Berkeley Street
Fondest memories
edges blurred -
dimpled bottles,
emptied of their tricolour liquid,
shuffling their wonky necks
as deafening Buckley vibrations
aid the rhythms of life fall slow;
candlelight is low.
Deep couch conversations,
screaming gentle wisdoms
in each others’ ears
as Jeff wails through the speakers,
singing love and sorrow.
Thoughts and secret chords,
dance and synthesize
amongst smokey dimness,
plumes rolling over together,
wind blowing in an invocation -
timeless monks’ chiming in the distance.
Piling hours of endless expression
flit past in a seconds glimpse,
uttering worlds of words,
figuring out the ways of the universe,
delving into each others’ minds,
retrieving and receiving
precious pearls of truths unknown,
exhausting our tongues
til we heard the shepherds warning,
the flaming red horizon
scream our names,
in a world spinning round forever;
I sleep tonight on your couch.
Wrote this about my late friend Daivid "Barbie" Lord. He lived on Berkeley Street and we loved listening to Jeff Buckley together.
