The Bridge

posted May 20, 2009, 11:48 AM by David Storlie   [ updated Aug 23, 2010, 11:16 AM ]

I'm still
my breath over
that bridge

drowning resistance
shallows of those
longing waves

steel girders above
my vitals inflexible swell
though harsh gusts
and the rivers influence

I'm still
my breath.

rush the damp 
of my skin
I will emerge above
those cold waters

under the bridge
I can't seem to breathe
to fill these lungs
I'm still holding my breath.



EABcapo 2


posted May 20, 2009, 11:47 AM by David Storlie   [ updated Feb 17, 2015, 8:32 PM ]

/dandelion/ (Webster's)
...common plant, having a milky,
perennial root, naked stalk, deeply notched
leaves and a single large, yellow flower... 

You are a dandelion
no flower blooms 
so bright and quick

A dandelion
You wither yet appear again
like magic

Those dandelions in every green field
I see them and dream
Each field was your bed

Your dandelion marked me 
with its stain 
telling all of deflowering

Your dandelion's bloom
lit on a single wing

Those dandelions in every green field
I see them and dream
each field was your bed

Just one, a dandelion
soft as butter, flowers
spread like wildfires

You are a dandelion
no flower blooms as bright 
and quick

You are a dandelion
you appear a million times
like magic

Didn't Mean to Wake You

posted May 20, 2009, 11:41 AM by David Storlie

You tell me not
to open my voice
when you're sleeping
and never take you
into my arms
if you're dreaming

You tell me not to touch you
when your fantasy land has come
and you escape your demon
but how did I lose the girl
who always used to keep me
from sleeping.

You tell me not to play
my guitar when you're dreaming
of course I shouldn't
kiss you
my lips obstruct
your breathing

You tell me that you'll leave me
if I don't give
you time to relax
But when did I lose the girl
who always kept me never
from sleeping.

I told you
"I have written a song
just this evening"
But you whispered
"tomorrow my love,
I'm dreaming"

I said to you
"Our future is gone
if tomorrow offers nothing
but dreaming."
I want you to
share those things
that make you wish
you always were sleeping.


posted May 20, 2009, 11:38 AM by David Storlie   [ updated Aug 23, 2010, 11:15 AM ]

Some pile 
gray stones in fields
on top of the ridges
or even those bogs 
and marshes 
under the bridges.

These rectangled graves
with reeds and cat-tails 
swishing through
I saw from a Scottish Rail car
carried by in June.

Stones too small 
for houses or walls
to line along the bridges
fit just right 
in tight stubbled piles
on top of the ridges.

I'll go back when I'm gray 
and cracked
to gather stones and wander
through fields of hardy grass
to reap the health of summer.

But if one night 
I fall from a bridge
remember my bones;
bury me right
on top of the ridge
with a blanket of stones.

Irish Girl

posted May 20, 2009, 11:37 AM by David Storlie   [ updated Feb 17, 2015, 8:36 PM ]

I met a little
Irish girl
from New York
who grew up
on the wrong side
of her mind
all she ever wanted to do
was live deep
as the forest
but all her youth she was
the only tree in town.

She stood out
in Central Park
waiting for someone
to be a friend
but never dug
her roots down there
she spread her leaves
out westerly
from hills
to mountain climbs
she stopped when she reached
the tree-line.

And now she's planted
her seeds in the damp,
dirty topsoil.
She grew up taller and strong
as any else out there
while I was only
looking around
for another
better place to grow
she was bound nowhere
but straight
into the air.

I Watched Her

posted May 20, 2009, 11:36 AM by David Storlie   [ updated Jan 20, 2015, 10:49 AM ]

in a tree house near
the stream, she sweated 

rolling the backs of her
bare legs into the sun
and cooling her rich hair
in the shadows 

where the rest of her 
body fell didn't matter 
if anyone saw
she would call them 

close beneath her and the tree
where only her ankles
could be seen and the bottoms of 
her feet rubbing over the edge 

she thought she was alone
and so I watched her
sometimes she'd rise 
to be a fairy queen 

stretched to rule the wood
with a sheet over her back
she'd shed the white gown
to dance with branches groaning 

she waved a bunch of leaves
over the forest toward the trees
then she spread the sheet
dropped to her front to sleep
sweetly over the edge 

I climbed her tree to peek 
but I felt sneaky
she thought she was alone
and so I watched her 

like a cat that brushed below her skirt
and disappeared before
she could lift it up to see
what she was feeling 

I hid there
until summer days were evenings
under the branches of her tree
it was only me

looking over the edge 
she thought she was alone and so 
I watched her.

Lady Patience

posted May 20, 2009, 11:34 AM by David Storlie   [ updated Jan 27, 2010, 8:30 AM ]

I'm thinking of a lady with no patience
she's sitting down to try a pair of shoes.
She bared one naked foot and tensely waited
Her eyes shone bright with anger and reprove. 
She pulled tight in her hands the leather laces
and stood before the shoe salesman could move.
He fell back to the floor and hesitated
When he watched her running out with a stolen shoe. 
She turned the corner quickly and debated;
Should she run like a thief?
Should she seek some relief
In a cafe on a street
Where they would not know her by name. 
This woman without patience ordered latte.
I poured the milk, but it curdled at her stare.
I offered her espresso or a coffee.
She said she wanted it now, she didn't care. 
She spilled some as she limped 
back through the lobby.
I followed with a towel and knelt beside her chair.
She dumped on me the steaming cup of coffee.
Then stood right up and left me kneeling there. 
I saw her shoe and overviewed her body
As she ran out the door,
her cup smashed the floor.
She turned round a corner
And returned the stolen shoe. 
That night he brought the coffee shop his story;
I heard him tell a man on the leather stool.
When I looked up from the steamer I was frothing
and the salesman spoke until the milk was cool. 
I threw it out to grind some beans before he
Shot me a glance that said I was a fool.
I cursed and said "the steamer isn't working."
He chimed "Only a poor craftsman blames his tool." 
So I never told him my side of the story.
He'll never know what she did
when she came in and hid.
Ordered latte with a lid
and I served her coffee instead. 
I'm dreaming of that lady with no patience.
I hope she comes in wanting latte again.
She won't even need to pay me for a refill
if she wears a stolen glove upon her hand. 
I'd give her all she wanted just to see her
curdling milk with that hypnotizing fear.
I'm dreaming for that lady with no patience
to slap me with her glove and disappear.

Letter Writing Blues

posted May 20, 2009, 11:33 AM by David Storlie   [ updated Feb 17, 2015, 8:42 PM ]

I've been writing blues this evening
held my pencil as it cried.
Yes, I been scrawlin' blue and grieving
while the guitar whined I sighed
cause when I read your letters
the blues can't keep me satisfied. 

Teardrops keep me sinking
like a baby in a crib.
Tears will keep me drinking
like this baby needs a bib.
I can't seem to drown my sorrows
before I soak my head. 

If you were a cheatin' lover
I'd have my anger keep me warm.
If you were double-dealin'
I'd let anger keep me warm.
Though you may let me simmer
it's these miles that do the harm. 

My lips can take a beating
the've been long without a kiss.
My lips could use the breathing
they long to feel your kiss.
But my heart can't hold out woman
no more lonesome nights of this.

Magic Nest

posted May 20, 2009, 11:33 AM by David Storlie

Your eyes meet the moonshine
open wider than a sunrise
with a wink as short as dusk.

When they happen upon mine
I really can't tell you lies
they see clean through my husk.

Stars settle into the hills
after dipping through the night
and deep into the wine,

With little between our wills,
celestial bodies passing out of sight
discover your hands in mine.

Blindly feeling where we laid
our blankets over grass's tiny wands
making a magic nest.

The sound of coming waves
wakes us on love's warm sands
with your head upon my chest.

But something divides us
as we trace our dewy path by light
and keeps your thoughts from mine.

Clearly seeing where we lost
our clothing in the course of the night
to block the bright sunshine.

Your eyes meet the new day
squinting just like starlight
blinking out from time to time.

We'll come again another night
before the dimming of our lives
and then our hearts will twine.

That night we'll cast our shades
into pitch over the skies
to light forever's day.

Your eyes are the moonshine
your hair is always night
and your skin's the milky way.

Sick of Shadows

posted May 20, 2009, 11:31 AM by David Storlie   [ updated Aug 23, 2010, 11:14 AM ]

When you look at him
your eyes become moats
swirling around you
In a stream barely
as wide as the boat 
that promised your rescue.

I couldn't hear 
his sirens approach
When could you?
He was a crook 
with a name like Death
and he hooked you.

Your eyes cracked 
with tears at my side
I was your mirror
your world was my pride.
I made you think 
that it might be inside me
Hoping to keep you 
close and beside me.

You were the Lady of Shallott
Living dreams that would not sleep
Trapped in a castle 
where you were the keep
You can't even look 
out a window to see
Only at visions 
reflecting from me
Watching from angles 
you prayed to be free
Your curse could not see
your true beauty through me.

I shutter like the curious pictures 
that change when someone looks.
Burning with a furious passion 
unwritten in your books.
My eyes cracked 
with tears at your sigh.
I was your mirror
your shield and your lie
Hoping you could see 
a future within me
but knowing someday 
you would look beyond me.

When I see you dead
your lips 
to steam me
The crash 
of a shard 
of your kiss 
falling cleanly.

Then I reflected 
upon his approach. 
I begged you 
to see me.
You listened only 
to his bugles blow
and their shrill 

I am shattered 
with tears at your side.
I was just a mirror
your guilt and your pride.
Your dance crazed the loom 
that was our nest
it's web 
would surround you
Tangling your softest hair 
in his crest
as it's colors 
astound you.

I'm swept up 
in a furious river
that washed 
your tears away
when they stretched my frame
with curious pictures 
of the day 
you sailed away.

You were the Lady of Shallott
living visions I sought too.
I was your mirror you saw all 
my thoughts when I dreamed about you.
You said it was just
your reflection that bored you
So you never noticed 
how much I adored you.

Death freed you from 
the castle where I keep
reliving my dreams 
if and when I can sleep.
I can't even look 
out a window and see true
For the sea as a gravestone 
rolls constantly over you.

I'm swept up in the furious ocean
that floats past everyday.
All my life it's been that curious 
potion I drink to drift away.

You were the Lady of Shallott
living the visions I brought you.
In that mirror
I was a thin window beside you.
The visions I shadowed 
have shattered inside me.
Now only those fragments 
can reach me so deeply
as did the Lady of Shallott.

c  c/g f  capo 3  

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