Blue Smoke

To sit at the blank page is to stand before the mirror.

Is this me? What is real, what is creative whimsy? What to let go of, what to hold on to? Is ugly beautiful? Is beautiful ugly?

If I screamed out my truth, would it touch you, if not, would I be indignant, offended, rendered impotent, or would I try again? How much does one flirt before full surrender, how much does give away without being whorish and indiscreet? Who cares?

Shall I tell you about last night when something typical became something divine, or about some small memory from twenty years ago that just this morning sprouted silver wings before my bewildered  eyes?

Would it help to know that I was very pretty naked when I was younger, but, you were too, we are much the same. Can’t you see, we have a moral contract here, you and I?

Do you read what I write because something inside of you flickers in sentimental agreement or because I held a candle in your darkest corner for a flicker of our communal time on earth?  Blue smoke only lasts for a few seconds, is there anything in me substantial enough to give away?

Is my captivating title bait or a daunting promise?  That would be the difference between a writer and a liar, wouldn’t it?

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall, am I a writer or nothing at all?”

For Little Ralphie

“Little Ralphie”

You are a bored child
And a prancing devil~
You are an intimate artist ~
An aloof poet~

You are cherished and revered~
For what you are ~
And for what you are not~
You are a fool and a wise man~
You are an aristocratic ho bo~

You are an earth angel~

With sparkling black wings~
A much beloved “Enigma”~

Still close Ralphie…

Somewhere an eagle flies
soaring o’er the dappled skies of Africa
Somewhere a tortoise cries
ploughing through the vast disguise of Africa.
A springbok dies and a day is born
The sun comes up to greet the dawn;
A child is sighing like a bird
And a nation is sounding a very new word.

Somewhere an apple train
waddles through the winding plains of Africa.
Somewhere a sparrow feigns
acting out the birthing pains of Africa.
A lizard leaps to his mother’s scorn:
‘Farwell, ‘ she says to her first born
A breeze is lifting a newly-fledged bird
And a nation is sounding a very new word.

Somewhere a new sunrise
burgeoning before our eyes in Africa
Has seen our childrens’ weary sighs
bursting into happy smiles in Africa.
An aardvark snuffles through the corn
And winks an eye at a golden fawn
A sunbird is singing like you’ve never heard
And a nation is sounding a very new word.