Volume 4 of the series ‘Songs for Michael’

Poetry written by Gay A. Wright

Artwork Illustrations in pen and ink

commissioned from

Kenny Hill

This volume is copyrighted and carries an ISBN number

Oct 1990

It’s been too long an abstinence.

After a two week eternity,

I feel the need to control my goddess.

For the primeval urges are demanding satisfaction.

If she can move mountains and the sea

With the surges of the moon,

Surely she can cut me some slack.

For when the call comes, it is a shock to find

I am trying to reach out through the windshield

And touch the shirt less back of a passing

Muscle bound motorcyclist in traffic.

I don’t belong in a nunnery, celibacy is not my style.

Without having your body close to caress

And satisfy me that is where I seem to be.

My affair of the heart is devoted to your, but

If you can’ be here ore often to share

The burning passion I have for you it may be

Hard for my goddess to resist other earthly

Desires when she is tempted into a diversion of

Trivial pursuit by a pressing hot thigh.

Dec 1990

I find myself in a confused state of clarity.

My heart has a crack in the newly

Plastered façade I have built for it.

Small stiletto marks sliced it when

The ego was vulnerable to wounding.

What have I done?

Do I love you too much

To have you love me less?

How did I fall from the state of ‘I love you’

To the position of ‘I am very fond of you’?

I find that hard to accept.

The phrase bounced off me like a brick

And I wallowed around in the pit

With a bruised ego for two days

Until I had to get on with life.

So I picked up the hurt and

Stored it away on my thighs with

The rest of the non-existent expressions

Of love talk terminated in my past

It’s back to the daisy

He loves me……

He loves me not......

its back to the daisy. . . . . .

July 1990

What I want is time with you

Physical time to touch

The time she has.

More than an hour or two

Flown too swiftly, then passed

The time she has.

More hours for us to spend together,

A day, a week, more

The time she has.

To talk, to sit and dream

Precious time with each other

The time she has.

Everyday time, morning time,

Dinner time, fun time, future time

The time she has.

More than just our fantasy time

What I want is more time with you

The time she has.

Feb 1990

I am an extra player

In your life.

And when I think

About that I find

You are an extra

Player in mine, too.

An illusion we’ve drawn.

We seem to only

Want to manifest

Our togetherness

Occasionally into

Momentary reality.

Is there a hesitation

Of both our parts

That the purity

Of our love would

Erode into everyday

Routines of boredom?

I am an extra in your life. . . . .

July 1990

It’s a plain as the nose on your face

You keep me as fantasy in your life

One you can escape to from

Your chosen chaotic mess.

Clean up your mess

And join me in your chosen fantasy

For it is real and waiting.

P. S Post this notice on your nose

And re-read it twice a day.

Feb 1990

I heard your say, ‘I lead another life, you know’,

In answer to plans I wanted to make with you.

Piercing words coming lately over the phone

Still echoing in my ear that cast shadows

Of impending disaster across my heart

Yes, how well I know that you don’t share your life

With mine.

I heard you say, ‘I lead another life, you know’,

How can I forget for your presence is hard ever here?

Brief moments sandwiched in, like a hasty lunch.

So careful to give me three or for hours at a time,

Seemingly with only minimal satisfaction guaranteed.

Yes, how well I know that you don’t seem to want

To be mine.

I heard you say, ‘I lead another life, you know’,

Being an extra woman, playing the second fiddle won’t do.

For soon, either you tell her you want to lead another life

Or I will revise my request to the Universe and adjust

My requirements for the perfect man I want with me.

Yes, how well I know that I need to find another man

To be mine.

shadows passing across the heart. . . . . .

June 1990

You offered me standing room

Only in your life.

Being they were the only tickets left,

I snapped them right up.

A show of maximum performance

In only an hours slice of time.

Better than standing at the box office

With a closed sign on the window.

When the next tour comes around

I’ll hold all the tickets to your sold-out concert.

March 1991

‘Hi, Baby! How you doing?’

‘Hi ’ya, Kid! What’s’ happening?’

Exchanged greetings

Daily over the phone.

Conversations skirting

The real issues

Not spoken.

‘Hi, Baby…..Why don’t I see you?’

I’m grasping to

Understand this.’

‘Hi ’ya, Kid…..what happening

With me I don’t tell you

Because I don’t know how.’

Dead end pleasantries.

dead end pleasantries. . . . . .

March 1991

I thought

He was my lover

And friend.

I thought

She was my closet

Soul friend

We all laughed

And had fun

Together.

I thought

I had two

Real friends.

Then I looked

Closely at the

Game they played

It was called

Odd-man-out

I was ‘It’

Holding

The painful

Uneven number

March 1991

You betrayed yourself

When you lightly touched her arm.

A gesture I knew well.

An unnoticed movement to others

But to me, was a method you used

Filled with deep emotion.

How well I knew that stroke

And l loved the affection

That you put behind

The prompted motion.

A light reaching out and

Brushing the arm with

Tweaking fingers

Love served in a delicate pinch.

You betrayed yourself

When you lightly touched

Her arm and not mine.

when you lightly touched her arm. . . . . .

Feb 1991

There has been a change in the

Wind blowing out of the south.

It brings mixed messages from you

Sometimes hot, lately cool.

Talk to me….

More of love, if that is what you mean.

Talk to me….

Of friendship, if you prefer that,

Talk to me…

Of re-defining this relationship with us,

Talk to me….

Of intended or not permanence,

Talk to me

Of what ever you feel for me….

Talk to me…

Instead of sending mixed messages

That only stirs up storms of discontent.

March 1991

Water running from the ceiling,

Streaming rivulets seen in dreams

Purification of the soul

Electrical short circuiting

Sparks shooting through the air

Beware of emotional shock.

Dreams of the sub-conscious mind

Telling the truth of others’

Conscious intentions.

Transformation in the eighth house

Pluto in his scorpion moon

Signs of change in the Aries lover

Relationships merge and fall

Grow and transcend.

All this time I thought you

Were going home to your wife

But, I found you parked

At my girl friends’ house instead.

dreams of the sub-conscious mind. . . .

May 1990

I can’t believe I tripped

Over your ego today.

But, it raised its ugly head

Just when you weren’t looking.

So carefully you had it tucked under

Your coat so it wouldn’t be visible

Then at the most inopportune time

It slid out and I stepped right on it.

You were trying to impress me with your style

And romance me with your charm

But, alas, out of lack of stroking

Your ego pouted and flounced out in the open.

I’m afraid this relationship may be doomed

By such a fatal triangle.

March 1991

Who is the Black Widow?

Hanging obstacles of wispy threads

Cobwebs obscuring clear vision

Is she friend of fiend?

Dropping shrewd weavings of devious

Intentions in mismatched shadows

That swallows the shrouded mind.

Friend? Nay! She is a fiend

Who greedily devours all men who

Venture into her strands of silk.

Beware of the Queen of Dark Places

Who smiles charmingly and turns

Your head away from the sting.

Don’t confide in her

For she will wrap you up in a

Cocoon of tragic circumstances.

Look closely in her woven snare

And see the shredded bodies

Of all those who worshipped

The goddess on the pedestal.

Hold your distance from her advancing arms

Or you, too, will be gilded by

The sweet voice of the temptress.

She drank from the love cup

Of all the men she touched

And left their bones to bleach

In the tangled web of deceit.

sweet voice of the temptress. . . . . .

May 10

Don’t tell me, I’ll think

Of your name in a minute.

It was romance

By proxy again today.

Don’t tell me, I’ll think

Of your name in a minute.

Standing with AT&T in my

Hand leaves your elusive

Body a little hard to finger

With my imagination

Don’t tell me, I’ll think

Of your name in a minute

Is this romance going to be for real,

Or just really a romance

By proxy again each day?

Don’t tell me, I’ll think

Of your name in a minute.

April 1991

You told me you burned it

Somehow I expected a nobler

Deed that that from you.

Do you think by trashing

My written words in flames

Would erase my deepest thoughts

And feelings that found

Their way to the page?

Does it somehow make my agony more

Bearable by watching the smoke curl

Off the dissenting verbs?

Yes, the words were partly negative

From the hurt when they came from my pen

But, by facing rejection head on and

Releasing my pain to the Universe

I healed my soul, my mind and body

Of this experience with you.

Your withdrawal from our relationship

Created a nuclear reaction that I

Defused before it exploded my world.

You have a heated issue with my latest

Writings which contain contrary

Emotions that are not to your liking.

You are trying to cover yourself

By cremating my books.

There is something here you choose

Not to learn from and may come

Face to face with again some future time.

You may just burn your bridges down, too

As you try and stand clear of the blaze

That reflects your own negativity.

the smoke curls off dissenting verbs. . . . .

This poem was one I wrote after I left my 20 year marriage in 1982.

It took a while to process and finally write about it

Sept 1990

While we were married you never gave me what I wanted

Only what I needed and I hated you for it.

You always kept me in want and all the time I stored

Away all those things I needed and I hated you for it.

I wanted your love.

You gave me strength of individuality through loneliness.

I wanted a family unit.

You gave me strength of character through adversity.

I wanted companionship.

You gave me endurance through diligent effort.

I wanted happiness.

You gave me courage through patient waiting.

I wanted you to do things.

You gave me ability by making me learn for myself.

Yes, you gave me what I needed and I hated you for it.

Then our life was over and when I packed my things

I found all that stuff in the closet I never realized I had.

It was what I needed and I hated you for it.

So, I dressed my soul with the strength, character, courage,

Endurance and ability I had stored away and stepped out into the world.

Only to find I was missing the final item to complete my outfit

It was what I needed and I hated you for it.

Maybe the hardest one of all I needed

And now I give it to you,

It may not be what you want, but it is what I need…. To give to you:

Forgiveness.

Postscript:

I am glad I didn’t wait too long to make peace with myself as after another 22 years he passed away from Cancer in March of 2005. I had cleared my karma.

March 1991

I thought you were hurting me

By your actions

But, I was only allowing

The hurt to happen to myself.

Pain and agony seen to

Follow overabundant bliss.

With the loss of empowered love

Came frustration and confusion.

Who was doing what to whom?

Events happen in our lives

The pain or happiness is

Only applied by ourselves

On our own personal level.

We pick up our own load

Of what we choose to have.

Take a helping of this

A painful of that.

Pick from life’s menu carefully

It may be more than you find

You are willing to carry.

pick from life>s menu carefully. . . . .

March 1991

What am I saying?

I’m not sure myself

Words straining past the

Edges of the blurred mind.

Jelly like wounded feelings

Oozing with the pain of rejection.

What am I thinking?

I’m not sure myself

Going over all the possible facts

Coincidental events and how they fit

The touching of your hand on her arm

And taking it from around me.

What am I feeling?

I’m not sure myself

Thoughts running amuck, crashing ot

The shores of personal bullshit

Dredging through the mire of life

With a triangular shovel.

What am I doing?

I’m not sure myself

I don’t need false friends

That claim to be pure in spirit.

Despite your lofty airs of grace

You still live with physical feelings.

Where am I going?

I’m not sure myself

To break away from traditional life

That repeats lessons over and over

Until we finally get it right

Time to find truth and friends

That harmonize.

May 1991

When I stepped out for lunch I left the door to my heart slightly ajar.

I soon came back and found I had been invaded

By a crowd of offensive jesters packed in my inner being.

They were jostling each other for standing room only

At the ticket counter showing off the wares out of their tricky bags.

After surveying the chaos I was in, I screamed to my sleeping kingly soul,

‘Who let these guys in? Just look at what they are doing to me!’

They were pulling on my passions, tugging on my ego., tampering

With y prize spiritual treasures, playing off key melodies on my heart strings

And generally littering up a good orderly throne room performing their jokes

And cruel pranks. Taking a queue from the Red Queen, I ordered them out.

‘Off with their heads’, I shouted and went whacking through the thugs.

I snatched one thief before he sneaked out with my pride.

Zapped the esteem robber so hard he hit the dust and cut off the

Emotion draining vampire before his first bite. I kicked the rest of the unsightly

Horde of feeling meddling bandits in their tail ends and sent them flying.

I stood knee deep in the crumpled remains of all the negative riff raff,

Wiped my hands clean of their foul intentions and called for the knightly

Janitor to sweep all the shredded debris out of my throne room.

Now my system is back to positive order with neatly arranged feelings,

Freshly cleaned and pressed hanging gently in a row.

I’m Queen again over my realm, in control of choices. I can allow and maintain

My regained stability, the balance of power swinging from my staff again.

The next time I go for lunch, I will put the page of swords in charge

Of guarding my castle door to screen the conscious intentions of the

Visitors that come calling and want an audience with my heart.

zapped the esteem robber so hard he hit the dust. . . .

July 1990

You came early, about six a.m., into my thought state,

The kind of space that your soul body enters when

Dreams are receptive to receiving sounds and feelings

Of the goings on in the etheric altered states of your mind.

I felt you drive up, walk across my porch and come into my room.

As you started to pull back the covers, you were trying to tell

Me something, speaking so low I couldn’t quite hear. The poof!

You were gone and the blankets had not even been touched.

You tried again, this time my soul waited a the window and

Opened a lens size view to my mind that watched you drive

Around the corner and come down my street. Then lens closed

As a crystal ball darkens and my soul jumped back into bed and

Waited with me. This time you got all the way into bed, but when

I tried to cover you with the rumpled blanket you remarked,

‘Just because there is a blanket, it doesn’t mean I want to be covered’.

Your voice was quite clear and unmistakably angry. Then poof!

You were gone again. Jerked away by alternate realities.

By the time you arrived the third time, you had grown a handsome beard,

(had I been waiting that long of a time?)

How thoughtful of you to add such a wonderful touch.

Just as we started to get down to the love business we planned,

You somehow disappeared again, fading into thin air without even

Disturbing the physical plane of reality.

I lay there in bed, watching this etheric soap opera and as usually

Happens the plot thickened. The house filled up with throngs of people,

Who had nowhere to go and all day to get there and nothing better

To do than be in my time zone. What a joke, trying to get rid of them.

The dream paralleled our actual lives, cluttered with too many situations

Getting in our way. People and events we put there to test ourselves with.

One was defrosting the fridge, some dogs were running in the open

Front door, teenagers were in the other rooms romping noisily.

Another one I had to order out from under my bed and tell her

To take here deck of cards and go play with it in the other room because

I was expecting company. The water had been on outside all night

And the plants and driveway were frozen with a thick coating of ice.

Too bad, I thought, as we already had a freeze last winter and one

In the middle of summer will be the last straw.

Into all this came the commercial, the phone in reality was ringing.

You said, ’I’m not going to make it this morning.’ I replied, ‘I’ve already

Seen what has been delaying your schedule, besides, I seem to have

A full house anyway.’

So, I got out of bed, picked up the last straw and added the growing

Bundle made out of delayed schedules and changed plans. If the last

Straw breaks the camels’ back then what is a whole bundle of last

Straws going to do with my Camel of Patience?

March 1991

My love affair with you

Was like ice skating

On alligator backs

It was smooth sailing,

Until I hit a ridge

Of Resistance

And

Flew

Hands

And

Arms

Waving

Wildly

In the air

And went careening

Smack into

A low hanging

Cypress tree branch.

April 1991

The thought occurred to me one day

Sometimes when people die and

After they pass to the other side

Their memoirs and will are read.

Surely the reader would never really know

How the person felt when alive.

By knowing it could have altered

Events and made a difference.

So, I write mine as I live, in poetry.

You can take note of how I feel

Both positive and otherwise

At any given point of reference therein.

I knew I screwed up last year when

I ordered a perfect man form the Universe.

After seeing how my request was filled,

I should have asked for a Pegasus instead.

I should have ordered a Pegasus instead. . . . .

As I sit here in my unoccupied bed surrounded

By a pile of books instead of you, I ask why?

It is not because I do, or not desire you here.

Perhaps it is the attitude of aloneness I need,

Resulting from some unresolved past experience.

How we draw to ourselves the event that make

Up our lives are the consequences of choice in the

Greater and lesser resistances of our free will.

This is only a test. A friggin’ test.

I had a floundering marriage at best and was

Unhappy that I had no choice but to consider the

Triangular presence of the other woman involved.

How could I ever know the feeling and agony

His mistress felt at being the third party.

How things have shifted in life and the Fates

Have twisted my role into an ugly comparison.

I’m suddenly aware that I’m in her position.

I now know the pain and distress of her privation.

The frustration of the unfulfilled hearts’ intent.

Calculated and constructed to make me see how not

To repeat her foolish mistake. My conclusion from the

Greater and lesser resistances of our free will.

This is only a test. A friggin’ test.

She waited in vain for years and lost out in the end.

I will not continue to subject myself to this grief.

As hard as it is to break the bond, I will withdraw.

I’ve heard the things you have not said, the

Pointed graphic parallels of previous memories.

I will not lose years waiting for a futuristic nothing

An empty void of promises not made. Piped dreams from the

Greater and lesser resistances of our free will.

The left intrusion into a life that does not respond.

The test is over. This has only been a friggin’ test.

March 1991

It’s another completed circle

A spiral upward on the journey of life.

The one took a year to cycle

The prior one six years and before that 21.

The lessons get shorter each time there done.

So, no matter where you are, I’ll be ok.

No matter what I do or where I go, I’ll be ok.

Because I’m now with me.

There is no doubt you brought e spiritual riches

And memories of the physical world

Touching, loving, sharing, camping,

Hunting rocks and chasing butterflies.

You plucked an eagle out of the wind

To hang around my neck and

Gave me ribbons to lace my boots.

Then, lastly the pain of a broken heart.

As you disappeared ghost like,

Cold and detached into the fading light

Of an un-promised tomorrow

I withdrew back into my independence again,

With non co-dependant visions

Of the spiritual future

I’ll be ok, because I’m now with me.

you picked an eagle from out of the wind. . . . .

Mar 1991

Are you giving

Counsel and comfort

For lunch today?

If so, may I have

An hour of your time?

I need to share with you

My pain and heal my soul.

Your strength will hold

Me up until I can

Hold up myself.

Servings of sympathy

With rice and tea.

May I come at noon?

And have you listen

and smooth edges?

If so, may I have a

Second helping at two?

April 1991

You were the perfect man I needed

When you came to me last year.

I love you too much and found it hard

To let go when it was time to move on

To allow other experiences.

We could have stayed and continually

Satisfied each other physically

However, we needed to develop, to grow

Spiritually and were not finding expansion

Because the limited space between

Our arms and bodies was to confining

To allow other experiences.

the limited space between our arms. . . . .

May 1991

To search

For self inside ones core

So deep

Nurture the growing embryo

To hear

Enriching music

And vibrate

The sound through your realm

To reach

The depth of singleness

And re-emerge

A total wholeness of one

To touch

The Universal God

And let him

Give strength and guidance

To gather

The space around tight

And feet

At home in a closed circle

To function

Daily in a vacuum

And share

No more togetherness

To live

In harmony alone

And bring

Lasting peace within thy self

To heal

To come back to they oneness

To retune

And purge the soul of duality.

Bio for Kenny Hill

1991

Kenny Hill adds his exquisite talents to this volume of poetry with pen and ink illustrations.

He had full reign in capturing the essence of the poetry text with his own artistic interpretations.

A native Texan, born in Texas City, raised in and around the Houston area, Kenny spent his school years studying art and classical music. He has a back ground in commercial art advertising, sign painting, concept art illustrations and logo design.

Currently he is a freelance agent contributing cover illustrations regularly to various magazines, which include Rivet Head, a musicians’ periodical. He has taught art illustration, life drawing and perspective art classes.

His musical capabilities include numerous forms of music. He has played with many C & W, jazz, blues, southern rock and bluegrass bands. He has produced classical opus compositions and scores. He writes all the music for his new band, Pullmanary and plays the electric guitar. He terms his music New Age Orchestrated Metal. It is a different style of music and lyrics designed to realign attitudes of the people of the world to positive action and world peace, personal peace and peace of the soul. With his music, Kenny’s destiny is to guide the current generation to at-one-ment and teach the new age light children of the future.

This completes this poetry collection. Return to the poetry page and select another

Volume to read.