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Stay

I’m reading some stupid book
Of ghosts and horror and the like
It’s your fault you know because I was reading yours first
Until every page became a reminder of your age
And thus mine.
Can I not float back anymore?
To college parties with pot and incense.
Of Elton John and Neil Young
Before it was fashionable to listen to them
And especially you, as the night grew long
In some professor’s great old mansion of stone
Or in the basement of the medical school nearby
Drinks with lab alcohol, candles lit while singing of Suzanne
With friends that were more than companions
Dreaming of degrees and good fortune with your tunes in our heads
As we pedaled our bikes home in the dark
Its better you know, your voice I mean.
With a seduction that makes me feel as a woman should
And a truth that digs into my marrow.
So I glance at your book beside my bed.
Don’t go too soon as some of us couldn’t bear it
You own the best ways to say how we feel
When we are too lazy to find the words ourselves
Please stay, just stay if only at your kitchen table
Isn’t that where you do your best work anyway?

I once asked a man where the passion was
He said he didn’t know.
I’ll pick up your book again.
It’s there.

SFarmer

A lovely tribute to Leonard, Sarry .

I lost all I'd said when I had to flick to something else, and now I must get to work, so won't have time to recount it all.

However, the reverie of your memories and the wide variety of vivid images, with your selection of representative thoughts and experiences from those times, works so well. I can feel the night air when I read "As we pedaled our bikes home in the dark" and can feel how the songs linger in the head, when the body simply has to go.

Please stay, just stay if only at your kitchen table
Isn’t that where you do your best work anyway?

I love the personal feeling of this, as you mentally bring us into his home, imagining him with pad and pencil or pen and a cup of coffee.

Its better you know, your voice I mean.
With a seduction that makes me feel as a woman should
And a truth that digs into my marrow.

This and your final verse, oh my... the truth.

This poem is a delight to read, repeatedly, Sarry. I've done it several times and just love it and where it flowingly takes me. No jolts, just travel.

Thanks .


~ Lizzy