The First Time … Kissed

I woke from a dream this morning,

the sunlight clearly indicating my haste,

begin another day,

a silent realization, a song.

 

Somehow Roberta Flack gave me words,

‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,’

seemed to let my dream invite my day.

I wondered how I could know the lyrics

 

I played it again in a soft shower

a sweet reminder, a place to cry,

letting my tears mix with the heat

trying to wake beyond her dream.

 

Such soulful melody, watching now,

a sunrise that would remind me again,

the first time,

when I did once kiss her with passion.

 

I found other medleys, trying to seek some

reckoning, and yet, realized, there is only one.


The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face – Roberta Flack (Youtube)

What Measure Is Love

Who determines,

inside a dream we fly,

yet so quickly the descent

if once begun.

there finds no true answer

why.

 

Oh there is promise

the look in one’s eyes

to suggest this,

what a moment might

contain

could forever be in our

sky.

 

Clouds appear

we brush them aside,

for it is now,

not later,

the overcast nature

of indecision

will hurry past our lives

will eventually answer

nigh

 

There was this time,

once,

when she might show me

a tear,

it was love,

some kind of sensibility,

until that day,

when she turned away,

my words

she no longer

understood,

though she could

let me go,

knowing I might,

safely

cry.

When This Morning Becomes Yesterday

I used to listen to this,

it was called a New Age sound

Wyndam Hills label

I found myself compelled by

such simplicity,

a drug of sorts

because the music could not

take me places

i couldn’t go alone,

I felt there was someone with me,

all the time,

sitting at the keyboard

with a sweet smile

because he too

wanted some quiet,

but a purposeful journey

 

I’m struggling tonight,

because I’ve forgotten how to write.

I told a friend of mine,

I’d lost my words

and I couldn’t tell you where they’ve gone

traveling somewhere on their own,

waiting for the sound,

waiting for George,

he’ll repeat himself,

and there’ll be no carnage …

only sweet love.