Winter’s morning’ Momma…am I going to stay— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —
white bird of spirit in the land of corporate play
I hear the whisperings…the early morning’ trees that say
you’re just a wisp of life and so very quickly blown away
The rustling’ leaves that lay the winter’s crackin’ cold to me
I’ve never been a man who could be anything but free
I love the rustle of these ladies skirts in love
and I like the way their eyes go shining’ round
I feel my inner tide and feeling, a certain pride
calling’ me out to face the wind and winning
I feel this love of life as a deeper sort of knife
some living healing light, some bird of spirit bound
bound for flight.
gallagher
28 nov 78
Archive for the ‘1978’ Category
1978-11-28
Tuesday, November 28th, 19781978-11-29
Wednesday, November 29th, 1978It could be that she is the chosen love of my life— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —
certainly no other face has moved me so constantly
and very few have really touched me
and none, like her, … through and through
A year I’ve drifted and loved and sifted
and she still says more to me in five minutes of anger
than most with hours of love
we’re bound, it feels, beneath our lives and lovers
by the years we grew together and the child we love
so that Texas and our youth
and our learning trust and love
are more cement and pattern
that sex and words can change or will undo.
gallagher
29 nov 78
1978-12-05
Tuesday, December 5th, 1978So its goodbye, Helen … your requiem I write here.— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —
that you were the brightest…
that you dazzled me more than anyone I’ve known…
these things I give you.
That you’ve pushed my borders out past
what I can expect to see again
ruined my expectations of future surprise.
Why you couldn’t support what you offered me, I’ve wondered.
is it too tenuous there…out near the edge of what we can be?
And am I so close to this edge of myself then;
I never saw anyone farther out than I, before I met you,
…and you fell
We’ve so few years to see so few people
and you took so many subtle hopes with you.
So, its goodbye then…I waited…I wrote,
I talked to your husband, my friends, our friends,
I talked to you.
But the months are hard on new love
and love separated lives on mostly on hope
and I’ve lost track of what it was I can hope from you.
You come and go, change, and are gone too much
the string’s gone too thin…
these things I give to you…
That I’m not happy we came here
to where the ascending star of future’s promise
has past to the smoldering memories of hopes dashed.
gallagher
5 dec 78