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

22 February 1997

the stranger

Prisons are very dark I am sure
and very foreboding.
Especially the deepest underground chambers
where a sane man could cry at the top of his lungs
and perhaps a little dirt would crumble from the stone walls
that his hands were tearing into.
Where he could fast for forty days
with out one interruption by visiting angels.

O that I were the captain of my soul.

The feeble trembling of my body
distracts my eyes and twists my mind.
My hand I carefully lift to comfort myself
only to watch it again despair
and this time as it breaks against the ground
my heart does also.

If I were the seashore then I would pick you up
and hold you tighter than the world between my arms.

 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