home a safe place to land
   unpublished poetry
a message from the bunker
It was not meant to be an odyssey,
Leviathan escape. Some unravel
time is all, to add a wing but not
rebuild the nest. A few fortnights
of coming down from drafty stages,
scary plains, aging airplanes. Too
many mornings waking in The
Grand and Not So Grand
Hotel Where Am I.

It should have been poco
divertimento from the second
act, intermission from the dead
line, time lapse from whatever.
A never time to reason out,
or out run reason. But lazy
months not monitored will
prance and promenade to
years. This easy conga line
may then go on a few more
eons 'til the fickle decades
whirl away with other partners
to the next slam dance event.

To some I had an easy death
out there in a poppy field. Or I
rolled over with some handsome
woman, or some pretty man until
we both rolled off the last horizon.
The truth was not so lovely but
we'll never know it you and me.
Every question does not need
A fancy dancer answer man.

Thank you for waiting. Guess I
knew you would. Others took up
Others to help them hoist their
banners. Glad they did. Well
they should. I've come back to
help you shoulder our old flags
and unfurl our new devices. Guess
you knew I would. Your graying
minstrel boy who hangs about
till all the lights go out Your Johnny
Jump Up Appleseed a-planting,
spring or not so spring is here
and home again. Harvest time
will have to wait till harvest time.

Have you seen my old partners,
tea dance mates, from all those
odd cotillions, boogie bar affairs?
Should you, tell them I'll be there
In all the new pavilions with a
pencil ready and my decade dance
card not yet filled with fox trot
promises and leisure dates.

Hello in there. We will rendezvous
Again. Guess you know we will.

Copyright 1998 by Rod McKuen & Stanyan Music Group. All rights
reserved and no part may be reproduced in any form without written
permission of owners.
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