frogcircus.org

the poetry of Charles Fry

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2009–2013

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2007–2002

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2002–1999

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1999–1997

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1997–1995

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1995–1994

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1994–1993

17 June 1995

the Soul queen

she lifts her hands
back to the keys
willing each withered finger to softly play.
Grandmother of the organ we call her
though no one knows where she really came from.
and the empty block in the middle of skyscrapers --
we aren't sure how she got it or kept it so simple.
(i guess the grass just grew to match the
beauty of her snowy hair.)
the Man keeps tryin to buy her out
or at least get a side walk around the edges;
yet through some strength she maintains.
the children love to come and roll in the fresh grass,
to run and play free from the muddled world.
(why so many leave as they grow
can only be attributed to the new shatter proof rocking chairs.)
but every day some more sober wanderers -- searchers --
come stand on the curb to listen.
to listen to Beautiful Oldandordinary rocking slowly back and forth
softly playing the organ with all her soul.

 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