Archive for the ‘Poetry Collective’ Category

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1976-08-20

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.

                           gallagher
                           20 aug 76 - buena park

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

Posted in 1976, Buena Park, Poetry Collective | No Comments »

1976-08-23

Monday, August 23rd, 1976 

We're all dying here of boredom and life's mundaneness.
my friends call occasionally to see how it goes with me.
Their tiny voices, across the miles, empty and brave
ask, 'how do you like your job...'
and they'd like to hear that I have the answer...
but they hang up as sad as they called,
when they hear its the same with me.

All the alternatives vanish into the vacuum left
where your dreams used to be.

When security and the real world claim you,
you begin to see yourself as you once saw others;
mice on the treadmills of industries, living dead.

Your muscles grow soft and your eyes lose their snap
and your feeling of self uniqueness becomes self disdain.

All the alternatives vanish into the vacuum left
where your dreams used to be.

                              gallagher
                              23 Aug 76

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

Posted in 1976, Long Beach, Poetry Collective | No Comments »

1976-09-13 Dying highs

Monday, September 13th, 1976 

                          Dying highs

            It doesn't matter what you do to yourself
            it all comes to the same end;
            cafeine speeds you up,
            grass slows you down.
            The lack of sleep fogs you up
            and math clears you out.
            Its all part of the same game
            going down to where you die.

            You been running all you life...running down.
            What does it matter how you do it?
            Its just like the illusion that
            there's somewhere to get to
            There's nothing to hold onto, either.
            We're dying constantly in an endless
            progression to nowhere
            although we struggle to believe otherwise.

            We're always trapped here, in the now,
            and we fail to see it as the window it is
            into the greater truth
            with all its beginnings and endings.
            Somehow, though we're given the power
            to imagine almost anything,
            we find it the hardest to imagine the truth.

                                    gallagher
                                    13 september 76

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

Posted in 1976, AA - Fair, Long Beach, Poetry Collective | No Comments »

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