Archive for the ‘Rose’ Category

1975-06-27

Friday, June 27th, 1975
           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 —

1975-06-29

Sunday, June 29th, 1975
      Maya forms illuminate me
      each outlined in essence
      each two sided, all the story,
      all as empty as I, wondering.

            What silence fills the space between things.
            I'm alone where the walls creak and breath
            and the light shines as in a photograph
            and nothing moves but me.

      Distractions await my escape.
      The radio, lovers, the phone, a visit,
      food, drink, grass, reading...
      the fridge talks.

            My Rose, alone, turns, imagining me with Diana,
            confronting her fears,
            passing the hell I've given her,
            and learning pain is not as bad as fear.

      While I alone, confront this empty room
      and wait to hold her
      when this time is passed.

                                 gallagher
                                 29 jun 75

         MAYA - From the Sanskrit 'maya' ("magic").  The term is
            used in Indian philosophy to refer to the world as
            an appearance, somehow different from the reality.

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

1975-07-24

Thursday, July 24th, 1975
         I give myself away for ego trips
           but I do nothing for those I love.
         We haven't worked together on anything
           for a long time....
         Poetry, spice racks, camping, saving,
           none of it's gotten done.
         She gives as much of herself as she can
           and still stand alone
         and I give as little of my self as I can
           and still keep her....
         Why have I come this way?
           Why am I throwing all my love away?
         Ignorant to the end, fighting my fears
           I rage, unable to stem
              my fantasies or my tears.
                                 gallagher
                                 24 jul 75

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —