Sweet Charlie, Long Gone

January 21, 2008 at 1:40 am (Poetry) (, , , , )


The sea…

The foam kissed my bare feet as I ran…

In my memory, I play always at the edge

And laugh as I hold my sundress down in the wind

And laugh as I hold wet cloth away from bare skin…

    Once as the sound of a melancholy violin

        drifted from a bungalow at dusk

 it nailed me in place;


So sad, it seemed to bleed onto the sunset colored sand,

riding atop the steady tumble of waves.

and yes, the music was in the foam that licked my toes

and yes, I thought the man morose

to play such a sad song

             when the world of the ocean was at his feet as well as mine…

I found out later he was as handsome close

As he was mesmerizing from afar

                                        and quite charming.

I had a weakness for black hair and dark eyes even then.

I thought I would never find anyone else so worldly

Never anyone so refined…

as he gracefully played his aged violin,

As he carefully played me.

I played the innocent,

played the piano,

played him.

I remember thinking we played well together; our music, our games…

He said we came together well, smiling as he said it.

So shameless and debonair,

                       sweet Charlie, long gone.



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After All These Years

January 16, 2008 at 7:00 am (Poetry, RefleXions) (, )



I don’t know why after all these years,

I’m still surprised

When the purity of your voice,

The purity of your talent,

Wraps me in a womb

Of calm, warm alpha waves

That fills the holes in my heart


To mould a song from thin air

That you coax to grow,


Like giving birth to a thing of perfection,

Its notes a double-helix of DNA notes

With not a single protein out of place,

Not a rest or a sixty-fourth note wrong

Or misshapen.

It’s a miracle indeed.

The sound takes me to

So many places

In the center of a universal soul

All placid and full of downy soft dreams.

With never a sharp corner or ragged edge

To tear my peace asunder.

I don’t know why after all these years,

I’m still surprised

When the sparkle in your eyes

Tells me you’re happy

Long before the words are said.

Somehow, the world would hold

Hands beneath you if it could.

It’s karma, I think…

For all the wounds you’ve healed

For the hearts you’ve held in your hands

And failed to crush when you could have.

So many want nothing more from you

Than to know that you’re happy.

It’s a miracle indeed.

© 2007 C. Harter Amos

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