Archive for August, 1976

1976-08-10 Bruce Malsom

Tuesday, August 10th, 1976
                        Bruce Malsom

      I'm less somehow, for his leaving, my spirit brother ...
      same eyes as my eyes   same spirit as my spirit
      He's gone into the world again, at this conjunction's end, drifting
      amid the tides of change, each of ours alone.

      Same eyes as my eyes   same spirit as my spirit
      some part of me gone, my brother, some part ...
      clear seeing, true spirit and grace until we meet again,
      thru illusion and change, immutable essences of that
      which makes us brothers, one.

                              10 Aug 76 - about my friend
                              buena park, CA

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —


Monday, August 16th, 1976
            Late 20's general panic comin' down
            the easy living givin' way to the constant frown
            worrying' about jobs and what we're going' be
            the steady erosion of that centered concept, me.

            Maya ever beckons, beckons the pilgrims on
            to embrace their lifeless caricatures
            from which their souls have long been gone.

            I resist your involvement
            the blood sucking drain
            the ultimate material involvement
            in the giant corporate game.

                                    16 aug 76 - buena park

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —


Friday, August 20th, 1976
         There's no time, there is no reason
         I'm lost in the turn of the year.

         I want to cry out for some season
         where the wind blows slower apace.

         I cannot find what I'm here for
         and it seems the quest is lost
         amid the hurrying moments and fragments
         and, ah, how I fear this loss...

         Another life lost here on this rock
         speck in God's eye
         another lesson to be learned once again then
         and still the wind refused to die.

         The hours and minutes fill up
         and the material world's catching hold
         every time I look in the mirror
         I see I'm growing old.

         How, how did you catch me
         sly devil that you are
         in this place where the wind never slackens
         and only I can hear the mirror sigh.

         I'm not here to fill in the pattern
         or lay another stone on the way
         I want to live as if it mattered
         and when I die I want to go away.

                           20 aug 76 - buena park

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —