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Posts Tagged ‘story’

There

that’s where mirrors break
from reflecting the broken,

that’s where books close,
a story done,

where real tragedy
in good music starts

where surges of waves
storm in unbroken

and writing one more page
seems gone,

there, it’s a long way back
from that dark flooding
of the heart.

Kyle McHale` 2017

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Between Buildings

As children we sought new hiding spots,
explored between houses, down paths,
under benches, through gaps in stone
walls and wooden fences, between
churches and tombstones and stained
glass in day light, sheds and gardens,
between buildings where strange, unseen
flowering vines hid in summer,
unpicked fruit trees blossomed and no one
noticed us, they never even looked,
they wouldn’t have seen us
even if they tried,
even if they wanted to,
we had found the gaps to dance and sing in.

Peace in cities is in the wanderings
down side streets, alleys that lessen
the humming of the universe, where
graffiti can be appreciated and life can
be seen, felt in every window and on every
balcony, families sharing meals and someone
sitting out enjoying a beer and a smoke
listening to the radio,
the urban plants do their best to clean the air
between buildings, the only stillness left.

Then there was us in Venice,
it is better than they say,
being lost in Venice means anything
you wish it to mean, there is no
childhood pretending needed.

The apartment we stayed in had a
neglected courtyard between four walls,
over grown, cracked, forgotten, rusty barred
balconies and ripened vines, tattered drying
clothes out on lines, the sun was trying
to touch it all, the climbing plants grew
where it was possible to grow in the gaps
between brick rows out of the beautiful
sinking city and rose like
our heart fires rose.

At night, to look between buildings
into that city slivered sky, chasing
what can’t be seen, perhaps
a star or a place, some dream in the gaps
that dreamers dance between
what’s been built and what’s been felt,
in the veins of the city, or of the heart,
in the center, in between it all at night,
there is always hope for a small glow
of faint warm light.

Kyle McHale     2016

 

 

 

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The Sleeping Pond

Just out of reach of this world,
There lies a simple sleeping pond,
It will sit, and it will stare
At all who try to enter there.

Around it a protective wood,
Far off from any working map,
A wood of old green growth and deep,
Cradles the pond so it can sleep.

Sleeping well under an old spell,
The pond lay dormant, quiet still,
Behind the reeds that slowly sway
At waters edge through night and day.

Though creatures roam round all the scene,
But hidden down and blending in,
They keep the water’s secret close,
For they all fear the sleeping most.

A place only the lost can find,
Then further still the blue ponds spell.
The last who wandered off the map
To find the ponds secret trap,

Was a fairy with flapping wings,
Beautiful and innocent.
Where was she exactly going?
Once off course, without knowing,

The creatures let her pass to see
All the place and enchanted wood,
For they all know the thirst that comes
When one arrives by blue pond sun.

Thinking it safe for it to drink,
Those tiny hands took up a cup,
And put it to her tiny lips,
Such beauty in small finger tips.

At an instant she fell asleep,
Then lied so peaceful on the ground.
Creatures not phased by fairy sleep,
Came in to set the beauty deep

Into the old blue sleeping pond.
They watched her slowly sink down in,
So beautiful they watched her fall,
As her hand wished farewell to all.

For three slow days she floated down,
While turning slowly like the earth,
With no more fairy thoughts to sing,
A lovely type of hovering.

Water having her thoughts and wings,
At three days end she found the truth,
Softly landed on a pile,
As lightly as a dreaming child.

The selfish water had it all,
A mound of sleeping things to keep:
Humans, elves, fairies and nymphs,
Monsters, souls, and ghosts, a prince.

All have found the sleeping secret,
The one the forest creatures keep,
All drifted down that three day fall,
Not knowing what their sleeping saw.

No one leaves, no one leaves, to tell
The world what happens there,
The pond wants all to slumber down,
To dream with water, not the ground.

No chance at all of an escape,
The creatures guard, the water sees,
The pond has all their dreams and thoughts
For fear its secrets may be lost.

Kyle McHale      2010

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