Dreamer                                                      

Southwest flight to Portland 

everyone with their backpacks 

olive green, Nalgenes, 

long hair, instruments in hand. 

In this state, 

I will find you here. 

"Play a song for us."

I remember piano keys

emanating from the red walls 

as I lay my head down to sleep, 

sweet, musical themes of my childhood. 

"Play it for us again, would you?"

Tell us a joke

when we're angry

give us a laugh 

when we cry.

Chipper spirit, kin

tell me about your dreams

tell me about the worlds you see in your mind 

the ones you create.

I remember beach hotels 

Years ago

Warm porridge in the morning

Golden syrup friendship

We didn't need any others. 

I remember sandcastles 

Hours and hours on masterpieces

and then the minutes spent scrambling 

when waves force us to work 

faster than we'd ever thought we could...

"Anything is possible," you'd say.

I remember real castles, 

walking walking walking

old stone remnants of the life lived,

Maybe they were a warning. 

We'd climb over the rocks 

find the walking sticks

And hike the hills

we'd never seen in Illinois;

these were our adventure stories.

You were prince of Egypt

and lakes

we'd part 

the red sea with our staffs,

Disney movie euphoria,

and happiness--singing all the while.

"Sing for us, would you?"

You were the leader.

Fellowship of the ring,

in our backyard woods

smacking down the nettles 

with our sticks,

Pioneers in a marshland

soon to be conquered

by the children of its owners. 

Conquer the world, my friend, 

and rule it well.

I remember the time in the subway 

in the city of France that glows

You were the charmer in the movies

joking with the locals.

I remember the top of the mountain we climbed, 

looking into other countries,

where you taught me to see 

without border lines in the way,

blocking my vision. 

Teach me to smile like you have

so many times,

show me how to play like you do…

and please, 

"Sing for us whenever you'd like,"

and dream with me 

like I know we always will.

Inspire us, dreamer,

and whatever you do, 

know that you 

are loved.

World of Hearing                                                             

There's something about the piano. 

Simple lyric-less expression into keys

Notes like post-its everywhere I turn my face

surrounding me

reminding me of a simple world,

Simplicity returning to a tired mind

Falling into lullabies...

There's something about the piano. 

Sometimes

Eerie weary tired sounds

Reverberating once and twice and again

Beckon--

Singing invitations

to slip inside a world 

where echoes softly play

and cover wounded hearts

A place where tears are old clothes

Worn and worn into wasted rags

But nobody cares because

     The norm is emotional. 

The regular passerby wave

 in somber contemplation

 lost in secret melodies,

  Dreams running free,

  Effortless imaginations. 

Carried here in my willing heart

I am moved

This resting place holds me

Gentle like a hammock swaying,

 back and forth,

Swaying this body 

 moving me,

 slowing my breath into trance-existence 

and singing the eyelids shut,

   Yes, there's 

    something about the piano. 

Something about the swift motion on ivory

sweeping melodies into my consciousness

Like I never had a choice

Those fingers, graceful and swift,

 somehow so ignorant

Perhaps intentionally oblivious to

 open hearts, real words, and Lyric.

The secret whispers of

Thoughtful silence in a mind 

  that weeps another tragedy,

Are heavy ringing for the world,

Yet shut in a closed room.

After

Dancing softer sounds

slow and come to an end

Honey tasting rhythms,

Haunting thousands of my years,

Bow and retire

  I emerge.

Sweet bliss is stolen 

And reality reminds me,

 Consequence

hits me like a frontal car collision.

Fluidity turns blunt like truth 

to innocent ignorance

and the careless swimming of my thoughts

ceases to yield a pleasant wonder.

In honest sadness I go

 And when I do

I want to take him with me

Where haunting never dares

To weigh down the hopeful heart

And eternity

Sweeps hopeful dreamers off their feet

And into so much more than sleep,

Sweet moments of new life

Reality sweeter, warmer, better than a hot mug

Bringing comfort 

On the wings of notes

 sung in creativity with a purpose

Knowing that no matter the task,

completed here now whenever,

Doing doing doing becomes 

rest in written freedom,

giving reasons to run and

A sweet newness awaits.

it will beget wisdom 

in the refining of learning

 because theorizing is dead 

  locked away with the keys 

   played forever and ever

And 

in the 

arms of peace and

melodic enlightenment

we listen hear and know

it is finished.