrel down the path again.

Chasing falling stars under guiding lights and helping hands of friends.

I hope the hope is worth it like it's rarely been before;

the buttercups are blooming and there's only time for more.

What Beauty There’ll Be

In life, in life, what beauty there'll be!

The mountain top snow that melts to the sea.

The forests regrown from scarred and burned land;

the rocks and stones crushed down to the sand.

It's static this change and it lights like a bolt,

o'er canvas of marvel where beauty invokes.

A splashing and swirling abundance of wonder,

it flashes like lighting and crackles like thunder.

 

Kinship and friendship and most of all love,

these are the drippings of paint from above.

And still more amazing are the wonders unseen

connections of lovers like the magic of dreams.

What beauty, what beauty, what beauty there'll be!

hands interlaced like the roots of a tree.

Shall it grow wide and shady or up to god's light

no matter its stature, it's the sight of all sights.

Be as the mountains, eternal and bold.

Be as the forests, and live as you grow.

Be as the desert and shift with the times.

and always see beauty, for the sun ever shines.

 

Paradise in the Rain

The palm tree is dripping rain onto the flooded sidewalk below.

The wheels send geysers high and bright as commuters make their way.

A man walks unbothered, it's more than nylon that keeps him dry.

The birds endure upon electrified lines while steel still soars above.

The neon sign weeps its welcome to the weary, worn, and wet.

Paradise remains unshaken, in such defiance to the times.

Disguise

Your happiest perfect day

still there's sadness in your eyes. 

You have your pretty makeup

but it makes a poor disguise.

I wish I could console you,

or even just ask you why,

but today's the day you married

and it was the other guy.

 

Remember all the good times

that we had back in the day?

Look now how a decade past,

they all just washed away.

You were my muse or siren,

emanating loving glow.

Yet we find we only are

someone we used to know.

Frames

Time goes on and people change.

Don't judge them on what's left them;

be kind to what remains.

We're just peering at the paintings:

captured moments in their frames.

Don't judge them on what's left them;

be kind to what remains.