DON EDWARDS

 

DON EDWARDS

Foxfire

 

I was there when the forest floor glowed like vigor —

Its brilliance a mystic change from dull to bright —

A chance discovery where no thing was altered but all was born in light —

Not a moon’s reflected glow but a spark emanating from within —

A cool but constant effulgence that turned the mundane to delight.

 

I can’t forget the angelic brightness within the night’s dark curtained scene.

Green eyes blazing as forest floor cast shadows into the gloom,

The untouchable thing that turns the unnoticed to fascinating and unique —

A new thing not to be ignored full of a timely brief magic

That is freely given — then as quickly removed. 

 

To have that yet again would be my greatest thrill.

 

But then this life ends — Its attraction disappears.

The darkness resumes as the excitement clears. 

All fades along with the glow — Its fire extinguished —

Its life complete although the bodies remain.

The daylight replaces the mystic spark, overpowers the delicate incandescent blush. 

Like life itself, special and delicate and brief only there for a moment then cooled and dark, Gone as a memory with nostalgic longing — Fairies luminescence — A cool and fiery bliss no more.

 

Joshua Tree

 

It’s the silence at first that declares the indifference of the place

Without sirens, absent cell phones — no music or lawnmowers. 

Then a sudden blur of light coats all in its orange obsession.   

The panorama is immobile colored sequential by the surrounding air.

 

Life is there — little life — lizards, cottontails.

These skitter and hop across the surface and through the enveloping quiet 

Each absorbing the character of sand and the portent of dusty scrub

Which, arid and empty of emotion, awaits the moment to strike. 

 

With boulders scattered across its gritty girth, solid and smooth,

An old man’s worried pate rises from the sandy depth

A sunning place for lizards, radiating the energy of the place

A sandy dome in a hot quiet world of suspect peace.

 

Here is empty and independent of thought or concern

Nearer to the stars than the moon is, closer to the end than a last breath.

Each step is laid careful — thoughtful and precise

Since the threat is real of an insubstantial, unctuous, and omnipresent maw.

 

One must pass through the gate with coin in hand — one final requirement

No line no waiting, no one else to ride, no others but rocks airless and hot. 

We are desert sand tinted by the light of our environs

Anomalous in puddles that evaporate with each day, leaving desiccated veins shrunken and splayed.

 

Sandy domes piled high become mountains of random skulls hard and dry.

These beckon the newly arrived to lounge in their minimal shade for awhile

Until the world is familiar and the light less dramatic

Until this world which is the end startles less and becomes familiar.

 

It’s The End

 

We woke up in the garden in a world made just for us

It lay to the horizon and ran smooth without a fuss

Then we broke a rule ‘bout eating, never thinking it was much

But when we covered up our privates there was nothing to discuss

It’s the end

It’s the end oh my friend

It’s the end oh my friend

It’s the end of the story and the time to leave is now

It’s the end oh my friend

 

The bearded man built a boat to haul us all away

But we thought that he was looney so we told him we would stay

Then it started raining — bringing floods and winds and such

And we watched the boat sail out of sight with nothing more to say

It’s the end

It’s the end oh my friend

It’s the end oh my friend

It’s the end of the story and the time to leave is now

It’s the end oh my friend

 

Another came to save us but we thought we were all right

He promised love and brightness to take away the night

We thought he wasn’t tough enough — we want a stronger touch 

Then he went upon his skyward way and left us to our fright

It’s the end

It’s the end oh my friend

It’s the end oh my friend

It’s the end of the story and the time to leave is now

It’s the end oh my friend

 

It’s the end of the story and it’s time to move along

Everybody’s got an itch to scratch — a choice of right or wrong

Sometimes it’s hard to know exactly what to do

That’s the purpose of the verses and the moral of the song.

It’s the end

It’s the end oh my friend

It’s the end oh my friend

It’s the end of the story and the time to leave is now

It’s the end oh my friend

 

An Empty Page Is A Scary Thing

 

An empty page is a scary thing like a bright light in an empty room

Which casts upon nothing where something would help define the place.

But here is the white blank space of the unknown and the yet to come. 

Then the stark black type slowly spreading across its face

Begins to bring a thing which then defines and limits all abilities

And as such gives it form removing all other possibilities —

This is the beauty and the horror of it —

Where nothing is infinite something is most definite.

 

What is not can be anything perhaps something to love.

Once it is, opinions enter and try to decide its worth.

Unlikely it is to deserve praise as if it dropped from heaven above

Its angles will likely be compared to previous designs from out the earth.

Once begun each stroke removes a world of choices

Limiting what becomes to be decided by human voices.

 

On That Day

 

On that day, just drag me out by the ankles

And leave me by the street with the stripped down Christmas trees

And the soiled ratty sofas with exploded cushions like shotgun wounds.

 

DON EDWARDS

 

DON EDWARDS’ poems generally consider the topics of Love and Death, which is all that matters. He is also the founding member of True Gospel Bookstore which records his poems as songs. (There is no bookstore.)  These songs can be heard on all streaming services.  Also, he has recorded some poems for the True Gospel Bookstore website. If you would like to hear them, go to the “Book of Poems” page at www.truegospelbookstore.com. Mr Edwards lives in Los Angeles.