Always Fair

We moved through vistas of noise and color

as illusion played out its spectacle

through light and scent,

walking through a maze of yesterday

memory plays its timely tricks

seeking out of solace our imagined perception

of what was and is now not.

Yearly tradition like familiar dreams

grab us eagerly like children

dragging us into the good times left behind

and we look back as we grow dark and grey,

missing those fast paced colorful moments

wondering if our life left us

as the train pulled out-of-town

destination bound to the next stop

somewhere East

where the sun would greet a new day

and a new band of children eager

to make memories.

We won the prizes through sweat and tears

as fists full of dollars flowed like water in goldfish tanks

and I-Got it balls bounced aimlessly down the midway,

a lost red orb kicked off to the side unseen

by passers-by.

I know the scent of my youth

for I have lived it each year of my 49,

until now not having missed a piece

and I look back and know it’s okay

’cause the train took me into that sun

where I knew the colors I needed were a turquoise sea

and a sky that is unmatched.

I rode the ride of a wave,

unchecked and not tethered in for fear

as I smelled the scent of salted air,

so sweet like caramel to me,

and this land a piece of history

more for circus than for fair

but it is where I chose,

it is where I meet the fair of my dreams

in sleep it comes to me,

the precious memories

never left behind like empty lots

where the magic happened,

but where the sounds rise up to meet

a thousand bits of color

in the stars that now teach me of quiet

and peace

and no need for the thrill

of yesterday now gone.

This image was taken at the Erie County Fair, photographer unknown. I spent at least a day if not more every year for all of my life, inhaling the aromas of sausage and peppers/onions, fried dough, caramel corn, roasted corn….the list is endless, although I always had to have my piece of Louies pizza….as if you couldn’t get pizza everyday from anywhere…it was just a tradition, a staple of my experiences there. With moving to Florida, I missed it this year and I’m okay with that….there’s always next year….but I wouldn’t trade a day there for the afternoon storm clouds, the lightning storms, and the stunningly gorgeous blue green water of the gulf. To me, the trade-off is, lets just say, Fair.


I love the flow, almost static like and I hope you enjoy it. Please click on the original to comment on this lovely piece.

ink in sky

The cottage was long, settled in the grass with a pleasant grunt
Everything fit
The whole world compressed
And gently shaped
We spent a summer there My room was mint green with rocks everywhere And a mirror in a green frame encrusted with cheap, faded rhinestones. My bed was near the window with copper rocks on the white sill dull hay lines running through their sides And the ceiling sloped down towards the other night The living room was downstairs with big windows looking out to glowing tin roof sea The kitchen cupboards were full of labelled jars We loved cinnamon so much the whole cottage smelt of it No one could decide if the smell was sweet or savoury We weighed everything down with sun warmed rocks That's what rocks are for. Books, paper, plates, doors, and folded up clothes. The books in the house were all unknown thrillers…

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