REVOLVE LIKE THE MOON a collab by Voo and Terry the Madd Poet

 

Spinning The Wheel by George Michael

instrumental......start now......

Revolve

(Like The Moon Does)

Me

He revolves around me

Dancing a little silky two step

Sing-song-ing a scrap of lyric

He found on a stoop somewhere

After midnight when the winos were asleep.

That boy always singing! Always dancing!

Makes you feel good to be alive

To be around him on a dreary day

Revolve, girl! he tells me, smiling

Revolve! Like the moon does!

Him

And as the earth does!

This is where the birth was.

As you take your 360 degree turn,

I am watching. And so I shall too.....REVOLVE...

We formulate...

the figure eight.

lighting our footprints.

this is pure pleasure to me.

hungry for a never ending story.

But never worry.....We're ..... REVOLVING!

Me

And then he grins

And the world lights up with his joy

We lock arms and run through the intersection

Car horns blowing like trumpets

People screaming curses

That sound to our ears like blessings.

Run up to the hill

And the abandoned club house

Where the old folks say

You can still hear Louie Armstrong

Belting out his happy blues

In a smoky whisper.

Him

ON THE HILL..

TIME STANDS STILL

All except the pitter patter

of our footsteps

creating the melody of dancing poetry.

oh, what a feel, of genuine truth

as we revolve still...

longevity lives

Atop that hill.

Me

Then he turns to me

And says, See that moon?

It's already shining in your eyes

That's where I want to live forever

And I say, On the moon?

And he laughs, No, girl, in your eyes!

And he revolves around me

Dancing, singing

Holding his heart out in his hand

Until I become so dizzy

That I fall straight into his beckoning orbit

And without realizing.....

Into the mad thing called Love. 

Us

©By Voo 

and Terry, the Madd Poet

©June 22

JAY WALKING ACROSS THE AUTOBAHN

Jay Walking Across the Autobahn

If I had known where this was all going to end up

I never would have taken this trip

No, that's not right, I take that back

I had no choice in the matter

I was born with a suitcase in my hand

A wad of dirty hundred dollars bills

And a longing for something I've never known, 

Let alone found.

There was a tiny seed germinating in my heart

Weed or flower, who knows? (I have no wisdom)

Beauty or ugliness, who can tell? (I have no sight)

Not the sight of a wise man or the wisdom of the blind

But extra-sensory perception that comes from misuse.

They say that God protects the innocent and the fool

(Some say the alcoholic and the atheist)

It's been my sad experience to learn 

That the inebriated fall all the same on broken glass

But do not know until much later, how torn and broken

That they have been all along

But I am not a drunkard.

I did not believe in God

For twelve minutes in the hot July sun

One long Monday morning in the sixteenth year of my life

I did not believe in anything because I had been damaged

And all the faith had been grabbed out of my heart

And sent off down a raging river that issued from my own eyes;

For twelve minutes I was an atheist.

Being alone in the universe without a creator

Is the loneliest feeling you can ever have

There was no one to rail at, no one to cry to

No one to blame for everything and nothing

And no one to beg for mercy 

When I had come to the end of myself;

Therefore,  I am not an atheist.

There was love there in the desert

Here and there, an oasis or two

Shade from the heat as I wandered like Ishmael and Hagar

Wondering what I had done besides being born

At the wrong time to the wrong people

But love, like everything, is fleeting

And slipped like sand through my fingers.

Did you ever have a song stuck in your head

That just keeps playing over and over and over?

Well, that's my life, my memories, few as they are

They play in my gray cells like tiny transistor radios

Crackling with static and intermittent signals

That never come in quite strong enough to identify.

I have blisters on my feet from walking,

Blisters on my hands from carrying this luggage,

Blisters on my heart from being burned so many damned times

That soon the scar tissue will be five inches thick and impenetrable

But I can't seem to stop walking

They won't let me

And I won't let them let me.

I saw a crazy man once;

He didn't see me, I don't think

But I watched him for a good half hour

Out in the middle of the freeway in America

Batting at birds that were not there

And talking to people that did not talk back

I was fascinated by the conversation

And only grew afraid when I saw an angel

Take his arm and escort him to the curb.

I think I might have an angel

Otherwise, why am I still here?

I've fallen off of mountains and washed up on to seashores

Been hit by trains and hurricanes

Still clutching my battered suitcase,

Still breathing through the sea weed, my heart still pounding,

Long after the world had given me up for dead.

I don't even remember why I started writing this now

I have no one to mail it to

There's no post office box waiting somewhere

For someone to turn the key in

And exclaim, Hey, look! A letter!

There's no reason to start a diary now

Here at the end of my life.

But still, I feel the need

To record my thoughts

As I stand here at the side of the road

Watching cars go whizzing by at 125 mph

It's almost exhilarating to feel that wind in my face, my hair

I think I could almost feel happy.

When I finish writing this, I'll put it in my suitcase

With the other little things that mean nothing to no one

The bit of fish net and blue glass,

The song that the sailor wrote, the red autumn leaf,

The feather that fell from the sky, the dream I tried to paint,

The coat with no sleeves and the bottle from Paris.

It's been a long, strange trip indeed, around the world

I started out alone and that's how I'll end

My pockets are still full of money, for I never needed any

(You cannot buy what I desire)

I'm no older than I was and no younger than I wish to be

And if I am wiser, it's because I've learned

That what I'm looking for cannot be found here.

I touch the items in my luggage one last time

To thank them for accompanying me

We have shared many things, these treasures and I

(And not all of them terrifying)

If inanimate objects can feel anything,

I'm sure they feel my gratitude and devotion

And having done that, I square my shoulders,

Get a firm grip on the ragged, black suitcase

And step into the road.

                  

©by Voo

March 7, 09

1:45 a.m.

I WAS BORN WITH WINGS

I Was Born With Wings

I was born with wings that were clipped from my young shoulders

After running wild and free on this grim earth

After two or three years of flying and living

Innocent and unconcerned with terrestial things and human pain

The loss of my wings brought me anguish

And sorrow and heartache and terror

That would shadow me the rest of my life

And never let me know that taste of freedom again

Feet cannot be compared to wings

Feet can only run, they cannot soar

They cannot take you high above the clouds

Of despair and over and beyond the awful things

That wait in darkness to grasp your soul

Feet cannot outrun the thing that runs behind you

Or crawls below you or slinks in front of you

But wings! Wings can lift you up and away

To heights untouched by life's tragedies and hell's demons

Wingless now, I can only run and run and run

Run toward Heaven, where I've been told 

My wings are waiting for me.

©by Voo

Feb 12, 2005 

2:30 p.m.

WINGLESS HORSES

wingless horses

and we were like wingless horses

running across the sky

pounding hooves like rolling thunder

fleeing from the clouds that cry

you and I, so much in love

you and I, so much in hate

you and I, too young to carry

all that worry, woe and weight

we didn’t know what we didn’t know

we didn’t see what we couldn’t see

our hearts would look for hidden treasures

found only inside you and me

days when love would pass like strangers

nights when dreams would burn to ash

weeks when life would slice our fingers

as it hurried by so fast

and then it slowed and then it stopped

and then it drowned in pouring rain

and then it died of great neglect

and then it came to life again

great breaking hearts inside our breasts

grew stronger with each pain and tear

no separation put asunder

the union of our love and fear

you and I, we fought like lions

you and I, we sang like birds

you and I, we killed each other

with our passion and our words

but we rose up like wingless horses

that didn’t know they couldn’t fly

and raced the winds that blew against us

let them raise us up so high

until we reached the pinnacle

until we left the lowest depths

leaving madness far behind us

and sang to love with our last breaths.

©by Voo

Aug 6, 2012

2:00 a.m.

THE TRUNK

The Trunk

Unbuttoned buttons
Falling out of an old trunk
Stuffed with mildewed lace
And blue ribbons barely
Holding together ancient love letters
Browned with age and turning to dust
At a touch.
There, a faded photograph lies
'Neath cobwebby frames and old air
Remnants of a life long dead,
A love still living in a distant past.
I hear the sweetness of a tiny bit of violin,
Muffled girlish laughter,
Shoes with elaborate bows dancing dainty steps
As the face in the photograph looks down
From his towering height into shining blue eyes.
A pocket watch with exquisite chain of gold
A lock of auburn hair inside a locket
A pressed flower so old, I cannot tell what it had been
A book of Keats, it's sanctuary........
And a prayer book with a scribbled prayer in spidery hand
"Please, please, please, dear Lord
Let this be the night he asks me!"
Underneath a wedding veil, a Bible with crumbling cover
Inside, the marriage recorded for all the world to see
Oh, happy, happy day! She has written in bold letters
And I feel the joy and smile at her rejoicing.
In a brocaded box, a baby's tooth, a curl tied with thread
A christening dress, what used to be a doll
With reverent hands I pull the items towards me
Breathe in the musty memories they eminate
And gently place them back inside the trunk.
In the corner, stuck inside a seam, I see a picture
Creased and faded almost into non existence
The woman's blue eyes, still shining, still full of love
Sitting in a rocking chair, holding a doll 
As though it was her sole salvation.
No gown of yellow adorned her frame
And I could not hear the violin's tender trill
But I knew that it was her
And for a moment, it flashed into my mind
That she could see me seeing her
See me holding the remnants of her life
Celebrating her little victories
And great, great losses
Now silently announced by the ugly black dress
And by an unspeakable sorrow on a yet young face.
"I'm so sorry." I whisper 
And close the trunk in slow retreat
Passing an ancient mirror standing like a portal
To another world in that dusty, forgotten attic,
I catch a glimpse of my own face surrounded by untidy curls
With similar eyes and inherited sadnesses
It is her face there staring back at me
"It is our face." I think and touch my rounded belly
With a new mother's hands
Perhaps, it'll be her face, too. And I'll bring her here
To see where she came from, how strong the genes imparted
How thick the blood, how deep the love that survives the sorrow
Down through the ages 
And imprinted on the cherished things she touched
Almost disintegrated now
But living still
Inside that dusty trunk.


by Voo
© May 14, 07 3 p.m.