Mike Meraz

Posted on by lkthayer

image1

1

You finally say
I love you
And she doesn’t
Run
Or reciprocate

She just says
“You shouldn’t
Have said that”
Which is good
Enough

The next day
She comes over
A little bit
Sweeter

A little bit
Kinder

Some of the
Edges have
Been smoothed
Out

She gives you
A hug upon
Entering

You realize
You made the
Right
Decision

You waited
Long
Enough.

••••••••••••••••••••••

2

You are a
Matisse
Painting

I am a
18th century
Sculpture

We are two
Pieces of
Art

One quiet
As stone

The other
Filling the room
With
Color.

•••••••••••••••••••••••

3

She is now
Back
And I can listen
To sad music
Again

There is nothing worse
Than a love song
When you yourself
Are heart-broken

But now she is
Back

And the stars
Are lined up
Again

The earth is
Well

At least
The Part
Under my
Feet.

 

Mike Meraz

Lemon Tree

Posted on by lkthayer

lemons

Photo by L.K. Thayer

Lemon Tree Song Lyrics – Peter, Paul & Mary

When I was just a lad of ten, my father said to me,
“Come here and take a lesson from the lovely lemon tree.”
“Don’t put your faith in love, my boy”, my father said to me,
“I fear you’ll find that love is like the lovely lemon tree.” 

Lemon tree very pretty and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat.
Lemon tree very pretty and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat. 

One day beneath the lemon tree, my love and I did lie
A girl so sweet that when she smiled the stars rose in the sky.
We passed that summer lost in love beneath the lemon tree
The music of her laughter hid my father’s words from me: 

Lemon tree very pretty and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat.
Lemon tree very pretty and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat. 

One day she left without a word. She took away the sun.
And in the dark she left behind, I knew what she had done.
She’d left me for another, it’s a common tale but true.
A sadder man but wiser now I sing these words to you: 

Lemon tree very pretty and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat.
Lemon tree very pretty and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of the poor lemon is impossible to eat.

Fruit for Thought…

Posted on by lkthayer

SR Oranges

(My homeboy “Stevie Ray” guarding the tangerines. – LK Thayer)

“The playwright Edward Albee has characterized [the suddenness of the appearance of fruits and flowers in evolutionary history] as ‘that heartbreaking second when it all got together: the sugars and the acids and the ultraviolets, and the next thing you knew there were tangerines and string quartets.”
― Adam Leith Gollner, The Fruit Hunters: A Story of Nature, Adventure, Commerce, and Obsession

Wendy Rainey

Posted on by lkthayer

 

London1984-FB

The Buskers

The punk rock girls came to my room with daffodils that they had snatched from someone’s garden. They said they were looking for someone to play with. The dark haired girl set her violin on the bed, took a flask from her jeweled purse and poured some scotch into a glass she found by the sink. She handed it to me. I took the glass, glancing at the dried toothpaste on the rim before I downed it. The redhead pulled her ukulele out of a bag and began strumming. She asked me if I could sing, did I play any instruments. The dark haired girl took an apple and two oranges from my desk and began juggling them, her cigarette dangling from her mouth, ash falling on the floor. I motioned for her to throw the fruit to me. She threw an orange, then an apple, then another orange. I juggled in front of the girls as they talked on the sofa. The dark haired girl had woven blue flowers into her hair which was piled up on her head in an enormous bun. In the center of the bun were several tiny plastic babies in different stages of distress. Some of the babies were crawling down the side of her head. The redhead had freckles and a short haircut that made her look like a teenage boy from the front. But from behind a long thin braid hung down her back, tied with a green bow. She began playing her ukulele again. Both girls sang Dream A Little Dream, their voices intertwining with the melody. Still juggling, I joined in. When we were finished the redhead put her ukulele back in her bag and went to the mirror to apply her lipstick. The dark haired girl slipped her flask back into her sparkling bag, grabbed her violin and said, “C’mon, we’re goin’ buskin’ in Piccadilly.” I put my coat on and as we walked toward the door I told the dark haired girl to leave my 5 pounds on the desk where she had found it. She took my 5 pound note from her bra and put it on the desk. I turned to the redhead and pointed to her left jacket pocket, “My necklace, please.” She reached into her pocket and dropped the necklace into my hand. We walked out the door singing Tiptoe Through The Tulips in falsetto through the hallway as we made our way out to the sidewalk and onward to Piccadilly Circus.

Wendy Rainey