Energy Sea

Energy Sea

Making modest proposals
but spouting mysterious lies.
Crashing down like a bird
in the pale blue sky.
Hungry children in the street
begin to cry.

While you always used to run around
with anyone you needed who could be found.
There was always wine
and those bound to confuse you.

But no I never did really care
you always standing
with that hazel razor stare.
You must have known I couldn't bear
to lose you.

They always did seem to keep in time
with the pale girl's bidding
in her chosen time.
I tried to follow every twist of mind
but I never did try, no, to abuse you.

Can you understand
what is happening?
I wouldn't mind telling you.
Should I tell you what is happening?
Even if each word
is now coming true?

Now if you think there's
too much energy
swirling like a hurricane
whipping up the sea
tearing chunks out of that barrier
between you and me.

Never did need to know
any of the answers.
Looking out for the
whispering misty minstrel dancers
while your thoughts were tangled
in a cancerous vulture claw.

No, I never did ever really care
you always standing
with that hazel razor stare.

I always did want to be near her
it was almost like looking in a mirror.
At the Christmas Carols
fighting back tears
watching her and the band
while the snakes would crawl.

I really just wouldn't mind telling you.
Should I tell you what is happening to us
even if it seems to have long since passed?

Looking into your eyes
thy're just like glass.
Always thinking about those things
in the past.
Wondering now if I should have asked.

Always acted as if I was
in some other place.
Like I was just another
in a crowd of faces.
If it were possible
these memories I would erase.

-Will Dockery / March 10 1977

The Sea Like Mirrors

The Sea Like Mirrors

Jimmy Green left one night quickly
drove off
headed back to his home
across the mountains.

Chasing his elusive dreams
out there
some day he'll drag them down.

If we could recapture those
days past
the days that have passed
into another twisted galaxy.

Would we ever know
if things did change
when he arrived and thrust
his influence on the stars.

Jimmy, Jimmy
in your rolling
Volkswagen turd
champ of the streets
King of Jive.
Monopoly master
friend to all
dangerous outlaw
from Outer Mongolia.

The streets had assembled
the night
that he rode back into town alone
cruising
wasted on the streets again.

Away for too long
and truthfully tired
but hoping
for adventures down South.

Jimmy's search for The Girl
began then
The search for
the mythic Sersi Spade.

Whom he had heard
completely about
before he'd
even left the hills.
and rambled back into town.

Jimmy, Jimmy
in your country search
Triton of the streets
highway shark
Neptune of dry land
braving the world
Car driving monster
from the dark.

Now he's back home
in the wilderness
relaxed in the hills
sipping Moonshine
fighting in rumbles in the woods.

His favorite Trident
was back in action
having hung on his wall
all summer.

"You son of a wh*re!"
Jimmy would shout out
as he'd spin around corners
his Volkswagen engine
blasting
like firecrackers.

Jimmy, Jimmy
hope you find your way out
of the grind
fight through the night
to better days
through your
mad dog trip through Hell
and to the vanquished...
death.

-Will Dockery (March 1977)

Another Dream

Another Dream.
.
It bothered me all day.
but now maybe it won't..
I remember her real clearly now.
just now made the connection.
as to who she was.
and where she must have gone to..
.
Back at school.
I never gave her.
more than a second look..
She was always just.
a bad little girl.
going into her Sophomore year.
but she was really well read.
and had such pretty brown eyes..
.
And her I am.
such a sad place to be in.
you may have been there before..
.
To meet and talk with a person.
then the slamming of a door.
or the ringing f a bell.
to find yourself awakened by a bump.
and as it faded away.
I saw the sign on the bus..
.
She reached out and touched me.
through a void..
I could have loved her.
no way she could have known that..
.
-Will Dockery / March 1982.

Santiago

Santiago.
.
Late Seventies night.
In the Hilton trailer park.
Greg Carter in his room.
Playing guitar.
A song he called "Santiago".
What could be considered.
A kind of Latin.
Or mellow music..
.
Quite a few minutes pass.
Between three people.
In Greg Carter's room.
A small room.
In a small trailer.
In the south side of town..
.
Somehow somewhere some wah wait.
However.
Somehow someway whenever.
Send around the tailor.
Just don't forget the chef..
.
Get me an appointment.
With the guy.
You were talking about.
Draw all the curtains.
Control the underbelly.
Of fear that rolls..
.
-Will Dockery.
.
(Written April 1977 on Greg Carter's electric typewriter).

Wanted Poster

Wanted Poster

My silken sweet
Orchard child
You turned me to a tiger
And also make me smile.

I said some things
To you.
That shouldn't.
Have been said..
.
I was hurting me.
Very deeply.
But it hurt you.
Worse instead..
.
I never want.
To hurt you.
You gave meaning.
To my life..
.
Before I met you.
I had no focus.
I just didn't belong..
.
I was just too.
Sad to kill.
Too mute.
To even sing this song..
.
If you leave.
I'll crack up.
My eyes would.
Fill with blood..
.
Our love is primal.
Eternal.
Our love is.
Thicker than the mud..
.
If I can't.
Live with you darling.
I just may not.
Live at all..
.
I remain.
A street fighting man.
Defending your honor.
All across this land.
.
-Will Dockery (April 1977).

Looking For Galatea

Looking For Galatea

On a weekend afternoon
never thought I'd hear from you
As you slip along the edge
of a society that I once knew.

Headed to Auderebro,
looking for Galatea.

I looked in the morning door
a smiling face like it was before
Her voice floating in the air
daylight in her golden hair.

Headed to Auderebro,
looking for Galatea.

I came down to the village green
near a grove of mystery.
Her kind voice by a camp fire flame
that's when I heard her call my name.

Headed to Auderebro,
looking for Galatea.

All these years later on a high degree
I see must have found the key.
I saw her picture yesterday
She's still smiling down at me.

Headed to Auderebro,
looking for Galatea.
On a weekend afternoon
never thought I'd hear from you.
As you sneak along the edge
the border line that I once knew.

Headed to Auderebro.
Looking for Galatea.

Headed to Auderebro.
Looking for Galatea

-Will Dockery (July 9 2024)

Time To Go

Time To Go

You asked the reason
why I called you
I'm just hanging in your scene.
I know you're sitting there
with Jack Schindler
So I'll just say good night, Irene.

We've been around a few times
You'd sneak by
tapping on my shed door.
But you made it clear
it's your husband you love
So it's just time for me to go.

Your painted rocks glow brightly for you,
As the moon shines down
on your sweet dreams.
I hope you find the love you deserve
And may you seldom think of me.
May you seldom think of me
May you never think of me.

-Will Dockery and Brian Mallard (June 2024)

Lay Black Night

Lay Black Night

A mystery
a little sparkle together.
Slab of incredible Gemini events
Twin Ace little pilot lines
seen by one ofr more people.

Just plain invent Ace
from the facts as we know them.
Last little inner words:
"two shots in the coffee."
"Lay Black Night."

Lay the hop out
missing scads of detail.
They made more than one
of these things
these paperbacks.

Being King Leer's mountain goddess
discuss or explain, it hurts,
freeze the action
let it fly on.

Deletion of any truth
natural hit clearly at Soul Door.
Half dozen directions
seperate agendas.

Loved by few
Ace by many seems dead.

-Will Dockery (9-4-03)

Adjustments

Adjustments

I came up with a new plan
one morning
in early Summer 1981.

I put the plan in action
and moved into
La Maison Apartment #602.

Paid for after selling
the silver dollars
my grandfather had given me
collected since childhood.

I'd grown weary
of the rooming house
drudgery.

The odd rules
the land lady
kept coming up with.

I was cautiously
optimistic
about good times
in the future.

I was writing up
a new project
some kind of "poetry novel".

Also it was an easier trip
to and from work.

Three blocks
down La Vista
then hop down
onto the westbound tracks.

So with my friend Jag
and his pickup truck
we loaded what I had
and were gone.

A screaming weekend
moving in to
La Maison Apartment #602.

Laughing, drinking, brawling
and most of all
free from the rooming house.

By Monday morning
everyone was gone.

It was still dark
but I could
see the light coming.

I walked into Dunk And Dine
around the corner
from La Maison
on Cheshire Bridge Road.

Moving had been hard
but I got squared away.
Time to have breakfast
and usher in the dawn.

I watched the sunrise
through the window
with the neon still flashing.

Watched the sun rise
above the slightest view
of the Atlanta skyline
circa 1981.

Atlanta was the city
in a constant state
of adjustment
I'd read that in a magazine.

Making plans for
an adjustment of my own
a change of attitude.

In the back booth
with a cigarette
I still thought of Katherine.

She was still drifting
in my orbit
but I knew there was
something going on.

She had landed a better job
with help from a new friend.

Perhaps an old lover
but I brushed back
my paranoia.

The week before
she'd left me on the sidewalk
looking up
hearing laughter
on the second floor.

I made a scene
because I lacked the courage
to do nothing.

Then after that
she was back
and just as quickly
gone again.

She was taking her first steps
to an independent life
without me.

As I was just about
to do the same.

I liked the jukebox there
one of the old booth models.

Selections could be made
for the jukebox
from the table.

I flipped quickly
admiring vintage photos.

I punched in a matching tune
for my maudlin
yet optimistic mood.

The Country music singer
played soft:

"People say I'm stone crazy
to be in love with you
and get nothing more..."

It had become clear
it was now
every man for himself.

I stepped outside
into
the warm bright morning.

Crossing through the alley
headed to the lumber yard
time to start the day.

Time for an
adjustment.

I knew
it was time
to carve another notch.

-Will Dockery

Salt Ripple

Salt Ripple

One man, one ashtray
the old man with beads paints alone.
The storm passes over
Moon Child is always with him.

Mermaid's handbag
I find my cure
near the salt water medicine.

Sandpipers dance
I watch the moves,
way off Broadway.

Far away now,
from the madness of erotic politics,
I think I should never return.

Remain here
become pure again
among the thunderstorms and greensnakes.

The old man with beads
sings baritone in the showe.r.

The storms have passed over
leaving sadness
uncertainty and hope.

Ancient energy here
the moon shows up in late afternoon.

She's imitating a cloud
Foamy egg moon we hatched from
our ancient dust and rock birth sack.

-Will Dockery

Diver Days

Diver Days

Crosslegged, she sits.
Red wine, friends.
Mellowness and memories.

***

She seems
to have a crisis of faith,
but she's also sort of a
prima donna it seems.
A bit absurd with it.
Seems to be
doing better on this one,
this faster rocking gospel plow;
needing to use less octaves.
It's got the crowd
up and clapping,
Brother Dave almost jumps.

***

Is it important,
or really?
Just go right through it.

-Will Dockery

Saint Augustine Blues (Chorus Six)

Saint Augustine Blues (Chorus Six)

Dollars in the bucket
collect for the street singer.
Old man with beads paints a chinaberry
points out the parrots.
Blonde after blonde after blonde
after the parade.
People start looking really strange again.
I must seem likewise to them
as this dusty smell surrounds me.
I'd draw these people with words
but I'm not fast enough.
They pass and fade
part of the parade.
On this really old wall,
good view from up here.
Forever is a long time
but not as long as yesterday.

-Will Dockery

Spirit Song Horses

Spirit Song Horses

A hing so intense
thinking about dollars and cents.
Spirit song horses
the shelf life of an angel.

The armor
has lost the shine.
The crisscross of loyalty.

When we kissed, and passed
beyond the sea.
If she could
she would watch.

No one bites
like she does.

-Will Dockery (12/20/02)

Connection

Connection

Connection
look at these empty streets.
Illumination
poetics to a dark night sky.

I'm here
and I've been here before.

She's crazy
and so is that other lady.
She must slow down
be savy, do it right.

Sky poets survive
they have a joy to be alive.

Where is Paige?
she seems likely never to return.

Reflection
on into itself a million times over.
Ressurection
when the spring returns.

No more dogmatic superstittion.

Your stones are so beautiful
and the colors, unwritable.

Is the Knight able
to drink the kegs dry?

-Will Dockery (1997)

Salt Ripple

Salt Ripple

One man, one ashtray
the old man with beads paints alone.
The storm passes over
Moon Child is always with him.

Mermaid's handbag
I find my cure
near the salt water medicine.
Sanpipers dance
I watch the moves
way off Broadway.

Far away now
from the madness of erotic politics
I think I should never return.

Remain here
become pure again
among the thunderstorms and greensnakes.

The old man with beads
sings baritone in the shower.
The storms have passed over
leaving sadness, uncertainty and hope.

Ancient energy here
the moon shows up in late afternoon.
She's imitating a cloud.
Foamy egg moon we hatched from
our ancient dust and rock birth sack.

-Will Dockery (1997)

A Carload of Poets

A Carload Of Poets

A carload of poets injured on the highway
in the late afternoon.
The smell of the lumberyard pine on 280
aromatic breeze fills my car as I observe this.

Splat faeries scattered
little bloody notebooks and pens
Mexican air conditioning shrill blasting my ears
affecting my mind with this sight.

Shrivelled red baloon in a tree
near this horrible mess of words and kids.
Bernie looked up and saw the spirit horse
wisping through over the scene.

Lady that smelled like a hospital
Tina didn't like that.
Bitchy red headed doctor
administering extra pain to the banged up poets.

Bernie McBride and Joe Senior, driver and shotgun
Tina and Wispy in the backseat originally
now arranged like fractals
in the large Elsewhere City by-pass ditch.

Nobody was injured seriously, though
too drunk on wine
rubbery flexable poets.
The regular cops said to run 'em in
the cool Alabama State Trooper said
"No, I saw a carload of dead teenagers
here once on this spot. Thank God they're alive..."

-Will Dockery (1996)

Siren

Siren

A big black shadow laced with
red insides
comes from the Gulf
covers Troy and kills fishes
Then up to Shadowville.

I saw this with my own eyes
it looked cosmic and poison.

They got a whole building covered up
down the street.
Sit here and wonder
it's obviously torn assunder.

Two light glows
a siren singing
behind the trees
flirting and winking.

I hear the siren somewhere
then the church bell rings "one"
and the siren stops.

-Will Dockery (1997)

Where I'm At

Where I'm at

That black summer of 1995
It was the year
Of no happy ending
22 years later
And it still puts me into
A very dark cold place.

An eternal emptiness
Where I don't dare smile
Lest someone arrive
To take that away again.

This is not a pretty place,
or life
I laugh from sheer madness
I suspect.

Perhaps I hide the madness well?
Anyway, you know me
The person I stand outside in.

In this mask
This brave face hiding
Nervous dust.

It was the year that put me...
Here.
Where I am aware,
Kind of late, to my sorrow.

Loved ones and music
is what matters
Nothing else really matters.

My art will survive me
If there is a here left
After the smoke and fire
Has cleared..

Art is our bid for immortality
We must face death
With courage and curiosity.

Notes from underground
From an
Undiscovered country.

To be honest
Never had the courage
To write it down
But the time has come
I need to tell my story
What really happened.

On June 25 1995
The first day
my heart was sent
To Exile.

-Will Dockery

Exile

Exile

Christmas morning 1995
about six months
into exile
still some hope
and a whole lot of love.

Delivery of presents
Santa myth trashed
for my children
not my design
against my will.

Got the okay to stop by
I step in from another world
bearing gifts
smiles to mask
my smashed heart.

Memory and dreams
this may pass
but the final statement
the final fuck off gesture
to me.

Proof that I was no longer real
I no longer belonged
was not that
I didn't get a gift
not a single one.

But when I asked her
she said she had
given him a shirt.

Black day
December 25 1995
I sucked it up
smiled at the kids
with holiday toys
tried to hide
my nightmare of pain.

Sat in my old spot
north side if the sofa
smiled a goodbye
and walked away into the bog
the moor
to Shadowville,
already dead inside
never to return.

-Will Dockery

Star Child Memory

Star Child Memory

Snapshot of a moment
an outdoor poetry reading
in early Spring 1996.
Glimmering stars
and looming moon
through the gloom.

Passing through
in that cavern
of concrete, glass and brick
off Broadway.
I join the poetry reading
already in progress.

There's a hush in the air
as we approach.
Star Child and her friends
standing with me
on the sidewalk.

Glimmering stars above us
Springtime
constellations.
Poets sit in a circle
in the alley
behind Bazaar Earth.

In those early days
so late in the game.

But I couldn't remain
back then
I had to keep on moving.
I told them they couldn't get
high enough
to float with me.

Star Child twinkled and tweaked
skipping by me
in that spangled night.
Stopping at the parking meter
waving goodbye.

-Will Dockery