Archive for the ‘Years’ Category

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1977-05-03 Helen

Tuesday, May 3rd, 1977 

                       Helen

      The passage ended in our dance of form and enlightenment.
      In the afternoon, over tea cups,
      our warmth pressing us, without clinging,
      we spoke and smiled there, felt and saw feeling there
      and with simplicity, we never hid or hurt each other.
      Open and centered, the meal had been served.

                              gallagher
                              05-03-77 - helen k.ends us
                              long beach

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

Posted in 1977, Helen K., Long Beach | No Comments »

1977-05-07

Saturday, May 7th, 1977 


         Here, where the center most gears spin,
         here is the distillation of what I'm doing here
         and I carry that moment timeless within me,
            though my passions may rage a thousand times,
         always ... it is like a spark.
         A bit melodramatic, now that the band's past,
            but there is something there.

         Else why can I here the winds go whistling
            in the midnight hour freight trains running
         through my soul?

                              gallagher
                              05-07-77 - acid tripping
                              long beach

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

Posted in 1977, Long Beach, Lucy's Diamonds | No Comments »

1977-06-09

Thursday, June 9th, 1977 

         So lost on the path am I
            that I grow weary of the pleasures here
               my soul burnt out from my crossways drives.

         Sometimes my eyes get so old I can hear them say,
            'Let me smile again, young and clean,
               on something I've not seen before.'

         The human condition, mine, so burnt out and jaded
            I writhe against my soul and passions
               like an animal trying to get free.

         But the years and habits like mycellium creep
            through the brighter ways I've known
               until I scarcely know I've ever been otherwise.

         Until the face in the mirror is mine and its dying
            wastrel, I've chosen how to spend my time
               pressed against my senses like some tourist
                  until I can't remember what I've bet.

                              gallagher
                              06-09-77

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

Posted in 1977, Long Beach | No Comments »

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