FAST FORWARDED

                                                                                                                                        

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Fast Forwarded

Running in slow motion down fast forwarded streets,

We dreamed on our silent feet

Of love

In the back seats of cars, 

Playgrounds at midnight,

And silk sheets at the Fountaine Bleau hotel.

There were your eyes

And that was all I could see

Staring 

Into my soul from a hundred yards away

On the other side of the crowd

And the law of attraction.

Dark, sensual, greedy eyes

Almost like mine but darker

Pulling

Me toward you, into you like magnets

Drawing objects

That have no will to refuse.

The noise of the city 

Vanished in the roar of our hearts

Beating

Like wild things in our chests

Waiting for that moment

When all motion stopped and we stood face to face.

I had no one to go home to

No one waiting to bid me hello

No one

To wine me and dine me and love me

No one to need me

At the end of the day.

For love is not something

That I've ever been able to hold

Nothing

That I've ever been able to keep,

To rest in, or live up to

Or to say it was mine.

And because of that,

I'm always searching for the taste of it

Dreaming

That it's just around the corner,

In a stranger's arms, a stranger's eyes

Who, meeting me, will not think me strange at all.

It's Friday and the day has been long

I am hurrying off to nowhere 

And

There you are, with your tousled hair

And your hungry eyes looking

And here I am, looking with my own.

Closer now, and just four people apart,

The setting sun catches your hair,

Fire

Dances off your heart and lights your face,

Brings a glow to your eyes

And a sweet sad smile to your mouth.

"Hello." you say, "Don't I know you?

Didn't we meet in my dreams?"

"No."

I say, "We met in mine on the 41st of June."

And we both smile like lunatics 

Meeting underneath the moon.

Sometimes, it just happens,

Sometimes, it just clicks and there you are,

Falling

In love with your other self, your better self,

The other half of your soul

In a stranger's eyes.

The bad thing is,

The worst thing is, when it's over,

Life

Becomes an endless, endless day

And eventually you stop looking for love

And you're swallowed up by the crowd.

But for now, there's always tomorrow,

And the day after that,

Days,

When dreams still follow me down the street,

Look into my eyes and take me by the hand

Days, when they're good, make my eyes forget

That they ever saw your face.

©By Voo

Sept 17, 2010

10:43 p.m.

LIVING INSIDE MY HEAD (for the saddest man I know)

Living Inside My Head

(poem from a lonely man)



My imagination runs wild sometimes and sometimes I reign it in
My mind goes off into the great unknown, seeking the great unseen
And looking for the great unfound to bring it home to the great unloved
Which is me, but then you don’t know that because you don’t know me.

So, I’ll tell you a little about myself here and now while you’re reading this poem
About me, written by me and for me and to me and because of me
I live inside my head. I mean to say, I live in my dreams and not in reality
I read books and I go to plays and I watch t.v. and I attend movies and I….....

I pretend that they’re about me. I read poetry and I tell myself that
The poems are written to me and about me (and most of them are)
Especially the melancholy ones, the sad stories, the lamentations and such
I read the poetry and I cry because the words are so beautiful, you know? And true.

I love Shakespeare. I love his way with language. I love his metaphors
His imagery, his sharp wit and rapier tongued heroines and heroes
I love his world of flowery prose and macabre, dark death scenes
His tragedy and triumph, pleasure and pain, heartbreak and true love found.

I’d love to live within those pages and act out those scenes that I love,
That I have memorized and quoted and shared with only a few
Books are like beloved friends to me and more precious than I can tell
They never hurt me except when I want to be hurt in their reading.

They never change, their plots stay the same, their dialogues comfort me
But they cannot hold me. Or kiss me. Or love me the way I need to be loved
They can only tell me of how how it feels or sounds or smells or tastes
And they make me feel even lonelier when I finish the pages and put them away.

I walk down the city streets and I see life going on all around me
And I die inside myself. I bleed. From wounds no one else can see
Nevertheless, I bleed and doctor myself the best I can
And put on a brave face and laugh
And do what I have to do the best way I know how, the only way I can.

Living inside my head, dreaming within my heart,
Waiting for God to bless me
 With love and joy and dances in the dark.
 Poetry in someone’s eyes. And reality
I have big dreams, I do. Wild, incredible, fantastic things that I want to do
With someone walking by my side, dreaming the same dream
Wanting the same things that I want.

Someone that knows how to pull this stuff out of me
 And make it real and wonderful and do-able. Do-able.
What an incredible word! Do-able. Existing in real life and not just in fantasy
The way it has always been for me.
 Cause there’s never been a hand in my hand
Showing me the way.

I’m tired of living inside my head, loving inside my dreams,
Existing inside a book
I want to live outside of me and what I can imagine and wish. I want to live!
Damn it! I want to live! But you don’t know that about me, do you?
You see this blank face and this placid exterior
And you think I’m  just an average Joe.

But you don’t know. You have no idea the wild man I am inside
The crazy lunatic I’d like to show you
 Without driving you away wide eyed in terror
The truth now: the real me, coming up, served barefaced and open
My guts hanging out and my heart exposed 
And my soul longing for solace in your hands………

The lover, the poet, the warrior, the dreamer
The maker of dreams come true
I’m showing you myself, you’re reading my heart
I want to live. With you.



©By Voo
May 23, 2004
8 p.m.

An absolutely true story gleaned from the soul of someone who
is like the dog that chases the car and doesn't know what to do
with it once he gets it................sigh

  Please Come to Boston

 by Dave Loggins