Scottish Ballerina

for kameleon

read to the rythm of "Tiny Dancer" by Sir Elton John...

green-eyed baby
yukon lady
wordsmith without gain

emerald eyes
private smile
chameleon hides its pain

ballerina
i want to see you
dancing in the rain

and now you're in me
always with me
tobi thompson in my head

morning people in your way
free papers in your face
turning back, now you can sigh
the morning ride was not that bad

annie lennox and her band
in an auditorium
looking on you sing the songs
the words you know, the tunes you hum

but oh how it feels so real
lying here with no one near
only you and you can't hear me
when i say softly, slowly

"Hold me closer tobi thompson
Count the headlights on the highway
Lay me in Egyptian linen
I had a busy day today."

green-eyed baby
yukon lady
wordsmith without gain

emerald eyes
private smile
kameleon hides her pain

ballerina
i want to see you
dancing in the rain

and now you're in me
always with me
tobi thompson in my head...

...after Bernie Taupin

http://webexhibits.org/pigments/indiv/color/greens3.html

The End

for kameleon's "Paradox"

Demanding voice,
gnawing at my skull,
has crumpled me in the end.
Never heralded, I say goodbye...

Life

for the “Professor” (? - 2005)

The simple elegy
of a person's life experience
is impossible to decipher
through precious faded photographs
and strewn newspaper clippings...

Coffeehouse Shrink

for Gregory Paul Welling (1963-2006)

My friend's unwavering support,
tenaciously cemented in somber attentiveness,
is found hiding at the end
of his inescapable cigarette.

Days Without Daze

Although my life should mirror this eupeptic subterranean cycle of life, my brain chemistry will no longer allow it.
Long gone are the days of dazed commuting. Riding in tubes under the earth's surface. Walking amidst the rest of the financial district lemmings, without the slightest chance of missing the fresh air portal formerly known as the World Trade Center.
Gone too is the desire to kiss just one more self-important ass on the way to the top of the lower middle eschelon of some gigantic multinational megacorporation.
I'm now locked in the freedom of my own soul. Bound to the whimsy of my own thoughts. Having already outlived Buddy Holly and Elvis, I wonder if my candle has been snuffed by the apathy of my earthmates.
How much longer will I have to endure the ever-present butface of society. How many more raspberry mocha lattes are in my path?