SamadhiMuse

                  — Daniel Martin again
                      or the Plastic Sea Song –
               It’s all there, right in my grasp
               but then, is it?
               Are they crazy, or am I?
               And, if it’s I, then
               should I do it their way?
               Spining wheels of paradoxs
               ring in my mind and gut.
               Right in my hand the answer,
               it mocks me.
               Afraid to ignore it,
               afraid to look.
               Here’s my endless painful moment
               of procrastination
               or was it common sense?
                                 Gallagher
                                   01 Jan 71
                                     Long Beach

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

                           Freedom
               A sad price we pay sometimes
                  seeing if our dreams are really only dust.
               These empty rooms stare at my independence
                  with their chilling silence
               and my mind echos their stares
                  with the memories of the laughter
                     of those who loved me in these rooms.
               When all my freedom has mocked me
                  and my integrity proved pointless
                     against my pain.
               When wild, free, alone and hungry
                  fail the test of love and company
               will they love me still
                  my Rose and child?
                                    Gallagher
                                      28 Jan 71
                                      Long Beach

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

                          The morning wind
            When the morning wind has come again
            to rattle my window pane
            and the morning fog to make
            the dream gray world the same
            the winter’s chain it holds me
            in a house overseeing dead grass
               I lay by my lady, spoons cupped
               my arm around her
               breathing the cleaness of her hair
               dreaming…
            Of naked highways
            thru razor mountains
            of my aching muscles
            and eyes that squint in salt
            dreaming…of lust for my other lady
            who will wait for me
            when the season’s turned.
               And I will go
               and stand above the tree line
               on some mountain’s flank
               to be where only high contrails
               mar 2 billion years of natural selection
               and remembering indian thoughts
               I’ll put my watch in my pocket.
            Two ladies love me in this life
            and I can give them neither all
            for while one lies enfolding me
            I hear the other’s call.
                                    gallagher
                                    23 feb 72
                                    Long Beach

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

                                Child
      To guide a child you must give him attention
      that fills the spaces inbetween his expression
      so that by the very form of your being
      you form the child you love.
                              gallagher
                              25 Dec 1974

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

           Like looking in the mirror at myself, great mystery
         this boy, my son, lies here and I look on him…
           born of me to begin again the climb
         he lies innocent of all he will become.
           The great water of evolution, 3 billion years strong
         flows from his mother and I to be together in him
           mixed… and more than its parts.
           Dumb animal, I, I try to consider it
         characters beyond comprehension here, living, mine.
           I can only feel.
                                    gallagher
                                    27 jun 75
                                    - about Danny

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

                          Christmas Eve

      With watery blue eyes and Norwegian accent,
      Hallard told me, with dignity,
      how it is to live on, afterwards.
      Not much to do at home;
      just the little dog she loved, waiting.

      Chuck’s wife, Etta, had said
      he was sleeping on those same sheets
      she had put down after the funeral…
      sleeping in those same pajamas
      and never cleaning up after the dog,
      just spending the evenings in the bars
      until it was time to go to work again.

      Chuck talked a lot; a compulsion.
      He told me about the doctors
      and how hard it was to get the straight
      about those spots on the x-rays.
      One doctor was going to pass him off to another
      without asking him, but he cut him short.
      If they wouldn’t consult with him, he’d look elsewhere.

      Rose said he’s dying of cancer and that Etta knows it
      but that they don’t think he does.
      Etta, I had thought, must be a little simple…
      how she walked around and smiled meekly.
      Unobtrusively passing in and out of our moments,
      not sad, just brittle, like a hurt child
      trying to be good.

      Hallard sat telling me how nice it was
      to have the family together at Christmas…
      the holidays were lonely times since his wife had passed on.

      And I’d been tolerant - pleasant to all of them;
      Rose’s relatives and their holiday gathering.
      A bit boisterous and condescending and bored,
      and telling Rose, with barely concealed pride,
      how well I was putting up with it all.

      Hallard will go back to his Los Angeles apartment and his dog
      and Chuck and Etta will go back back to Washington like Rose’s parents
      and these moments won’t pass again for any of us.

      We won’t sit here again in our ignorance and pain,
      the young and the old, the condescending and the patient…

      But its not so bad for us to be here together;
      they see us as spirits yet unbent
      and they can yet find some meaning and hope
      in our ignorance and our condensation and confidence.
      They were young once.

      And we, if our eyes were opened, would see great courage there
      in their eyes and their hours, courage, without cheering,
      courage in the face of death, aging and agony
      and in the face of our condescending youth.

                                 gallagher
                                 24 Dec 76

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

                    My funny valentine

         Endless days here in the haze
         looking out upon the gray
         and I can feel the strings that bind me
         beginning to slip away.

         Ah, I never thought I’d come to this
         watching my life trickle down…
         to here where my choices led me
         buying to chase the blues away.

         Corporate dreams, are now coming to me
         and I see how their webs can grow.
         Tying me down to possessions
         for what, I want to know?

         I’ve got a woman as true as they come
         and a son who needs my love
         but I’ve got dreams still raging in me
         that all their need can’t stand.

                              gallagher
                              14 Feb 77

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

      My family’s wound envelopes me.
      I feel Danny’s need … as I remember my own years …
      in lucid moments between the running days I remember him
      and wonder how I can feel so strongly
         and do so little for love.
      Everyone seems to live simpler lives than I
      rootless man living off many lives
      and not having one of my own to share or claim
      I wait for history’s wheels to spew me out
      frantically waiting on Godot and wisdom to find me…
      … spoiled child … karmic wastrel
      Five minutes with Rose on the phone in anger
      and my family’s wound envelopes me….
                                 gallagher
                                 15 nov 78

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

        Of all the stars I wonder which
      one I like the most…
        and then I realize I can like
      them all…
            Daniel Gallagher
            02-10-80

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

      As I walk down the street
      I ask myself…
      How did it all start???
      How did life start???
      How did the world all start???
      What happened???
      I guess I will never know…
         Daniel Gallagher
         02-10-80/2

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

     She’s been the one all these years
        how fragile hang the leaves of our futures
     time and events swirl… national, personal… age advances
        nothing remains the same.
     “Rose”, I could say, my hand on her’s
        with the endless calendar pages
           and conjunctions whispering around us
        and those small wrinkles advancing on our investments.
     And it would be but a gesture against life’s capriciousness
        and its tendency to change just when it feels good.
     So I’ve lived enough to see this life’s form… what I’ve done
        who I am… what’s caught me, what I’ve escaped
     I’ve formed enough to recognize she’ll always be the one
        just as Danny will always be my son.
                                        02-18-80

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

         With what patience and need
         Rose and I have loved each other these years.
         All our twenties given…
         our small wrinkles betray our investments
         and our memories that lie sleeping behind our eyes
         with all the distant wisdom
         of a thousand photograph album pages.
         Winter morning with she and my son sleeping around me
         keeping me warm and secure
         against the gray morning’s light.
         We’ve all come so far together
         to be here in this quiet hour.
         Rose’s belly full now with her new child’s warmth
         warms the bedroom’s dusk.
         And Danny asleep beneath the window’s light
         half grown
         and I scribbling notes before they wake
         beneath the lamp’s circle of light.
         Today we’re still together after ten years
         so much of my life’s time lays sleeping here.
         Texas, separations, marriage, Danny’s birth
         careers and college
         it all lays sleeping here under my pen.
         Rose, … who more than Rose is love to me?
         She’s wife, lover, sister, mother
         until I don’t know what she is to me.
                                 gallagher
                                 18 Feb 80

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

                                                to the tune of
                                                Kenny Roger’s
                                                “The gambler”
                  There seems to be a fullness
                    that’s rising up to meet me
                  a flowing field of fondness
                    that seems to know my name.
                  Its Rose and all her babies
                    and love with all its names
                  its Danny with his flaxen hair
                    and its me who loves them all
                  I wake up in the mornings
                    the smiling day to greet me
                  so tangible beyond my touch
                    the truth is plain to be.
                                 gallagher
                                 12 Mar 80

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

                          April’s fool
            Hard running … flat out working
              on a Maya high
                 lost in the computer’s labyrinth logic
            Making it work … for some ego trip?
              for the joy of creation
                 for the passage of unconscious time … ?
            Virginia, Washington D.C., Portland, Maine, and Quebec
              Rose and Christopher
                 Work’s cresendo … time’s almost inaudible
                    laughter.
                                       gallagher
                                       1 Apr 80

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

             I must have been happy these months
               I’ve not picked up a pen to write
                  more than 2 or 3 times
             Christopher has been born,
               I’ve bought a condo in Capistrano,
                 I’m getting a computer of my own,
                   and I’m staying right physically
                     and Rose, … Rose has been Rose for me
             A baby … now I know how to love a baby!!!
               Baby smiles are simpler than trust
                 just as touching a baby
                    is more than being careful
             I used to think babys were too simple
               to be interesting
             but I don’t think so anymore
               and I don’t care why
                 Christopher, … just smile for me.
                              gallagher
                              10-13-80

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

What a pang I got when Rose and my children left tonight
  the long freeway drive…so much of me in one place.
They all become more dear to me each day
  Danny’s age and intelligence make him a companion and a friend
as well as my blood kin and my son.
  and Chris …  Chris’ baby learnings, his baby smiles charm me
until I start mooning and babytalking at him
  like any supermarket momma, oblivious to those around me.
And Rose.  What can be said about Rose?…
That she’s so much a part of my life
  that I can no more paint her in words
than imagine my life without her.
She is my other half, without which
  I would probably be some wary emotional cripple in this life
she has built my capacity to love from nothing
  and given me the confidence to express my manhood
and the emotional security to excel at my work
  but mostly she has given texture and depth
to my life with her sincerity
  without which, love, my most basic need,
     could only twist frustrated.
Rock of Love, she, no empty designer jeans manikin here
  the sincerity of her love for me
    and the quality of life it gives me are One.
Rose.
                                 gallagher
                                 12-01-80

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

          I reach for my feelings
          and try to give them form in words
          to capture the moments
          when I rise above the stream of my life’s history
          and gaze with horror or rapture
          on the forms I’ve invested my life in.
          Less these days do I rise…
          so tight have drawn the habits
          of the things and the people I love.
          There’s no measure
          by which my life is not adequate
          and yet, somewhere inside,
          I still turn restless
          wanting the ice water shock of everything new
          that maximum becoming
          that must arise from starting as nothing.
          The love is not so bad these days…Rose and my children
          I’ve never been more blessed
          and she, she loves me enough
          to let me have my time and space alone.
          More these months I turn restless against my work
          I remember realizing sometime ago
          the difference between
          the absorption of creativity
          and the mire of baroque detail.
                                 gallagher
                                 21 September 1981
                                 sjc

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

                        On Sophie’s choice
         Let me look … let the light freeze just there
            on these love worn hands and new grayed hair
         softly now … go and see your child
            go … look … with your eyes that can feel and smile
         That your children, so loved, can die … its unbelievable
            their small coats still buttoned up.
         and your wife, with her warmth at night
            and all those photograph albums shared
               the cups she’s dried with care
                  and the small wrinkles that seem to run
                     where once was young and fair.
         Go, my friend, and walk the house and touch the wood
            and sit among it … your midnight kin
         and let the walls come round you … and the moments wait
            while you think how frail, …how frail is this love
         That a child, you’ve dressed for school
            can die, a bullet’s glove, on a concrete step
         and that the woman who’s shared all those years
            can become just a statistic in some foreigner’s newspaper
         Some day these all, the child, warm wife, and wood
            could be torn from your page of life
         and your cups go broken … their skin grow cold
            while pityless politicians
               vie for their intangible goods….
                                    Gallagher
                                    12 January 1983
                                       Dallas, TX

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

                  My Great Aunt Nell
         I’m time tripping in a very different way tonight.
         My Great Aunt Nell McGee was over for dinner
         and I pulled out the old boxes of photographs
         that I was never able to face
         after my mother passed away.
         Mixed there were my mother’s collection
         and my Great Aunt Mame’s.
         Things that ran from Rose and I, three years ago,
         to my Great Grand Parents;
         Pennsylvania farmers and Irish immigrants.
         Even now I sit among these beautiful people’s
         pictures, long gone.
         But when my Aunt was here, it was different.
         Through her eyes, I saw my mother at 17,
            young and fresh and pretty,
         and my Grandfather as a young blade,
            with wit and intelligence
               engraved so clearly on his face.
         I followed brothers and sisters
            throughu births and deaths;
               through first-hand knowledge
                  and through things just heard.
         She put names to faces fifty years gone
            and I felt them as they were.
         I saw my Father, briefly,
            some ghost image who came into
         and out of my Mother’s life
            in a camera’s blink of time.
         I saw myself, as little Chris is today,
            when my Grandfather was old
         and I saw my Grandfather’s youth
            with a rebel’s spirit
               so clearly on his face.
                        12 Mar 1983
                        San Juan Capistrano

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

         All these photograph faces swimming bye
            moments captured forever
         then…now.
            They laughed at the camera
         so alive, and yet so frail
            compared to these paper traces
               they’ve left.
         Each one I throw away hurts.
            I think, that with a motion,
         I may be disconnecting the last memory
            of someone.
         Someone who loved,
            whose blood flows in mine
         a lifetime of experiences
            gone now
               because no one remembers their name.
         I threw away a weathered envelope,
            circa 1920, whose contents had been lost
               in the photograph box’s general melee
         and I remember there was written on it
            ‘Via con Dios’ is someone’s handwriting.
                              12 Mar 1983
                              San Juan Capistrano

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —