the poetry of Charles Fry

















27 May 1995


here i sit on the ceiling of my room
looking out the stained glass window as you walk below.
here i Am, plain as the tarnished door knob you can't see either.
i mean it's not that it ever works flawlessly more than once
and if it does just try it again and it won't;
but hey, it still opens the door.
some times if ya look up and see Shadows laughing and dancing
on the stained glass window, don't just assume that there's no room.
it is only me, sitting on the chandelier turning my chair on and off
as if it really was made for a King -- trying to convince the jester
that if he'll jump around a little bit longer then you'll come
and he can return to the soft wooden window sill
to roll his broken die and laugh when it's a one again.
please don't be scared by the red pane in the stained glass window;
it doesn't hurt that bad.
sure it's only half a heart, but i need to keep Something safe.
the rest is really asking for you.
then, if you decide it's worth climbing 2 flights of stairs
and talking to the old men who sunbathe in the hallways,
you'll hear soft music coming from the tarnished door knob.
That mean's that i'm tryin to get ready
but can't until i know You so go ahead and gently turn it.
don't gasp in surprise that there's only one cot strung
along the wall; well, it is My room after all
and even though i want you to stay for ever
you know you really can't.
we can talk and Play and share, but soon ya'll have ta go home,
back to your own place to dust the window sill and chase
out any smoke left from last night's burnt toast.
when you leave I'll smile even though i'll be weeping inside;
and if we've enjoyed playing Chutes and Ladders then
maybe you can wave at me the next time ya walk by --
we'll still be here, my jester and i, up looking at you
and laughing through our stained glass window
(so you won't hear the tears of loneliness that drip
down to the pavement);
hoping Oh so hoping
that one day you'll come up again,
or that at least you'll invite us down to walk with you.
and then maybe, praying pleading maybe, after we've walked some
you will stop and slowly turn and then point up at a window.

 forgotten memories   of being burned at the stake   sweet dreams   sharing   hand-in-hand   the stranger   hidden courtyards   holding You   princess   happy day   loneliness   fragile, handle with care   my small trip to the cement factory   dedication   this record is for You   the day that I cried   Last night I woke up under my bed.   my silver Dancing shoes   Man my heart tears.   the three things   strait jackeght   like you   abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz   Fire cooks me   Princess Alexandra:  A Little Story   cats up cat twice   sweet rain water   little children   my heart   How blind I am in wooden glasses.   I know she's crying cause it stains her voice,   Dear Family,   I pound at my heart   We run away from the ice cream truck   purple sunset   J. Elephant   so i walk up to you with this   the Soul queen   so, you say that i do not speak   window   dear sweet old Ordinary   i am a Harp