Yeah, Yeah, Yeah….

by Roddy Lumsden

No matter what you did to her, she said,
There’s times, she said, she misses you, your face
Will pucker in her dream, and times the bed’s
Too big. Stray hairs will surface in a place
You used to leave your shoes. A certain phrase,
Some old song on the radio, a joke
You had to be there for, she said, some days
It really gets to her; the way you smoked
Or held a cup, or her, and how you woke
Up crying in the night sometimes, the way
She’d stroke and hush you, and how you broke
Her still. All this she told me yesterday,
Then she rolled over, laughed, began to do
To me what she so rarely did with you.



Oh little moon child in dandelion field
Toes in the grass, a flower in your hair
Magical eyes waiting for moon  revealed
Sun going down, painting amber across the sky

Gentle breeze blows, swaying deep emerald trees
Butterflies flutter, as your lips let out a precious sigh
Moon enters night,kissing softly stars shinning bright
Beautiful glow captivating your warm and tender heart

Oh little moon child, your soul now dances in the halo of light

No One Lives His Life

by Rainer Rilke

No one lives his life
Disguised since childhood,
haphazardly assembled
from voices and fears and little pleasures,
We come of age as masks.
Our true face never speaks.
Somewhere there must be storehouses
where all these lives are laid away
like suits of armor or old carriages
or clothes hanging limply on the walls.
Maybe all paths lead there,
to the repository of unlived things