Spark
It starts with a spark
From the heart
To the head
Departs
And it spreads
To pen
To paper
And then
It stays there
Offends
It’s maker
It’s wrong
Once more
He hunts for
The feeling
The fable
The feeling’s
Unstable
Notes scattered
Across the table
It’s wrong
Begins and ends
And starts again
He grins, his pen
Is far from him
Amused
A muse
Makes amends
He finds his pen
It’s perfect
To Infinity and Beyond
Shall we dance, here in the moonlight,
We could tango to the stars,
Waltz together through the milky way,
Tap-dance beyond Mars.
Shall we dance, among the cosmos,
Stop to polka on the moon,
As we boogie through the universe,
Each quickstep finely tuned.
Shall we dance, explore the galaxy,
Do the Charleston where we land,
But our feet can never leave this Earth,
If you don’t take my hand.
So…shall we dance?
Keys
My mind stays dazed
as my fingers graze
the key that plays
each note.
Each sharp and flat,
accidental, or nat,
fits exactly where
it goes.
My hands, they float
like the sea makes a boat
as they play the notes
that cause pain.
They pain me so greatly
the tunes might make me
cry as they take me
away.
A piano
A beautiful thing
An instrument
meant to be made to sing
A life I love,
led by the tones
of a piano
It's my heart and my soul
Music swirls swiftly
as I strike each key nimbly
and I complement quickly
with voice.
The sweet saprano
with ringing vibrato
Then comes the alto
with choice
harmonies.
I would not say I love
but would say I am in
The piano brings me up
The piano makes me sing
Keys are made
to be played
So why not stay?
I shall stay and play.
...
March 3rd, 1943
D3ar Lov3,
Th3y mov3d m3 to a hospital in Britain. Sorry for th3 funny l3tt3rs, but this typ3writ3r is missing a k3y. Obviously. It's th3 only typ3writ3r my r3port3r fri3nd could sn3ak in. Appar3ntly th3y think th3 only writing that should b3 s3nt out of h3r3 is cold t3l3grams t3lling wh3th3r w3'r3 d3ad, missing, or bar3ly aliv3. Th3y wouldn't l3t m3 borrow pap3r and a p3n. L3astways not until th3 surg3ry is ov3r. But don't you worry, Lov3, it will b3 soon.
Th3r3 was a t3rribl3 numb3r of d3aths today in London. My fri3nd told m3 about it. Som3 panic rushing to an air-raid sh3lt3r. Awful things ar3 happ3ning in th3 world. Som3tim3s it driv3s m3 to th3 point of d3spair. But th3n I r3m3mb3r that good things happ3n too. I think of you and our darling Ros3, and littl3 Martha. I think of th3 oak tr33 by th3 cr33k--you know, th3 on3 with that big rop3 strung up lik3 a swing--and how w3 us3d to sit th3r3 and talk for ag3s. And laugh.
W3 laugh3d a lot tog3th3r, didn't w3? And w3 will still. I promis3 you, Lov3, this war will 3nd. It will. This too shall pass, you always say. And wasn't it you who told m3 that th3 gr3at3st joy can only b3 had by thos3 who hav3 und3rgon3 th3 gr3at3st suff3rings? That only thos3 who hav3 b33n sick can fully d3light in b3ing w3ll?
Th3n may God l3t my suff3rings b3 as gr3at as I can handl3, so that wh3n I com3 hom3, our joy may last us a lif3tim3.
I'v3 got to k33p this short. Th3 nurs3s ar3 sn3aky around h3r3. Can't b3 caught.
I lov3 you. Giv3 my lov3 to 3v3ryon3.
God bl3ss you until I s33 you again.
Yours, Sam.
Wrong Bed
In a second of a blink
before your curling wink
I walk the upward stairs
when I should be goin’ down
I feel the cracking floors
of your encroaching steps
but you’ve got it all wrong
I have to say so long
I hope that I am strong
enough to say
get out of my bed
because I am here too
and you no longer belong
I’m screaming this is wrong
the space between us
hopelessly shattered and torn
feelin’ forlorn as I mourn
this is so wrong
get out of my bed!
