Category: Poetry


Mr. Dramatic Returns to the Attic

 

Mr. Dramatic

has locked himself in the attic

and won’t come out to play.

Woke up on the wrong side,

woman took his pride,

it hasn’t been a very good day.

 

He’ll go for the gusto,

he’ll go for it all,

But, for sometime,

in the meantime,

on his own time,

he’s staring at the inside of walls.

 

Mr. Dramatic has gone far away,

floating away on the tide,

of emotions, feelings, and I don’t know whys,

his mind seemed a good place to hide.

 

It gets a little harder every time

living life in pantomime,

with all the lovely ladies

in costumes at the ball.

 

He doesn’t feel any static

sitting in the attic.

As a matter of fact,

he doesn’t feel anything at all.

 

Mr. Dramatic has gone far away,

floating away on the tide,

of emotions, feelings, and I don’t know whys,

his mind seemed a good place to hide.

 

He held them when they needed holding,

consistently kept them warm;

but when he wants warmth

he must warm himself.

 

The warmth only lasts a little while,

so when he feels the warmth of a smile,

He goes back to his attic

and smiles until he cries.

______________________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

The Hinge

 

Residue of confusion,

Wayward distortion of fact,

The jester has simply

forgotten how to act.

 

It is one thing to let loose

and go on a binge.

Quite another to polish

An old, rusty hinge.

 

The one ignores the fact,

the other faces it.

Mr. Dramatic ignores it

while the jester chases it.

 

The jester just laughs,

though he doesn’t get the punchline.

Mr. Dramatic just imagines

that the hinge has a bright shine.

___________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

Static in the Attic

 

There is nothing but static

in the attic

as Mr. Dramatic stares at the sofa

that could be a bed –

but never becomes one.

 

Mr. Dramatic catches glimpses

in the reflecting mirror,

as the vision appears in the

lost dream of the lover

who once held a friend.

 

Mr. Dramatic remains the victor

of the game never played,

and the leader, reflectively,

of a plan not made, foundations not laid,

a great debt not paid…

 

…to oneself amid the static

in the attic,

as Mr. Dramatic stares from the sofa

that could be a bed –

but never becomes one.

____________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

A couple who are friends of mine had their house burn down recently. As a result, I have been flashing back to when our house burned the Friday before I began my senior year in high school on Monday.

The firemen saved a lot of things, but my room was a pile of ashes in the back yard. I came home from a night of drinking the coldest beer I’ve ever had. Ice formed in the mug of beer. When Brian and I got to my street, we couldn’t get to the house. We had to park a block over.

Mom and my brother, Dennis, stood in the yard across the street with our dog, Lady. I joined them and watched as flames tore through what had previously been my bedroom. Someone behind me asked out loud if “anyone had marshmallows.” I went ballistic and let them know what an asinine thing it was to say.

I got more clothes and things to replace things that were in my room. But there are things you cannot simply replace. To this day, I sometimes think of things as if I still have them and realize they burned in the fire.

And that was bad. I was chastised on Monday because I didn’t have a pencil. In the apartment we rented while the house was rebuilt, I heard Imagine, which was still on the charts. I heard the line, “imagine no possessions, I wonder if you can.” I suddenly realized I could.

But I got more possessions, and added to them over the years. As bad as it was, I can’t imagine it happening today. But wait, not quite true. Mike and Cindy Freiley lost everything recently. To lose everything I have now would be devastating. I would get through it. I’ve done it before. But it hurts.

If you would like to help Mike and Cindy, here is the gofundme link.

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

 

Stillness in the Morning

 

There’s a stillness in the morning,

scaring the man to death,

a sigh, a cup of coffee,

then an intake of breath.

 

The songs they sang

keep coming back,

with no sound in the room,

the cool change finally came,

albeit a little too soon.

 

The painting is not completed yet,

when sensible he knows it is true,

but when he looks upon the walls,

the colors change their hue.

 

He’ll deal with it as always,

having been through worse before,

but he would like to see the woman

upon opening the door.

 

The jester gets carried away sometimes

when handling himself,

like trying to hold your pants up

when you haven’t got a belt.

 

He’ll get a little better

when his intensity is felt,

but, meanwhile….

 

There’s a stillness in the morning

scaring the man to death,

a sigh, a cup of coffee,

then intake of breath.

____________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

Mr. Dramatic and Modern Day Man

 

Who knows what is in store

for the modern day man.

Who strives to be normal

without knowing what that means.

 

What will come back to

the one who is poor from helping?

What hand will lay upon

his shoulder when his cries?

 

When will the peace come

of any kind at all?

When Mr. Dramatic makes an exit,

without a dramatic fall.

 

Where will the feeling start,

the beginning of great relief,

Where will the feeling end

with shaking of firm belief?

 

Why are those who do not know

the first to criticize?

Why does the collective voice of humanity

sound like a baby’s cries?

 

How? Is the biggest question

and the hardest one to answer.

How can you see the soul of the dance

without understanding the dancer.

Indeed.

____________________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

A Reply

 

Scared is a reason, paranoid a curse,

The two souls surviving

(Jester and Lady)

Through verse.

 

The jester is still hiding

what the lady has seen,

and cries in the darkness

at the mess as it’s been.

 

Line of confusion, illusion,

harpsichord melody,

The reflection of the essence

of the things that should be.

 

The lines which evolve

from the songwriter’s pen,

are requested by the lady,

again, yes, and again.

 

It’s her own way of drifting

as his is to write,

echoes of laughter

escort the dawn into light.

 

The lady’s words

put the truth where it stands,

While the moment is tossed,

just to see where it lands.

__________________________________________________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

Cyndy, my inspiration lady, J.D., our youngest son, and Me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inspiration Lady

 

 

Inspiration Lady,

Could I please have this dance?

To the tune of tender mercies

And tragic circumstance.

 

The jester is immobile,

While the poet stands alone:

The optimist turns sinner

Trying to pull the sword from stone.

 

Inspiration Lady,

You have opened up my heart;

It lies open – ready – willing,

Act One, Scene One, first part.

 

Yet Act Two could never happen,

Beginning could be end,

A letter is never pleasantly received,

That is not pleasantly sent.

 

On the other hand, love is “feel-good,”

When “feel-good” is the intent,

But the joy is in the giving,

It cannot be borrowed or lent.

 

Inspiration Lady,

The poet looks at you,

And sees the beauty of a thousand years

through an entirely different hue.

 

The jester sits and laughs at himself,

The poet merely perceives,

The lady is astoundingly beautiful,

if she would just believe.

 

Inspiration Lady,

Could I please have this dance?

To the tune of tender mercies

and tragic circumstance.

_______________________________________________________________________-

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

 

I was going through old files and folders when I found manuscripts I had forgotten about. This poem is one of those.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As The Rain Came

A rhythmic, steady

beating on the roof,

An ancient

timeless tribal ritual –

He’d heard before,

drumming into his soul

calming the restless spirit

for the moment,

a peacefulness

of the moment,

that was new

(or long forgotten)

As the rain came.

 

The drumming continued

pulsating endlessly,

Barely containing

the restless spirit –

The world lay still,

As memories drifted by

pulled from a heart-dug well

insignificant,

to the beauty he knew,

insignificant,

to that place in time,

that was new

(not soon forgotten)

As the rain came.

 

A rhythmic, steady,

beating on the roof,

An ancient

timeless tribal ritual –

He’d heard before,

But the drumming and the beauty

shared the soul of the restless spirit

returning the joy,

that was new

(not soon forgotten)

As the rain came.

______________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

paypal.me/danroark

 

 

Isolated Jester

 

When days have no meaning

They run end to end,

Stylistic abortion,

an end to begin.

 

Walls behind curtains –

Doorways to pain,

Neon paths to nightlife,

shine dull in the rain.

 

Laughter from a woman,

Rings in the ears,

Of the isolated jester,

Knowing not what he hears.

 

Laughter of the loving,

wind chimes of the nerves,

Straightaways are the silence

before the storm of the curves.

 

The young love forever,

the old just a while,

Awaiting the sadness

that follows the smiles.

 

The vision remains lovely

while nothing is said,

Leaving the jester silent

inside his head.

 

Love is a memory

in a fire’s blue flame,

Faces in the shadows

recalling the name.

_____________________________________

Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.

Peace be with you.

 

 

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