Archive for the ‘Exposure’ Category

1985-05-05

Sunday, May 5th, 1985
      Sometimes like a vessel that just gets filled
      I have to stay up late and pay my bills.
      Open my heart all across the page
      and let the pains and fears and love come rage.
      Here, where the evening waits with me,
      my family's breathing is love indeed.
      And I'm here in a poet's home
      with dusty memories and my heart, alone.
      Oh, God, why did you give me these feelings here
      so I ache from love and the passing years.
      You gave me this vision and a hungry heart,
      so I'm a mystic, a lover, and a father; part.
      And here am I astride my years
      stumbling from blindness and my gaping fears.
      So, I bow my head and say, "Let the wind take all."
      I will seek the truth behind it all,
      even as I hear the sweet ground's call.
                              gallagher
                              5 May 85

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

1985-05-05

Sunday, May 5th, 1985

 

            A little boy has the chicken pox
              his skin comes boiling
            but its my heart
              that talks....
            He whines and twitches; it itches so bad,
              and I look at his skin and I just get mad.
            Love and anger, compassion and strain,
              I ache for his innocence, so small against pain.
            These moments are burnt of welling tears
              hard passages through my mortal fears.
            The love we feel, on this stage of death,
              for all the vanished children and we who're left.
            All this was mine, as I held his hand.
              As his little courage
                 struggled so hard to stand.
            All this was mine
              ...but, Dear God, I don't understand.
                                 gallagher
                                 5 may 85

 

 

 

 

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

1985-07-02

Tuesday, July 2nd, 1985

Like steel in the fire is she
the hammer blows
can only reveal her soul.
Humbled, she will find strength.
And from the fires of insecurity
she will learn that deep acceptance,
which is, Damascus steel.

I watch the blacksmith raining blows
and see the dross that falls
and comes the soul that winnows free
from each of us.

This weathered wood, our bodies,
and the immortal steel of our souls
make my heart ache
with the beauty of their enduring demise.

gallagher
02 July 1985

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— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —