frogcircus.org

the poetry of Charles Fry

post

2015–

defi

2009–2013

belle

2007–2002

dada

2002–1999

sundance

1999–1997

frere

1997–1995

julian

1995–1994

stone

1994–1993

13 November 1995

I know she's crying cause it stains her voice,
but when she stops talking her lips don't even shake.
Just gotta be strong.
Like her one legged bird that hops around in the corner.
(She once picked it up by the wings,
but other than that it never flies.)
She leans forward so hard that a tear shakes loose and falls.
(We can mop the floor afterwards, and pet the little bird.)
Keeps clutching at the air but never can quite hold on for long.
Opens the window to clear out the place,
but doesn't realize it's getting so cold.
Bitter winter.
Still it feels so good on my parched lungs;
as if I were a fisherman waiting on the dock
to wee if it was a full moon yet.

 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