Archive for May, 1978


Monday, May 8th, 1978

Cast in confusion, the afternoon’s illusion
gives way to the rest of my days
small window in time, this hour and rhythm
how easily lost our our lives

Kathy and Rose and Nichols…how it grows
the afternoon sun warmed over all
but its an empty gut feel
its too thin or too real
and the afternoon cries at my eyes

Come clearer my life, let me see let me feel
I need something to hold that is real
flesh is weak, hearts are frail
work’s a trap…ego’s jail
and I’m left with nothing but old Sol

The bench was warm, the sun felt good
I’d wanted love but our hearts were wood
I thought I’d swore
I’d never need anyone

The afternoon won’t relent (recant)
work waits inside though passion’s spent
but Sol has the answer to my tears,
let me lie ‘beneath your hand
press the earth…motherland
and let it all, let it all, fade away….

8 may 78

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

1978-05-10 Mothers day – to Rose on parting

Wednesday, May 10th, 1978

Mother’s day – to Rose on parting

Its all different, you got your life, I’ve got mine
we’ve been together a long time
I can’t claim to understand how
the years have come to wash us away.

You’ve got your feelings and I’ve got mine
I loved you, Baby, and it sure was fine
and nothing coming, nothing but death
can wash this from my mind

But these turning tides of our lives are running
it brings pain and concern for our son and
every moment’s another one gone
and I feel it all slipping away.

You’ll take you lovers and you’ll find your way
and your hidden dreams will find the light of day
and we’ll never know all the reasons
that our love…turned out this way.

So I’m going to leave, and remember your face
and all the years of love, on my heart you traced
it makes me want to cry to think
that you might think it all a waste

The full moon of our new life’s rising
and we’re bound to part on this future horizon
so go, my love, … go
and remember me, … when you can.

10 may, 78

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —


Wednesday, May 10th, 1978

The evening come to me bitter
like the taste of hate on the vine
and all the things she said she’d do to them
I’ve all into her fate these same things intwined

hate is so wrong…it dies in your mind.

10 may, 78

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —