a real live boy

I just wanted to be a real live boy.

I just wanted to dance, but refused.

I wanted to be bigger than me.
I wanted to let go of that bench.
I wanted a father who was not.    a sky around my arms.

I wanted threads to connect not bind.
I wanted to be not alone, but was, by my word.
I wanted a grilled cheese sandwich.
 
 
I want our distance to melt like sugar does.
I want poems to make a difference.    like meals do.
I want my child to grow.    tall corn reaching the feast.

I want this poem in a pie.

I want seeds to be my feet.    you will find me in weeds.    everywhere.

I want dawn to be fresh turned dirt.    new meanings eager to be.    and are.

I want close to be ripe apples on your limbs.
I want discovery to matter more than measured history.
I want dreams to keep their sleep.    let eyes answer more than doubts.

I want the world to change because I asked.    by world I mean you.
by change I mean raise your hand.

I want your world to look exactly like you.    I want leaves that rise and fall.
I want to share this poem with someone reading me.

I want words better spent upon your lips.

I want what is to be.    I will call it home.

I want wanting to be as water is.

I want a world bigger than my imagination.    your face in each dawn cloud.
 
 
imagine feet kissing earth.

imagine children being found, not lost.

imagine no discomfort without mending embrace.

imagine when you speak heart the world listens you.

imagine blooms like waves.    and the sea.

imagine enough.    that is who you are.

imagine your voice contains what you want life to be.    make it so.
 
 
my legs are trees that walk.
my arms are feathers rooted in sky.

my thoughts do what windows do.
my feelings are water.    and clouds.

my fingers are painting curious.

lips thirst for another thirst.
feet define my home, my shoes.
 
I am here to dance with you.
 
 
neil reid © 2015 october

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4 thoughts on “a real live boy

    1. the man from down there who grows no older. your attention I do appreciate and you’re a better man than me. although I do read what you write. I’ve felt mostly wordless for too too long. maybe still some mud at the bottom of this bucket. thank you Sean, good man.

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    1. Thank you Viv, kindly, thank you. I kind of disappeared, and for too long, too long. Although reading your blog, and I do, especially the pictures too, always keeps some thread, me to a lovely lady in so far away France. Could wish I were so well stitched as your fine quilts.

      Recently engaged with a small group to examine and open more of our artistic self including whatever parts of our histories (everything) that have impact that way – especially the child who still lives inside each of us (no matter how grey or missing my hair, the child remains). This poem, my Pinocchio story, is this child’s chance for more voice – what might have been, maybe still is, and just deserves this better place. Thank you Viv for listening.

      Liked by 1 person

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