Heart Problems, Heartbroke

Heart problems, heartbroke
Not the heart attack you call nine-one-one for
Heart problems, emotional stroke
Can’t live like this, won’t do it any more

My warm heart been cold from years of neglect
Now she says no one can love me like she can
never heard her say that or anything like it
where did that thought come from
Don’t trust the words, she can turn cold in a heartbeat
Is her change of heart real
or born of fear that she may lose me or what I am for her
I’ve been there for her, I’m there for everyone
Who is here for me

Heart problems, heartbroke
Not the heart attack you call nine-one-one for
Heart problems, emotional stroke
Can’t live like this, won’t do it any more

Built a life together for years, her life really
Sprinkles of my life dot the landscape
Woman of my dreams is a distant memory
Fooled myself too long, want to escape
I’ve been there for her, I’m there for everyone
Who is here for me

Heart problems, heartbroke
Not the heart attack you call nine-one-one for
Heart problems, emotional stroke
Can’t live like this,
don’t want to live like this
won’t do it any more

Woke Up Dreaming

What’s the crime in dreaming?
In wanting what I want
In expecting I might get it?

Dreams of things, people, connection
Dreams, lost dreams, dashed dreams
I don’t get it.

Had what I dreamt of for many years
Woke up one year and the dream had died
Not the person, just the dream

A slow death, for me
But none for her, she says, crying gallons of tears.
I never dreamed that scene.

Maybe she was just made up in my imagination all along
And I just didn’t know it.
No dead dream for her; still loves me?
How was I supposed to know?
She didn’t show it
Till now.

Even if I believe, it’s probably too late.
Woke up with other dreams.
What’s the crime in that?
What’s the crime in dreaming?

If No One

If no one's in the forest
when the tree falls
does it really make a sound?

If someone's home
when no one calls
does it really make a difference?

Hum Along

I wrote this almost twenty years ago and just found it buried with some other things last night.

The fluid movement
of mouth, tongue and fingers
leads to squeals, sighs and sounds of joy,
applause if it's a good performance;
songs of love come
out the end of the
horn - e
flat, b natural, c sharp,
hear music;
blow it
hard,
make it sing;
jacket off,
collar unbuttoned,
hollar if
you like it,
hum along.
There's nothing
like good sax.

Where are You?

Where are you?
You were always there for me
but now you’re not.
Where are you?
You taught me well,
but I always thought you’d be
here to see what I learned from you.
But you’re not.
Where are you?
Heaven: myth or reality?
If it’s real, you’re there,
tinkering in the workshop.
If not, then
where are you, Dad?

The Path

Flying down a rocky path
full speed
on two wheels;
blind curves ahead.
What’s beyond?
More curves?
The edge?
An incline?
Do I really want to know
what’s on life’s path?
Or is discovery the fun part?

Mirror Image

When you look in the mirror
who do you see?
The old man you are
chronologically?
The young man you wish
you still could be?
Your Dad? Your Mom?
“Is that really me?”