Sometimes the river runs to me

Watch a live rendition of the first draft here.

Sometimes the river runs to me

When I am tired of peddling upstream.

There is a place by the rainbow bridge

Where my needs receptive 
Can mingle with retentive,

Like falling into someone's open arms,

And floating to a sea of joy

Without a hint of tomorrow’s anchorage or restitution.

Let's go see what waits for us

In every moment of our soft lit eyes,

A pool of youth reflecting your smile,

If only for a little while.

Let me dabble in the spring bubbling up

Through the fissures of a broken world.

Haven’t I had enough of less-than-life fascination?

Enduring workmen's dedication?

What about the rest of the time

With bends and turns for my restless spirit?

Why see it spurned when serendipity arises

Before my last gasp of breath?

If I let the river reach my shore,

Wet my feet with effervescence,

Life will be sweet with infatuation once more.

April 13, 2020
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Prostrate or Prostate

So what of replacement of worn-out parts
of an apparatus that warms my heart
the enlargement of a mojo youthful

Or removal of a feature no longer useful

Only a brain cannot be changed
and libido cannot be rearranged

In the pain a fool feels losing face

To endure through life before leaving this place

On five strings strumming, missing bass

Rectify me to heights unknown

To not live avoiding hell alone

Like Ahab ranting on his ivory stick

With revenge in mind for Moby Dick

In God’s artful hand do I solemnly trust

The fateful outcome, break or bust

My faith in goodness need not wait

On its eventide celebrate

Roar like Irish, drunk and singing

Written in tomorrow’s stinging

Not for lull of cancellation

Not for any weird vacation

But restful sleep without a pee

Stop the bladder filling me

To face a problem easily forgotten

And not become another’s burden

Though seeds no longer burst
But stop my movements for the worst

Even if the spring no longer seeps

Lay down beside me

Love is not for keeps*

March 16, 2020
(*apologies to Peter Townsend)
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Separate Love

See live recitation here

Divide your love from passion,

Remove the caress from your heart.

Pay attention to what not to mention.

It feels like it could tear us apart.

She did not put my hand on her breast,

Jump on my lap or give me a kiss,

Rub my crotch with each whiskey sip,

But cooled my heart

And cooled my heat by asking me to stop;

That her hand could not do the job

Of holding me on for a dance.

But she also never asked for a hundred

Tucked into her cleavage.

Only unexpressed permission

Is what she gave me,

To move my tone arm to side ‘B’,

The song not on our first album,

The song that will make the rarities, 

Released after a passionate love,

Without making feathers fly.

What rock ‘n’ rollers sleep with on the road:

The lover at home that carries the load.

Though she arranged the place,

Closed her eyes blind,

Said ‘Have a good time’ when I went away.

She turned out the light

When I came home late that night,

Asking nothing in the morning.

March 3, 2020
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Copyright © 2020 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved 

In dreams alive we are enlightened

In dreams alive we are enlightened

Rippling winds remind us

That He who await the taste of sky pie

Has funeral proceedings in one’s eye

By reading the book of the dead to cats

Follow through my finger food

The way to understood so good

She knew to calm me down with meows

March 1, 2020

A New Spot

See live recitation here

A new spot due to circumstances

Like flakes off debris, hit me arbitrarily

With all the grace of finding a parking place

Random like bird droppings splattered on a car

Or the bike’s handlebar grip

Like your cellphone dropped by a guest

Or a key set that missed its pocket

Finding its place on a nameless road

A new spot feels good despite its heavy load

There is a straightforward scent in the air

A slight chill through the arbor sun
Even a dog bark at an importune juncture
Doesn't matter much.

With no seed planted, bears fruit anyway

The lights gone on synchronically

What a coached life misses despondingly  

A chance to start anew

Like after a biopsy shows no cancer
No treatment 

Or a gear that only needs to be tightened
Not replaced

As natural as the morning lights the night

A new spot feels right
Right on time

Like gnats in the dusk for bats

That are not the floaters you thought you saw on your eye

February 20, 2020

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As We Head Towards the Sun

When we have gone as far as we can go,

And we cannot turn back no more.

Assess what we have done,

There is nowhere else to run,

But head straight towards the lighted sun.

Let’s go and see what waits for us,

There is no reason to make such a fuss.

When it is really the end of the line,

Do not stop to look behind,

Head straight towards the brilliant sun.

There is a road goes on forever,

Takes us to a shimmering river.

No need to be gratefully dead,

Around the bend there's something to be said,

Head unrelentingly towards the reflective sun.

Be glad of the hedge that blocks the view,

Of every face that heckles you.

Left behind us when we leave,

Let’s find new pastures, dear Greensleeves,

Go straight towards the shining sun.

Our hearts of joy, our hearts of gold,

Changes not alchemy as we grow old.

It furthers us to go somewhere unknown,

Let’s travel, my love, in the afterglow,

Hand in hand brightly in the Taiwan sun.

An engine belches digging ditches,

For bastard slobs and filthy bitches.

As we turn the key to open doors,

At bed and breakfast evermore,

Let’s head straight towards that funny sun.

Come on, my love, the warm breeze sways,

On palm lined roads along our ways.

We carry positions of intuition,

Leads us naturally to fruition,

Headed towards the warming sun.

Back to a garden like Woodstock,

Fill our ears with roll and rock.

We have come too far to turn back pages,

Let’s drink the wine rich with ages,

With sweet sounds in the black hole sun.

Kiss me now and hold me tight,

We’re two wheels approaching a forked delight.  

The road not taken leads us low,

In tandem, higher, going slow,

Come what may, into the gentle sun.

January 18, 2020

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Copyright © 2020 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved 

Temporary Solitude in Progress

Temporary solitude in progress

With traffic blocked and roads clear.

Jack hammers chirping incessantly,

Like cicadas searching for mates.

How much imagination must it take?

Before I realize coming here was a mistake?

Everywhere I hear disturbances of nature,

But I live in the moment till reality shows,

That machines have taken over,

And silence is only a reprieve,

A matter of time,

Until their world works forever,

And our garden falls into disarray.

What can I say to myself without lying,

When I hear the silence

And clear my thoughts,

Of weeds and leaves 

and fallen berries,

Strewn across the asphalt ground,
without a sound?

I hear time passing in ripples in the river,

A river that does not ask what is happening above,

Unlike me who cannot mask a stepmom,

Disturbing my peace, 

penetrating my void,

With angry words about my daughter,

The call of the wild devouring others’ offspring…

I would rather be that egret standing tall as a reed,

Without hearing mechanical sounds drowning daughters,

I do not think we ought to bend

To temporary noises of progress, 

solitude of dissatisfaction

So I put in my earplugs, 

put on goggles,

Find water deep enough to silence others’ discontent,

Humbly bending reeds in the way of changing,

Rather than sternly snapping.

January 7, 2020

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Copyright © 2020 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved