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

30 July 1996

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This morning I saw some flowers.
Some very pretty flowers on a small hill above the riverside.
I jumped off the tractor and walked over to them.
As I lean down the soft fragrance enters my lungs,
letting me breathe easier.
Carefully I lift my gloved hand to the velvet petals
who so tenderly beckon me, waving in the wind.
Even through the protective leather of my cow-hide gloves
I can almost feel their innocent softness.

But then a small petal breaks off, and slowly falls to the ground.
I stare in frustration at my awkward hands,
then raise my glance to the waiting tractor.
Yes, we've got other fields to mow right now.
A glistening tear rolls down my cheek, joining the petal on the ground.
A cry of sorrow falls from my lips,
and gathering my soul I run back to the purring tractor.
And so we work, and so we work, in the heat of the glistening sun,
as if we'd forgotten already the flowers of this morning.

So I ask you: Can such ever be forgotten?
And I can only say no, they are within me forever.
Tonight if I remember I will go back,
this time walking slowly, bare hands in my pockets.
But even if I forget, or the rain keeps me behind my walls,
still I will always remember.
For with the skin of my own gloved hands
I have reached out and touched them.
And my tear lies fallen among them forever.

 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