Follow your inner moonlight; don't hide the madness.
steve a. manolis poet
I dream of mornings that would find us eating scones with cream and preserves
Large deep cups of coffee, newspapers scattered in bohemian cafes
A regular crowd of hipsters and wannabees, Sunday morning derelicts
No churches for us, or this group, we found tranquility in strange corners
And the world went about the day leaving the wordsmiths searching
One of us, no matter who, anyone, some word, some thought, some feeling
Another transition in time and space and poetry, fluttered on paper
Or a long ago love, the mist of an angel from some drunken night, today this
We can have magic for all those times, we are the heroes, and we are the poets
We seek some perfection and never attaining it we try always over again
I find ‘I love you’ deep in my thoughts and can’t escape the wonderment of you
And then you call just because, and I think of the magic of it, or destiny
And you have a deeper explanation and it just kills me, your wonderful surprises
So you tell me a story about how you thought of me, you fall and I am that thought
Have I ever told you how many times I have fallen for you…over and over.
I ate my scone this morning, in a café, pretentiously watching the non-bohemians
My thoughts drifted to you, I must be calling loudly, and then the phone rings
Another transition in time and space and poetry, fluttering on this paper
I ask you for a word or thought or idea, and all I want is you nearer ever nearer
Sunday morning papers helter-skelter, deep cups coffee and the coming of day.