Somnambulists by Lindell Vecchio
Fearsome phantoms far too near
Skulk about– Can you hear?
Floorboards creak, shadows peel
Stretch up over windowsills
Demons lurk under beds
Creeping, crawling in our heads
Name of Worry or Regret
Sharp-scaled, cold, slimy wet
Pierce our neurons, tied in knots
Rake their claws across our thoughts
Splinter dreams burst our seams
Portents nagging synapse screams
Wretches make not a sound
Won’t stop reaching out and round
Imagined fears innocent years
Horrors break us into tears
Life’s travails and hard knocks
Ghostly tortures never stop
Uninvited, freezing seep
Into places where we sleep
© April 2013
The muse rides in on sunrays and moonbeams,
Tumbles around between neurotransmitters,
Scoops up words you didn’t know were in there,
Then drags them out through the ends of your fingers onto
A computer screen or scratches them onto a piece of scrap paper
Or sometimes, without any warning at all,
Sets them in hard print memory and leaves them there
Until you have time to scribble them down
Faster than the speed of light
You sit, after that, and wonder,
How in the world did this happen and why?
But, you feel proud of yourself that you could do this
And overjoyed when another human being actually reads your words
And expresses pleasure in having done so…
© December 2012
Deep within a search begins
For models on whom to rely
To set the way from day to day
And answer the reason why.
At this end an example begins
Of a model on whom to rely
To set the way from day to day
From love must never to shy.
Absence of jealousies
Faith beyond heresies
A knack for the green
Fine Irish Supreme
Go out and live it!
© November 2012; November 1997
There once was a car named MG Midget
Was as blue as the sky up above it
Its driver bleach blond
Was carefree and fun
Until she went to jail for ten tickets
Once knew a mess cook, built and burly
Chewed tobacco, hair quite curly
Shipmates called him their Mother Burk
Gossip had it he was born a Turk
He’d throw together tasty cuisine
From rocks and sand or so it seemed
Could make, bake and decorate
A bakery-style chocolate cake
Cigar stuck at the left of his lips
Took offense when offered tips
Had traveled the world, a valiant vagabond
Beholding, attached, indebted to no one
Kind to the ladies and to the gents
Would give you his shirt or a pair of his pants
No one dared call him a coward or bum
Or ask him what place he was actually from
Or about his many colored tattoos,
Lest you wanted a fight you were sure to lose
Each port of call where we docked the boat
Ladies waited to slit his throat
But when M.B. appeared on the deck
Those ladies melted in their own sweet sweat
Their swoons and sighs with teary eyes
Made jealous misery for all us guys
For Mother Burk had a certain charisma
Equaled only by his culinary enigma
© June 2012; July 1963
About a person who confided in me her frustrated life, before she died…
She dreamt she could fly.
Like to know why?
No way of her own
She longs to be free
Would love to be she.
She dreamt of escape
From a choice that she made
Regret is so painful
She wants to be free
So she can be she.
She dreamt of relief
From the toil of her grief
Such sadness is madness
Tangled bad nest
What shall she do?
What must she do?
She dreamt of a day
When guilt went away
No more repression
Should her love for you
Be her death too?
She dreamt she could flee
And just become she
No more criticism
Not even cynicism
All would be quiet
Or loud as a riot!
She dreamt she could speak
And eat and sleep
Whatever she wanted
Whenever she wanted
Was her resolution.
She dreamt of a scheme
That love was a team
With tolerance and temperance
And wisdom plus patience
Humiliation not evident
Humility was prevalent
She dreamt of a year
Straight through without fear
A year not to hurry
Nor ever to worry
For fear of suspicion,
She dreamt of a dream
Or so it would seem
Has taken this role
In part and in whole
Has given her life
To be this man’s wife.
© June 2012; October 1998
Somewhere over there in the very distant past
a sad, lonely girl sat thinking.
She had special quantum powers of beauty,
imagination and zeal.
Her name was Reality Effervescence, Real for short.
She let some thoughts escape one day.
They flew around, fluttered their wings and landed on a soft, supple cloud.
Her butterfly thoughts manifested into a universe.
This universe expanded into infinity
with pieces of glitter and hunks of water
mixed with blue and yellow.
Real Essence was impressed, even though these were her thoughts,
because other things began to appear.
She saw rough and smooth moving left and right,
over and under, and round and round.
They didn’t stop once they started.
They just kept on and on,
forever and ever,
unless she snapped them off,
because she did have a mean streak.
She combined rough and smooth with her thoughts
and called them Green and Red Effervescence.
People gave them so many names
to separate them into black and white.
They talked and talked about this,
then and now…
©June 2012; 1986