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serenity signal
by Gabriel RicardIt’s one of those places hidden
somewhere amongst the hedge maze alleys
of garbage, aluminum, brick and red smoke.
I knew a guy who ran down one of those
in pursuit of a troubled fiancé,
and nobody saw him again for six years.
When he returned it was a lot
of dusty black coats and black marble eyes. Black hats
and eerily accurate predictions about the people
who continue to keep the faith in spite
of far-reaching political disasters.
If you run into that uneasy friend of mine,
if you’re up to your knees in rain puddles,
up to your eyebrows in sirens and whiz kid vultures,
then I’m going to say you’ve gone too far.
You have to pay more attention than usual.
We don’t go crazy around here. We keep it together
and celebrate birthdays every ten years.
Around here
there’s worse things to do
than win a drinking contest on a Wednesday morning.
And it’s something of an unspoken rule that no one
should fall in love more than once in a pre-determined lifetime.
No one around here is terribly smart,
but we have stories to tell around the campfires
that can be seen from the heights of where men and women
pay a fantastic price to walk, talk and dress like angels.
You have to act like you’ve been here before.
Leave your car with those out-of-work teenagers
and trust yourself the way someone else might.
It’s not far. You’ll make it if you can stay sober
for at least an hour. The twists and turns are perfectly reasonable
to anyone who’s believed for years that life
is like one of those board games where the rules
are in six different languages and up for constant debate.
You have to swear you know the territory.
Even if it’s just a few slurred photographs
from the end of a long dream that woke you up
with serious force and shook your trust for years to come.
Because if you find this place,
then you’re probably going to find her
waiting right at the front door.
Or him.
Whatever.
I’m not here to have a conversation,
and I’m not here to believe your intentions are good.
In my case I’m here to do some growing up
and account for at most three-fourths of my more serious sins.
You could say
I’m up for anything
that will get the ball rolling.
12/21/2010 Posted on 12/21/2010
Copyright © 2024 Gabriel Ricard
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 12/22/10 at 03:35 AM I'm liking this very much. You always have places to take the reader, and I'm always up for the ride. Stanza four, to be gives the reader a clear and concise "update", a narrative summation that makes me want to lean out the window, or on the horn, or back, ready for more. A poem that proves we can't do with the dancing entirely...thank goodnes for poetry there's alway alot of unfinished business. Delighted. Thanks. |
| Posted by V. Blake on 12/22/10 at 06:02 AM Remarkable. You are truly peerless, man. |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 12/22/10 at 12:32 PM ...gabe, i'm getting better at reading your work[joke!]. i got on this and when i finished, i re-read it backward-like; i'll soon know all your secrets,... and ...'in my case of why you are "there" '; genius. |
| Posted by Ken Harnisch on 12/24/10 at 05:37 AM Lines and stanzas tug and pull at me, demand my reading and re-reading, which is the secret seduction of a long Ricard poem, I'm beginning to think. Ah well, consider me seduced...again! |
| Posted by Tony Whitaker on 12/24/10 at 06:49 PM I come by this site, maybe once or twice a month and drop in a poem or two. Always, there is gabe and O'Neil in the top ten. Like a tropical forest, the rain of your poetry is always feecing the roots of my tree of inspiration. Keep on trucking dude! Brilliant! |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 12/29/10 at 02:22 PM I guess there's something for everyone in this one. I especailly like this stanza: No one around here is terribly smart,
but we have stories to tell around the campfires
that can be seen from the heights of where men and women
pay a fantastic price to walk, talk and dress like angels.
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