The Romantics That Pass This Way

Making mountains out of mole hills

is one of my many talents

I like to give them a few simple chords

and a chorus

and call them songs

blowing everything out of proportion

til I'm out of breath

then, I inhale

and push the notes out again

til I'm empty

of air

of thoughts

of mole hills.

What I'd really like, though,

is a mountain of my very own

piercing cloud cover,

advancing towards a silver moon.

it's dizzying up there, at that altitude

I'm sure of it

thin air a mind altering drug

I'm light headed at the very thought of it.

I've caught planes

to climb those heights

built up muscles to tackle the steep inclines

cocooned and dreaming

of leaving

the sea level horizon behind.

Tomorrow, by midday

I'm sure I'll be siting somewhere in a cafe

contemplating my fate

as spelt out by a man in 1968

by midnight I'll be slurring something about mountains

wondering how long the romantics

that pass this way

will have to wait.

The Last Time I Saw Richard

I Wish

I'm cleaning the kitchen
in a clockwise direction

with Joni for company

I sing along
and as always, get the lyric wrong

my memory won't learn her sentiment,
substituting mine instead

none of my rivers freeze
and when I wish for them
I imagine sailing,
sailing
away
in the breeze,

leaving behind the holiday season
and all those people
still cutting down trees.