Lugh’s Garden

There was a time when I really
Enjoyed Parades.
All the music, and the flags,
and the pretty girls in their short skirts,
Tossing batons into the air,
Trying not to look too embarrassed,
When they didn’t catch them.

Marched in quite a few, too,
Right behind those pretty girls,
But I was busy, making music,
Trying to make the folks along the way
Stand up and cheer,
And they did, most of time.

Still had my eye on those pretty girls though,
and the way those short skirts
Flipped up, right over those
Cute little bottoms.
Almost made me forget what music
I was playing, almost put me out of step,
But not quite.

No, I kept right on playing,
And marching,
Because I knew those pretty girls
Were just a short march away,
Near enough to hear the click of their
Boot heels on the pavement,
and the quiet little curse when
A baton went wild.

I always figured,
When the parade was over,
I’d get my chance to talk
To those girls, maybe dazzle them
With a little music, the kind
They wouldn’t have to march to.
But it didn’t often happen that way.
Mostly, we were all tired,
And we just went home.

I still like parades,
And those pretty girls.
I watch them, too, when they don’t
Know I’m watching.
They don’t like old men
Watching their short skirts flip up
Over their cute little bottoms.

It’s kind of sad, when you think about it.
They’re doing the same things,
Strutting, and tossing, and flipping,
Just like they’ve always done,
And I still like the same things
I’ve always liked,
But now, they want me to feel bad about it.

It doesn’t seem right, somehow,
I’m marching the best I can,
But the parade just keeps getting
Farther, and farther
Away.

I want to thank you
For so many little things,
You know what they are,
Even though I can’t list them,
(I know you’d be embarrassed).

I need you to know,
There is nothing you can do
That will take the joy
You have already given,
And make of it, something less.

In moments we’ve shared,
Though not really together,
You’ve helped me to grow,
To become more than I was,
More than I thought I could be.

I wish I could hold you
Close enough, so our heartbeats
Would come together,
And beat with the same rhythm
Our souls have found, in our words.

More than anything,
More than I want tomorrow,
I want to thank you,
Because you let me love you,
As if it could have been real.

Echoes
Are not enough,
But if I make believe
They’re your voice, and shout, I love you,
It helps.

I read something the other day
That was so good, it grabbed my mind
And shook it like a blanket.
You know,
The way you do at the beach,
To shake off the sand,
And the sandwich crumbs,

It was a good shake,
And it left my mind with nothing,
Not even the pattern on the blanket,
Empty.

It was a poem about wanting,
And every line was perfect,
Something I wish I’d thought of,
Something I wish I’d said,
But all I could think was,

It wasn’t said to me, and
I’ll never get to say it to you.

The trouble with words, you see,
Is that they can’t speak for themselves.
We send them out there,
Expecting them to do a job,
But they’re just a pictures.

We figure,
There they are, doing their job,
Letting the world know
what we’re thinking, how we feel,
But they’re just words,
Little pictures trying to be big ideas.

It’s about knowing, isn’t it?
You send words my way,
I spend time putting them together
So they look like something I want to know.
Then I throw some words to you,
And you decide whether you
know them, or not.

Eyes are the answer,
And the conversation they have
behind the words.
I need to talk to your eyes,
Get my answers from your eyes,
Find the truth, that lives in your heart,
As it comes shining out through your eyes,
And I need to tell you, with my eyes,
What my words will never be able to.

But all I have are these words,
And some days, I just hate them
for their weakness,
For the way they can’t be as beautiful
as the truth you would find
In my eyes,
If you could ever see them