6/6 to 6/9/10

Blue Sky, Sunday Morning 6/9/10

It should've rained
Storms should have raged
against the follies of heaven
Or a dark fog blanketing the world
a grey coat of despair
where we could hide our shame
There should've been mist in the morning sky
to paint things in a softer light
It should've been but no
There was a blue sky
that Sunday morning
bathing the world in warmth and joy
when everything changed
and you told me goodbye

Tom Waits Girl 6/8/10

She will forever be
my Tom Waits girl
Whenever I hear his sad, romantic songs
I will think of her
and whether I weep or smile
will depend on the song
and my memories
of my Tom Waits girl

6/7/10

I love the lonesome sounds
the train whistle
the buoy's bell
the fog horn on a misty night
The passing sound of a lone car
driving on a winding road at 3 a.m.
They are the music of my life
a symphony for all the orphans
in rented rooms and coffee shops
cubicles and cubbyholes
for all the liars and losers and the lost
like me

Exile 6/6/10

Will I someday grow to love
this hot dry place
Will it find its way into my soul
Or will the ocean always claim me
Call to me
Haunt me
For I have known it all my life
The taste of salt on my lips
The damp touch of the spray
The intermitent roar
Perhaps, someday
I will love this hot dry place
but the Pacific will always hold my soul

Copyright Ryan Cole, 2010