The Marvelous Time Machine
You give me a ride on your bicycle this day.
The spring rain is warm
but in a fair downpour.
We shelter in a world of our devisin',
between the old stone wall and your bicycle.
Under my umbrella, you call me Sweetheart,
and wipe the rain from my face.
You let me sit on your jacket.
I let you kiss my lips three times.
We find there our marvelous time machine.
It begins with those three
kisses.
I whisper in your ear,
"Do you remember?"
I am six, darlin'
and you a great
lad of eight.
Your Ma bid you walk me to school.
Shocked to be stuck with a girl,
in a dress, which must
be kept clean,
you tell me I have freckles big as your Da's spotted hog.
You chase me at tag.
You chase
only me.
'Tis high summer, love,
and you and I have been married a year and a day.
Despite the
evening's cool
the old stone wall still holds the sunshine.
You joke about your huge supper,
understandin'
that I grew up
never cookin' for less than twelve a sittin'.
I tell you there will soon enough be three
of us to cook for.
You and I, dear heart,
we've walked a child to the church to be wed this day.
I have had a bit too much to drink,
and I climb into your lap in front of everyone.
You tell me I'm as beautiful
as when we wed
and you kiss my lips three times.
I tell you if you don't mind leavin' the party a bit soon
I'll make it worth the price of prayer on Sunday.
The marvelous time machine awaits,
turned perhaps
to yesterday, a year ago, or five and twenty past.
I sit on your jacket on the old stone wall.
I nip your ear and
you say, "Aye, lass, that, I remember. "
We lean against each other as we slowly stroll along.
You
have grown old with my arm about your waist.
I have grown old with your arm about my shoulders.
you tug my gray
braid, and my heart is a child.
You touch my wrinkled cheek, and my blush is seventeen.
I kiss your lips three
times,
and from behind closed eyes
I can't quite remember in which when we are.
Midsummer Dreams
Come to
me, in the half-moon light
with wind braided shadows in your unbound hair.
Hair of fire, eyes of water,
skin
of spider silk and thistle down.
Come to me entranced in twilight,
to dwell yet briefly in midsummer dreams.
I will prepare for you with head shaved close
and two rings of heavy silver in the ear
that holds the whispered
"aye"
to a question once asked long ago.
I will wait for you in simple robe, once of deepest purple,
faded now to soft and suble shade by countless journeys.
Meet me where the river runs wide to hold the moon
and the night holds fireflies and shooting stars.
Run swift along the meadow path
and swifter yet past the line
of ancient trees.
Meet me in flowing shift with mist soaked hem
and bare feet soaked with dew.
Stand
before me, well met in time again,
and I will send the river from my two cupped hands
to softly flow through feathered
lashes
and make its waterfall from off a freckled nose.
With two fingers of my right hand
I will trace our
river's course past smiling lips.
In water and time then, let old pain be healed
in your pure soul that
ever sought the good.
Hand to hand then, let promises be kept
within your spirit rich with warmth and power.
Face to face then, let secrets too long bound be free
and your heart's broken strings led back to harmony.
I will have one kiss then, lass,
in that fey land between the dusk and dawn.
One kiss begun with toes curled
fast in mud and sand.
One kiss that tastes of river water and flows as deep.
One kiss bound by fiery tresses tangled
round us both.
One kiss I dare to claim as I would have dared so long ago.
Then, as I must, I will cradle
you within my arms
as the cool water lifts your limbs,
and then your heart, and last our kiss.
I will watch
you float away in ever faster flow,
your gown and hair in underwater dance,
until the river takes you, dreaming,
far.
I will let the night sounds sing around me,
basso profundo frog, a counterpoint of currents,
fish splash drawn to surface by the shining moon.
I will let the wind talk this night with the shadowed forest.
And I, weary traveler, earth bound bard,
I will be silent as I turn away.
Note from Siggy:
Audiences at Coffeehouses where Eydie often reads her work have
fallen under the spell she weaves in poems composed about her life at Hominy Ridge, where she resides with her husband, Sammy,
and dogs, cats and even bees. I can testify to her magic first hand. She has published one book,"September
Butterfly" accented by her husband's beautiful photography. More about her life can be found at her web site
"Adventures With Sammy and Eydie".
The Adventures Of Sammy and Eydie
