balloons

any other night

flecked with flashes

small surprises

notes bouncing: balloons

circus light swoons

balloons off the wall

pop pop squeak and

pop balls (mostly

red) sticking to you

companions in your

dance

floating into the hundred

watt bulb and bursting

pop! pieces fall at

your feet flightless

balloons.

---------

NOTES:

Andy Laties and his sister, during his Child's Play days

My friend Andy Laties, author, bookseller, and musician extraordinaire, when he performed with me in Child's Play had an interesting practice of carrying black balloons in his pocket. He said that they were weather balloons because black is easier to see in the sky.

Andy carried these balloons and would randomly offer one to someone he'd just met. He'd pull it from his pocket, inflate it fast (a wind-instrument musician he has excellent breath control) and hand it to the stranger who would now be his friend. No conditions and no expectations, just a free black balloon.

Charming.

That has nothing to do with this poem, but mentioning balloons always reminds me of Andy.

Oh, and yes, you really should read Andy's books.

Book and Puppet Company: https://bookandpuppet.com/

Rebel Bookseller: https://bookandpuppet.com/item/JfyTu211AvS6DUwZrcr2Nw

Son of Rebel Bookseller: https://bookandpuppet.com/item/-xqxnISJ0wDCLnFHuj17yw

The Music Thief: https://bookandpuppet.com/item/QZ_xa5QNxDYVQiJrwkATPg

Living Ur Sonata: on Google books here.

A more recent photo of Andy

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about you

something sincere about you nurtures honesty open; childlike, free so few ever knew such fearless listening something warm about you presses the passion in me with clenching senses, loving exceeding even love something radiant within you soothingly sends comfort assurance, confidence, calm distinctively grounded with you only you so much special in total about you levels beyond my understanding but firmly with the grasp of my appreciation and wonder and awe not on a pedestal something removed from any gaze unassailably you douglas brent smith

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i became aware of the poetry of existance and of the artistry of her voice of her thin, gentle fingers and the honesty of her eyes 1973

douglas brent smith

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