lay lady lay, what a memory that was, baby blue, the memories, the blowing wind, the change, the rhythms, the couldn’t care less attitude, dam will speak to you when i feel like it, tangled up in blue, oh mercy, what good am I, what if, the man in the long black coat, the unforgettable lyrics, the twang voice, that wasn’t a voice at all, a heart, that still touches, what a legacy to reflect upon, at seventy seven, not that he gives a damn. Still listening to him after all these years, who can say that, very few, but teachers all, God Bless you Bob, thanks.
It’s difficult agreeing, the rhetoric is correct, it’s the right thing to do, the argument makes sense, it only takes one final step, saying it. The time gets near, the fear rises, the hidden truth, those things you are hiding, come to the surface, the way all truth does. As they listen, the words make impact, where did it come from. From all the groups, the heads look down, he mentions the treatment of women, across all the divides, it’s the one cause they have all failed in, equality and respect. In our faults we find a common cause, so where is the bridge builder, who is going to patch the quilt, stick it back together again.
As the groups retreat to discuss the issue, the old arguments come to the fore. He said that Men and Women were equal. There were prophets too, who warned, that men would never be satisfied with one. Some try to address the issue, those that can’t forgive, gladly remind others of their so called faults, hatred has far too many friends.
Solomon was surmising, the signs were coming faster than snow in a blizzard. It was time to encourage all those making the effort for change, rather than reminding them of their faults. In parts of the world, it was dangerous, to even think change. So Solomon prayed, Help them lord, and curb the extremism that is a poison everywhere. Building bridges, he smiled at his friend, he didn’t say much, but he listened. Perhaps he was a King.
Bitten by a dog, the child is young, develops a phobia, doctor calls it normal, given the experience. Everyone agrees, who could recover from such an experience, a young man, full of spirit and intense with his ideals, wants to see the best in everything, wants to see evil punished, believes in his country, well, someone better will come along. You are now a marine sir, is soon sent to Vietnam, returns shell shocked, addicted, life is never to same, the expert says so, everyone agrees, who could recover from such an experience. Others call it a disability, a situation you can’t deal with, but a situation others can handle, so you are different, based on your experiences; are we agreed, yes we are!.
25% of the world, addicted in some form, the numbers are actually higher in truth, so many of us are good at disguise, he is busy all the time, she is a career girl, busy. Turn on the TV, listen to the radio, what is your profile, what time of day, advertise laxatives to the elderly, advertise underwear to the young, one group interested in being able to live with a little dignity, the others group interested in personal appearances; the dark inside, getting the balance right.
Solomon heard of fishing, it had been going on a long time.
He hears a sound vibration, there is a band playing in the harbor, the young and the eager, there are fools who raise their heads when they hear gun shots when they should keep their heads down, never panic. He has to get closer to the action, burb burb, he is going to risk it, it’s thrash near the top, same everywhere, but if you want to sample it, you have to risk it, he pokes his fishy ear out of the water, see’s the lights flashing, hears the base sound, it’s rocking, so this is what it’s like to be human. He ingests a tab, acid rain, they used to dump nuclear stuff in the harbor, before the authorities copped on, his stomach frizzes, this is terrible, the concert in the harbor forgotten, it’s a fight for survival, so much for the Mirror, I’d rather be a fish, Ma!.
Nothing tasted better than breakfast, so he thought for a long time, the ache never left him, the feeling of hunger. They had struggled together, she was social for the first five years of his life, stamps coupons and charity, amen. He passes over the fresh warm toast, his mother accepts it, she smiles, my boy she says, my boy, even if he had a father, what did it matter, she was the one who reared one. There was no music her side of the family, he had a brother who was a guitar genius, her son’s father, maybe that was where he got the talent from. From the back of the big yacht, she lapped it up, admiring her life many years later, except for the one yearning in her heart, we could have had a few of them, them, her children. She settled for one when she could have had a stream, then again, all she ever wanted was one.
He said there was a safe place, a bunker built in the event of a grand storm, she hid her pain in her clothing a memorial to hurt, at every opportunity she was ready to raise that hate filled voice, the repairs were going to be a godsend to many thousands of relief workers, mothers could look forward to Christmas knowing he’d be working till Christmas and beyond, we haven’t seen one of those for a while said the senator, he traveled down to see the damage for himself, and the pictures would go well with his version of history, that was when i went to the aid of the hurricane victims, really granddad, it was news in many different forms, the lucky the sad and the prospectors.
Solomon encountered the Holy Spirit, and wrote about it almost daily, in order for others to be informed, divine intervention and real love was connected as they say, and it was the duty of the religious communities to make this clear, not to hide the great truth from everybody. The only call they were making this morning was to their insurance companies, the lucky ones who had it covered, meanwhile, they would go on printing inexhaustible supplies of paper money, while telling everyone they had to tighten their belts, S
olomon didn’t think so, amen.
she doesn’t grip the way she did before, it’s a struggle to open the blister pack but she manages. I need a cure, she sighs, she has a picture of him on her side board, what will i do, her hands. A radio blares to life, the neighbor next door is hard of hearing, so the music is up loud, not that again, then the tune begins, one they used to listen to, he passed away a year before and she misses him, your hands he used to say, they are so fine. They played piano so well, now they hardly worked, amen.
In the world of the old, it was lonely and hard to get on, lonely and afraid of the night, when she was with him, well she never had to worry. The tune plays on, the memory comes back, she hears a noise at the door, gets up slowly and pats over to the door, it’s James he says, he is her nephew, he has come to lend her his hands.
Many hands ease the load, many hearts working and the love flows.