Fleetwood Mac and the Cloudless Flight (1980)


Dazed, so into you, sway, where ever you go, your skin smells like a Camel smoke, and the desert wind at night. September, Nicks, Fleetwood and the lights. Smoking a fatty, her jeans so tight, and looking at Maryann all night. I’ll pick you up, a “sweet wonderful you”, you loop your purse strap around me tight, and baby, baby you whisper, you’re going to fuck me on this cloudless flight. A shirt unbuttoned, rumors, your sighs, you’re dazzling thighs, and that dark, dark hair that follows the magic, where this boy wonders why. For what follows, a miracle of sight, the ways of Fleetwood Mac, and Maryann with a boy you have never denied, you have never denied.

You in your Masters, you’re English of degrees, your Wordsworth, and eighteenth century poets, me fading, a sophomore, who no longer achieves. I know you’re the wild one, I’m so quiet, and yet you say, “I don’t have to tell you, but you’re the only one”. And tonight when the Pan Am goes quiet, and Lindsey and Stevie are getting high, you and I will walk into the desert, and make love while time fly’s. The echo of “Over and Over“, the death of the light, and my Maryann, will chant Mabinogi, and like that Welsh witch Rhiannon, take me on a cloudless flight.

Is it now a question, a memory of all I could do, a nineteen year old boy, with Maryann on a concert night.

So we danced, danced, stage side, and my “Dreams” followed your hands, till they reached my side, and then you whispered “your feelings follow me wherever I go”. And then we were running, like sprites through firelight, through those east side doors into the taste filled night. Into the desert, where water dies, out by the Organ’s, where coyotes cry, and there by the ghost shack, where Pat Garett died, we made love, and believed in the ways of magic, the magic of the night. And though the years they be many, with loves and failures too, I still remember the concert, and afterwards the cloudless flight. – 08.20.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Sixteen on a Greyhound


When life takes you at sixteen on a greyhound, and turns you upon a dare, when there’s music, that forms you on a word, ignorant of your own bloom. It could be an implosion, or maybe your just scared, maybe you’re thinking, a chance you’ll be misunderstood. It could be electricity, that creativity that happens from your nerves. And you sit there in your blue jeans, afraid to breathe a word, wondering if she will do all to you, all that you have heard. A life upon your lifetime, a boy who thinks in verbs, coming from your feelings, and visualizing words. And then the nighttime folds, closes on the world, her falling body next to you, the feel of all her curves. A softness left unspoken, while outside darkness reigns, her chocolate curls unto you, a fire that you can’t hide. A fire all your life!

At sixteen on a greyhound, the lights of Phoenix smile, and unto you is given, a love you can’t deny. And though you think of colors, of pink, and dark brown eyes, and lips like Red Delicious, the apple you can’t bite, she reaches just to hold you to breathe and compromise, a boy of all resistance, electricity forms your mind. It’s not really a falling, that cannot describe a gift, of innocence worth giving, when you reach to kiss. At sixteen on a greyhound, a blessing all your life, a fire that you can’t hide. A fire all your life.

At sixteen on a greyhound, the door throughout your life, its more than a beginning, that ride throughout the night. And all throughout the desert, while ghost watch you from outside, and taunt you with your feelings, as to why your tears won’t dry. They stare of all a sudden, when Flagstaff comes in sight, they watch their mouths wide open, as a gentle hand comes aside. She reaches with such wisdom, she reaches up to dry, the shyness of her closeness, of her love that night. Her head is soon to follow, her hair it smells like light, her nose into your shoulder, and on and on you ride. At sixteen on a greyhound, a lesson finally understood, love is more than challenge, its feelings understood. A softness left unspoken, while outside darkness reigns, her chocolate curls unto you, a fire that you can’t hide. A fire all your life! – 08.16.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל


The Concert (Maryann)

There was a time, when deserts rose, beyond the Organ’s those mountains those, and when I came there, to watch Brad sing, you were the surprise there, you were the spring. An early summer, in 78, when all of seventeen thought it was king. Oh my, sweet Maryann, that night it brings, I to my betters, when Boston sing’s, when Boston sings.

Johnny will you take us, Joe and I, take us southward down I-25? There in your blue pickup, there as stars go by, I will meet Maryann as Boston spans the sky. If I see those fields of chilies, there in Hatch in spring, they go by in April, like her eyes waiting for what fall brings. Overture of lightning young boys from a small town north, headed to the southern desert.  Adventure upon a university shore. Indeed it is a first concert, thereby the first rites of spring. Sammy Hagar will open, by toke or by Cabo that red rocker will scream. What it is in an answer there on a campus nighttime lawn, a blue jeaned raven, can you keep your pants still on. Oh it seems to me, time it still brings, memories of Maryann, dropping her eyes in spring. While Joe is getting hickeys, and Johnny’s eating wings, my back’s against Alumni, telling a dreamer, dreams.

There was a time, when deserts rose, beyond the Organ’s those mountains those, and when I came there, to watch Brad sing, you were the surprise there, you were the spring. An early summer, in 78, when all of seventeen thought it was king. Oh my, sweet Maryann, that night it brings, I to my betters, when Boston sing’s, when Boston sings.

Four rows from the stage, “Jane” rears her smoky head, towers of amplifiers scream. Sammy moves in red, whiskey bottle, the entire stage grooves. Up into our chairs, blue jean hips, Maryann turning ruby red lips. What a night in spring, Overton window, I might should take this chance it seems. The song it starts to play, lights in concert, stray, and Maryann kisses me, Boston in a medley, “More than a Feeling”, my Maryann slips away, but in memory she stays, in memory she stays.

There was a time, when deserts rose, beyond the Organ’s those mountains those, and when I came there, to watch Brad sing, you were the surprise there, you were the spring. An early summer, in 78, when all of seventeen thought it was king. Oh my, sweet Maryann, that night it brings, I to my betters, when Boston sing’s, when Boston sings.

My first rock concert, I traveled with Johnnie little and Joe Kelting to Las Cruces, New Mexico in April of 1978. At the Pan Am Center at NMSU, we saw Sammy Hagar, and Boston. I had met Maryann the night before on campus. She twenty-one, me seventeen, starry-eyed and shy, afraid to look her in the eye. She talked to me, sharing her dreams, and the night of the concert when Boston sang “More Than a Feeling”, she turned toward me and kissed me.6.30.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

The Secret

“Tell me a secret”? Her head bobs, blonde hair, splashing covering her left blue eye as she rolls toward me. Her right eye glistens, curiosity, yet searching looking for approval. “You should tell me one”, I blurt out, well aware she holds the power here. “Yeah, you should tell me one”, I’m not sure but I think my hazel eyes are clashing with her one transparent eye. We stare each other down for a moment, the leaves casting wayward shadows all around us, then she shakes her head, her hair flopping backwards revealing the full glory of her face, and she smiles. “Maybe some other day”, she says, “maybe somewhere else”.

I think the world has stopped in a space and time, and an echo moves from the past of rhyme, I think she comes to me, by moons and charts to spill her secrets spill them in the dark. Through a time well planned, through a glass that shatters ever wanting, come her body ever vaulting, to a place our childhood planned. A grace our eyes past scanned. Who are we to say, what takes place today, who are we to say what takes place in play. Have I told you that I loved you as the stars go by, circulating effervescence in this lazy sky. For, forever, for a long time you will be only mine, it’s the secret of my boyhood mind. It’s the secret of my boyhood mind.

Change it happens, as our face draws lines, difference applies when pain in life arrives, there or forward when a rule goes by, test inordinate of a test life supplies. Oh my friend I fly into the sky, your bird of understanding, days gone by. So now my speed increases with what the past supplies. I am falling faster, and you recognize. Secrets open from my boyhood den, mixed with thunder, of what could have been. There you see him by that tree you love, laying staring not understanding love. I have stepped through tasted rime so sweet, somewhere else has called to bring our time complete. Tell me of the secret you possess, tasting magic of my hearts unrest. Place your words of one or two and then repeat. For my boyhood I will find some rest, in my conscience my disturbance will be suppressed. Tell me secrets of what you have known, I’ll turn my hazel eyes and let you go home. Let you go home.

We stare each other down for a moment, the leaves casting wayward shadows all around us, then she shakes her head, her hair flopping backwards revealing the full glory of her face, and she smiles. “Maybe some other day”, she says, “maybe somewhere else”. – 05.26.2015 דָּנִיֵּאל


American Rubber (Anybody There) – 1983


She wants to go, ride, and ride hard, with me along this white sandy sheet. Shakespeare’s crashed, and all my dramas bled into a sleeve, and washed into latex swirling in that gulf so deep. We can listen to Blackmore, and party in a ‘Stone Cold” sea, go to kiss so wet along this silent beach. American rubber, and a Moosehead cold, lights in the wilderness, allow us to become so bold. And while I swim in pleasure, and lose my heart, perhaps I want an answer on why did we start. Anybody there to guide me, a man perhaps to tell me, in soft skin she climbs up on me, and my eyes won’t close, no they won’t close.

Twenty-two, I’m crazy, looking at the hazy sky, so low, wishing I was alone, just alone to wonder why. Questions in the dark along a darkened sea, rolling in the tide, just like her body grabs me. Anybody there to guide me, feeling my self-release in her below, American rubber you come and hold my soul, my fallen soul. Tasting her neck, I hear the sea roll, I turn my eyes see the horizon glow, her skin flavored salt dripping from the water I suppose, just another element I know.

I thought this so easy, this ride, slipping in, another Moosehead, and she wants us to try again. England Dan and Mr. John Ford Coley pull all the “Falling Stars” in a hurry, for twice in a row, her face seems so blurry. Can anybody tell me, her breast closing in, is this just by instinct, or is love a sin. American rubber, two for a note, my love for a dollar, her tongue near my throat. For far up above us a spirit looks down, swirling in wonder, at what it has found, a boy and his questions of now fallen youth, descended from passion, his heart now forsook. Anybody there to guide me, a man perhaps to tell me, in soft skin she climbs up on me, and my eyes won’t close, no they won’t close. – 5.25.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

 

“My head is saying, “No”
But my heart keeps giving in
So hard to let it go
When it’s there under my skin
Well, if this is the face of a sinner
And if heaven is only for winners
Well, I don’t care
‘Cause I won’t know anybody there
Thought that I’d let it slide
But it’s me that’s slipping in
Thought that I’d go for a ride
Before this crash I’m dying in
Well, if I’m judged on the life I’ve been living
And if heaven is not so forgiving
Well, I don’t care
‘Cause I won’t know anybody there
I don’t care
‘Cause I won’t know anybody there
My head is saying, “No”
But my heart keeps giving in
So hard to let it go
When it’s there under my skin
Well, if I’m judged on the life I’ve been living
And if heaven is not so forgiving
Well, I don’t care
‘Cause I won’t know anybody there
I don’t care
‘Cause I won’t know anybody there
I don’t care,
‘Cause I won’t know anybody there
Is there anybody there?
Is there anybody there?
Is there anybody there?”
Songwriters
O’DONOGHUE, DANIEL JOHN / SHEEHAN, MARK ANTHONY
Published by
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group


Dewey and Agnes

Dewey and Agnes, reach Opus Magnus, through grass, before the sun alights, his smile warm, and her spirit hotter. All of it before them, year after year, minute after minute, her dancing naked under moon light, while the wind blew, the fires came, and in his heart Judea sang. Dewey and Agnes upon Purim, young and new, silver and old.  Blushing children like in an Andy Hardy  movie, scripting perfect stories while the rains came, the snows plunged, and he made his way homeward to her inward heat. Dewey and Agnes in the ward, in the cafeteria, watching a child die, touching elbows, the great thumb wars, playing music, upon each other like wild children often do.

Dewey and Agnes bathing….

Dewey and Agnes touching fingers at the Synagogue….

Dewey and Agnes staring at the same white square upon the chess board!

Thistles and groves, all that life throws, who can believe in two when one fights each foe!

Dewey and Agnes, while the clock ticks, counting each breath and knowing each moment rich. Every dollar, every comfort, bought between them, while the world turns, great religion’s turn to dust, while they make love, under candles, tasting Shabbat while deity shyly watches, and then turns in blessing to build their home. Dewey and Agnes buying a Pontiac, driving a Ford, listening to Van Halen rock the cradle down, their hearts feeling the same as when Pat Boone crooned their hearts away. Dewey and Agnes in Egypt, living Passover, avoiding the angel, almost missing the dark seraph.

Dewey and Agnes bathing….

Dewey and Agnes touching fingers at the Synagogue….

Dewey and Agnes staring at the same white square upon the chess board!

Thistles and groves, all that life throws, who can believe in two when one fights each foe!

Dewey touching the grass, Agnes touching the air, both moving, score by score, year after year, queen to d4…. Check please under heaven not checkmate. The stone so grey, still warm from her touch, Agnes turns, as a woman who knows a king, and walks silently alone into the day. – 12.01.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל