Stairs of Sand
Daniel Hargrove
Stairs of Sand
and
Other Poems
by Daniel Hargrove
Copyright 2017 Daniel Hargrove
Cover art copyright 2017 Daniel Hargrove
This book is published for anyone's enjoyment. Authors retain the copyright to their work. Users may read, copy and distribute the work in any medium or format for non-commercial purposes, provided the authors and the journal are appropriately credited. The users are not allowed to remix, transform or build upon the published material.
Table of Contents
01 Stairs of Sand
02 Home in the Sea
03 Box
04 High and Bright
05 The Animal of Night
06 Chimes
07 Merely an Obstacle
08 The Stain
09 The Prime Years
10 Hope Burns
11 Phone Call
12 Trial and Error
13 Not as a Stone
14 Before the Dust Settles
15 No Key is Found
16 Chin Drops
17 Film Strip
18 Tried and True
19 In the Midst
20 Whispered to the Wind
21 As Some May See
22 In the Wing of a Breeze
Stairs of Sand
My shadow burning, knotted, entwined
strikes an anvil with a dusty ring;
such is the song of swallows, up high
clamoring for a marriage of ivy.
The spider's silk of one mirage, two,
captures a fly of sun-baked sand
slipping through the fingers of rain,
a red devil snared in a mirror's silver.
Yet I dig a well, striking water thrice
inviting the brand to drink, and quench
its thirst, the cry of an infant, blue,
wrapped and taped, sold to the clock.
Spare us the joker, slick as green moss,
a card in the hat, feathered and ribboned
the candlelight groans its last appeal
to the needle's eye, on the button, yet.
Home in the Sea
A delicate seashell, washed ashore,
not chipped, nor scratched, a pretty pink;
this is the dress my lover wore.
The sound of the sea in a quiet roar,
sweeping curves, like a graceful mink;
a delicate seashell, washed ashore.
Later a pearl, a mollusk, before,
making a home in the salty drink...
this is the dress my lover wore.
Lost to me, another and more,
someone found the missing link,
a delicate seashell, washed ashore.
To every home there is a door,
lock held fast by a maiden's wink...
this is the dress my lover wore.
The setting sun seen from the shore,
into the water, to swim or sink;
a delicate seashell, washed ashore...
this is the dress my lover wore.
Box
A future unemcumbered
by the crushing hand of fate
is what we all deserve and need
but a puppet with no strings
crumples to the floor
with no time
for reflection
hack my way through the jungle
or ride the go-round
as if I had my sight
I need the help of an angel
who knows my story
like her own
who does not exist
I think
because need is a
mouthful of sand
the bosses, with their megaphones
will fix it all, you'll see
as if I had a moment
to myself
High and Bright
Torn between
the ordinary and the exceptional
the ordinary seems elevated
the exceptional
seems too high
but the ordinary
seems too practical
while the exceptional seems magical
I don't believe in magic
the ordinary seems larger than life
and the exceptional seems narrow
the ordinary seems caught
and the exceptional seems
like the jailor
the ordinary seems quiet
while the exceptional seems loud
the ordinary seems exceptional
and the exceptional seems ordinary
The Animal of Night
The sands of time, ribbons through the presents of age,
each grain a salty reminder of growing older,
slip groaning through the hourglass, chiming midnight,
and the tail of a possum grips the tree limb desperately
as if her fall would last more than one eternity...
it is still day, though the moon climbs a cerulean tide,
and I beckon the landlocked siren in a show of blushing,
my tired lust ringing in my barnacled ears...
the men of midnight have me cornered, teeth bared,
as if I could throw a clown a metric mile...
the child's taste of clover honey brings back a ringing dawn
down the drainpipe, spilling in the trifling mud,
when what was asked was not what was answered...
the singing burn of the undertow sucks me away, far away
as the sound of a distant train becoming more distant
for the very last time, at the end of an inchworm's foot...
the nighttime deep inside stirs and wakes, toast and eggs,
believing as it does that the world may stop short
and forever daytime there, forever my starry ocean;
and I am a child on the mirror slide of the playground once more...
Chimes
I dare a look at the calendar
and another year has passed
yet I am still
standing still
my heart as yet unclaimed
my pockets still empty
my dreams as yet
still poignant with possibilities
another day has passed
and no one saw it
and no one asked it
for a different sun
one not so bright
one flickering brightly
at the end of the candle
another hour passed
no one's kiss untasted
but mine, and hers
nowhere to be found
another minute passed
and the second hand
dove off the clock
and into the
damp spring grasses
Merely an Obstacle
Across the ropes and over the walls
the spring is over, turned to seed
down the lane, a journey calls
The car, it misses, sputters, stalls
a stranger stops, the day's good deed
across the ropes and over the walls
The flower, yellow, envy of dolls
the garden, I see, is turned to weed
down the lane, a journey calls
A gun, it misses, the enemy falls
despite the crown, the princess fleed
across the ropes and over the walls
She married well, the jester palls
and joking, high on honey mead
down the lane, a journey calls
Echoing through, along the halls
the laughter of the prisoner freed
across the rope and over the walls
while down the lane, a journey calls
> The Stain
It wouldn't come out
cold nor
hot water
Even turp
ugly and brown
like a bruise
she tried
and tried
but his shirt sleeve
was ruined
He could wear it
for work in the yard
she guessed
but his job
at the circus
in the second ring
with the lions
was not a place
he could wear it
he'll get over it
she figured
The Prime Years
Thirteen candles, brightly lit...
a birthday song we all can sing;
straight ahead and never quit.
At that age we're young and fit,
beginning, then the joyful spring,
thirteen candles brightly lit.
The cat, she scratched, the dog, he bit,
and we all know the bee can sting...
straight ahead and never quit.
Cake and ice cream, come and sit...
birds of summer, on the wing;
thirteen candles, brightly lit.
Use your mind and bring your wit,
lights will shine and bells will ring...
straight ahead and never quit.
Eat the peach but leave the pit,
taste the honey bees will bring...
thirteen candles, brightly lit;
straight ahead and never quit.
Hope Burns
The hope of sanity comes from behind,
seems a mirage on the sparkling sand;
can we believe the world is kind?
The big money cats are in a bind;
millions of dollars from hand to hand.
The hope of sanity comes from behind.
The favorites in front, their pockets lined
by growling dogs who own the land...
can we believe the world is kind?
It's almost twelve, a clock to wind,
the tick and tock, the minute hand,
the hope of sanity comes from behind.
Among the kings a game we find,
the billionaires strike up the band...
can we believe the world is kind?
The clown is trumped by an agile mind
and nature takes her final stand...
the hope of sanity comes from behind;
can we believe the world is kind?
Phone Call
Hey, (insert name here), how's it going?
Oh, I'm good, how are you?
I'm doing good.
Good to hear. What're you up to?
Not a whole lot just working.
Ah, ok.
Yeah, I need to get back to it. Things have been busy.
Alright, bro, give me a call if you get free.
I'll do that. Talk to ya later.
Ok. Be safe!
You too man, take care.
Ok. Bye.
Bye.
Trial and Error
While waiting on a welcome smile
I met a woman, made a bet,
still needing welcome all the while.
I walked a tightrope, ran a mile,
although I haven't been there yet
while waiting on a welcome smile.
They turned their backs as is the style...
perhaps they know my mind is set;
still needing welcome all the while.
The t.v. says, "Don't touch that dial!"
and are we really all in debt?...
while waiting on a welcome smile.
The beauty that the worst defile;
the fading sun, I've often met,
still needing welcome all the while.
I'm weeding through the rank and file,
but when it rains, we all get wet,
while waiting on a welcome smile;
still needing welcome all the while.
Not as a Stone
My cat as yet has not gazed at the stars,
the pattern in the sky that never dies,
and just as prisoners kept behind steel bars
I have not seen a flame lit in her eyes
A child who for the first time sees a rose
sees magic that the wise man cannot see.
A flower learns the vision as it grows
undisturbed except by rain and bee.
Imperfect as a witness I have been
yet round I go to see the same again.
I've yet to find the true of spirit here
and yet perhaps in dreams that I hold dear
I'll find the simple truth, so long unknown
my friend, a heart, who knows she's not alone.
Before the Dust Settles
..and when the dragon rears its ugly head
the man she loves has turned to dusty bones
his love, his whispers, reverent, are dead
tongue-tied, puzzled, quiet as the stones
The turn of key has left her heart unlocked
the press of coupling sets her eyes aflame
the wine of kisses, in the barrels, stocked
but all the suitors left are all the same
So still as yet remains her bright appeal
for every vow not kept there is a cost
for every vision gained, another lost
For her there's precious little time to steal
though promises are made, to have, to hold
the letters gray, and still we're growing old
March 5th, 2016
No Key is Found
They sold their souls to turn a trick
the bottle like a sleeping bear
the cruelty built in like a brick
Elites anointing, oiled and slick
the chosen, who avoid their stare
they sold their souls to turn a trick
A hundred clocks, as one, they tick
and to this passing time, they swear
the cruelty built in like a brick
Beneath their feet the fires lick
above their heads, the smoggy air
they sold their souls to turn a trick
The keystone guarded, locks to pick
the arch, the eye of every prayer
the cruelty built in like a brick
Mother, father, come here quick
the cat escaped, no time to spare
they sold their souls to turn a trick
the cruelty built in like a brick
Chin Drops
The gassy goats of the easy life
Saturday sinnin' the big wigs
a fly in the 'tain't'ment
we are happy to ride the oily bends
in the liver of cellphones
oft forgotten, often bossed
a magic slick of the crest
of the meat of the gainful drum
and down the well, well, well
of the stiff upper kipper
precambrian chants
echoed down the haws
of the pill pickles in a line
exchanging love boats
for a sack of dice
June 12th, 2017
Film Strip
I take a green gander
at the red media
and its black mind control
Its little white lies
turn me purple with rage
as I blue my top
A hot little number
as cool as a cucumber
warms to the prospect
though my cold feet
bring an icy response
from the fiery matador
I feel light headed
groping in the shadows
forming dark conclusions
in the dusky glow
of the flickering candle
in the gray, shuttered room
Tried and True
The wicked old
man
he climbed the rope
he ate the sun
the twisted old rope
and down the well
drank from the bucket
and swallowed a frog
with a bent leg
squeezed shut his eyes
covered his ears
and popped his corn
the scarecrow flapped
the crow stood still
the shot rang twice
a trick was turned
he rolled the dice
a book was burned
and no one was the wiser
In the Midst
Love is a warm place in the storm
In spite of my fear, despite the lies,
to the cause of love forever sworn
With the grace of a swan, in perfect form
they see the sparkle in her eyes...
love is a warm place in the storm
Between the two, it seems, they're torn
rock-a-bye baby eases her cries...
to the cause of love, forever sworn
Little boy blue has lost his horn
yet to his sheep, he finds his ties
love is a warm place in the storm
As after night there comes the morn
he always fails, who never tries...
to the cause of love forever sworn
At the bugles call I tried to warn
the soldier, yet the sleeping rise...
love is a warm place in the storm,
to the cause of love, forever sworn
Whispered to the Wind
Like a shadow disappears at night;
alike a cat that slips on out the door...
and like a candle fades when comes the light,
so leave the hesitations that we wore.
Encountered by the wind, a sparrow's wing
is as the dragonfly, the skies to soar;
in dive of otter, wilderness to sing,
still yet, my letter reaches distant shore.
Discovered in the spring, the call of rose
is to the hummingbird, a honey's scent;
the snow is gone, the summer came and went.
If we should find a secret no one knows
and if my secrets time will never mend
then I should throw my secrets to the wind.
